About 2 weeks back Sunday, I went to a small country church at home. It has been ages since I attended a service there. It is the church to which my husband’s family goes- so I have been there but rarely. So I do not have any memories of this church.
This day was different. For one thing, both my daughters were with me and my mother in law too. My husband had not travelled with us, so he could not attend.
The one thing that I could remember was the light- there was so much of light pouring in through the large open windows- a dose of healthy sunshine pouring in . I sat near the window in the ornate pew and stretched out, basking in the sunshine.
Men and women sit separately in this church. I had almost forgotten that it was this way, as it had been so long. Women seated in front of me and behind me tried to talk and make friends, both before the service and after. They asked me ” who I was”, ” with whom I had come”, ” who were my relatives in the church” and so on. So many questions but I didn’t find any of them funny or odd or even intruding. In fact, I thought of them as quaint- as quaint as the church itself.
Today I suddenly thought back on my experience with fondness. I was reminded of my old church that I used to attend with my grandparents when they were well and alive. It was a long walk over hills and valleys, visiting relatives on the way to church, that made Sunday mornings so exciting there.
I don’t like to visit old memories any more – because my grandparents are no longer alive. Perhaps the old church is still there but my grandparents’ aren’t. I think often of them but am saddened. I know I will meet them someday, but sometimes it seems as though that day is so far away !