Balm for the soul

www.flickr.com photo of church window in Shepherdstown

I've had better weeks than the one just past. It's spring, and we're all supposed to feel better with new signs of life everywhere. But it's also true that the highest suicide rate is in the spring. Sometimes everything seems new but you, and you're still the same as always -- in all the wrong ways.

So I looked forward to Sunday and going to see my church family. They never disappoint. Maybe it's the music, Dee-Ann, the minister, the welcoming faces, the children, the weekly gathering of sinners, doubters and believers -- all coming together to form an imperfect union of souls, lifting their voices in song and prayer. Maybe it's the middle-aged couple who adopted five Asian children because they couldn't pick just one -- or the shy, red-haired college student who slips in and sits in the back -- or Jeff, the young man with the long ponytail who finally worked up the courage to sing in the choir and who drives two hours round-trip to come to this particular church.

Whatever it is, it is a balm for my troubled soul, a sanctuary in the broad meaning of the term, a place where the sum is greater than its parts. So I'll face tomorrow with a renewed sense of purpose, an assurance that when we're down, we will be lifted up, a new understanding that I am not in control, no matter how much I try. And when you think about it, it's a relief to hand over the burden.