It all depends on what you mean by home

Whenever I think of St. John's, I think of the Robert Frost line, "home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

We haven't been to the 10:30am St. John's service in probably six months. Some of the reasons are legit, some aren't. We went this morning after having breakfast at Tommy's with Mom, Jim, and Sharon.

St. John's had a gluten free wafer waiting for Brian when we went up to communion. It was probably pretty stale considering it has been waiting on that special little tray for six months. I lost it. Because of the wafer. Because they were playing "were you there when they crucified my Lord." Because Brian said we were getting a table for six earlier at breakfast. Because my dissertation is almost done. Because my dissertation is almost done. Because our friends had just walked up to communion and I was thinking about how lucky I am to have our community.

Since I have never been able to shed one solitary, meaningful and dramatic tear, I ended up sprinting to the bathroom downstairs before my face turned all red and my nose started running, almost trampling G., our friends' daughter and one of our girl scouts. She waved to me solemnly as I frantically messed with the baby gate guarding the stairs.

I made it back to the service in time for "He's got the whole world in His hands," complete with Peg doing the hand motions and Craig waving the big cross back and forth as he walked down the aisle. Brian asked me if I was okay, and I was. I know we will continue to question our faith, our role in the church, and our role in the community, but for today I just sang along.

Home.

"I should have called it

Something you somehow haven't to deserve."