Underneath it all

I'm having a very hard time getting used to Church on Sunday mornings. I cry every week for one reason or another, it seems. It's embarrassing, and I'm really struggling with feeling like my family is the weird, broken family. Probably because we are. I'm used to that, but it's extra difficult in a giant room filled with strangers, most of whom do not know us, or the things that make us unique.

But I am learning something: Beneath the surface, every person has a story. And often, that story has more in common with our own story than I would at first guess. We were sitting next to a family in the pew on Sunday and after liturgy was over we started chatting briefly and discovered we have the whole gluten free thing in common, as their kids have various food allergies, for instance. And the wife is a special ed teacher and agreed that home schooling my spectrum kids was probably the best thing for them. (It's rare for a public school servant to be supportive of Home schooling servants, so when it happens it is noticeable).

My point is, that it is impossible to look at strangers and glimpse what is below the surface. For that, words must be exchanged and communication has to happen.

So in the mean time I am trying not to get too distracted by what's on the surface.

God, help this sinner!