...is how my brother used to start the Our Father. Which leads me to, a couple of weeks ago, I was thinking about going to church.
I grew up Catholic, and haven't even gone to mass on Christmas or Easter since before my son was born. But what with the anxiety attacks and the constant trembling, etc., I thought it might be comforting somehow. Even though I'd often get annoyed, offended or irritated by the homily, I liked the mass, and I liked singing the hymns. And I liked just looking at the families in the church and watching every Sunday how they'd change over time, i.e. omigod, so-and-so has a boyfriend! Or, who is that, she looks like a Russian princess! Or, why doesn't Mr. Becker ever kneel down or stand when everybody else does; so rude!
But when Sunday morning actually came, I totally forgot. And reading this great blog, called The Eleventh, (which I read regularly) I am reminded once again that, my opinions about the church and its politics (and isn't this a great word coming up? I must find a link. Ah, good; an obvious one) notwithstanding, I have to admit I miss going to mass sometimes. It was such a big part of our lives.