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When I think of communion, I think of my dad. Instantly. It's really strange. I only realized today, that every single time I take communion, I can almost see myself as a little girl sitting beside my dad in church. Watching. I watch as the plate of bread comes by, and Dad takes a piece. He holds it in his hand as if it is the most delicate piece of food he will ever eat in his life - almost hiding it in a firm, yet gentle grasp. Then as the pastor invites everyone to eat the bread, he slowly puts it up to his mouth, and chews it VERY slowly. Concentrating on every bite. Swallowing it piece by piece. And with the most concentration on his face. I can remember as a little girl, thinking that my dad must have been there when Jesus passed the bread around the table that first time. Dad must know what that was like. He knew and understood something that I was too young to fully comprehend.
Then the juice is passed around. Again, the same thing. Same gentle grasp. Same facial expression. Sometimes his eyes are closed, sometimes not. But he's always thinking. Hard. About something important.
When I became old (mature) enough to start taking part in communion, I remember my dad telling me, "Make sure your heart is right. If it's not right, make it right, or don't take communion." Every single time we do communion in church, I can hear my dad saying that to me.
Thanks Dad. :)
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2011 was a year of quite a few 'unhappy' things. I was sad, I was maybe a little bit depressed, and I was angry. A lot. It started in 2010 really, when I didn't even want to celebrate Christmas. I'd like to think I'm in a better place now. Lots of things have gone on, but I have never walked alone. Not once.
Happy New Year.
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