What this university senior needs now is her mother.
That's meant to surprise you a little bit, culturally speaking. As an above-21, apartment-dwelling, independence-attempting young woman, most of the week I don't talk to Mom. I occasionally, heinously, view it as an inconvenience to answer her texts. Forgive me, Mama.
My need for Mom is true and real, though, especially on a Sunday (like today). What I need most throughout this whole academic year are the words Mom said to my friends and I many or most Sundays throughout our childhood. The words of that children's worship curriculum she loves. Children in Worship, by Sonja Stewart and Jerome Berryman. (Fun fact: I pulled those names out of my memory just now, I've seen the book cover so many times. Only googled them to spell-check and do them justice.) I don't want to study anymore: it's miserable, it's endless (well, until May), it's not the way I want to ask these questions or write my ideas or work anymore. And I don't want to be subject to a reading schedule anymore, because reading is ruined. You see, I am in need of a metaphor to carry me through this last year of study.
Looking back at Children in Worship days, I remember the time we took to settle ourselves into the space of worship. I recall the sense of time as different in the place and time of worship. I recall the wonder that was encouraged after we had listened--the wondering questions, our turn to interact and speak with the story and its teller. I remember the quietude in which we heard the stories. I remember the creativity inspired by the story and my own wonder during response time. I remember the feast (usually, though, I found that name for it deceiving. 11 Goldfish, really? :) ). Most of all, as I look back now with my 22-year-old desire, I remember the blessing, and that it was often my mother who gave it to us, each one individually with hands held.
What if I read the books this semester with an eye already to the wondering questions I will be invited to ask at their conclusion? What if I allow for myself a response time after university, complete with my own space and natural light and art supplies and Play Doh? What if I believed again the words "we have all the time that we need" and "this is your time to talk to God and listen to God"? What if I took part in the feast again, cross-legged on the floor, with all my new friends? And what would it mean for me to hold out my hands to my professors and classmates to receive the blessing they are giving me in the end?
In remembering the Children in Worship lens today, I think I've found my metaphor.
Thanks, Mama.
xox Anna Shalom
