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Yesterday as I waited at Wal-Mart’s customer service desk, I realized how judgmental I can be. The Wal-Mart employee behind the counter was holding a check in her right hand and the phone in her left, and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation.
“Did you give your grandaughter a check to cash?”
“She’s only got a sippy cup, but I noticed the notation at the bottom of the check. It’s for medicine, right?”
Tags: Life
Sometimes I wish I came from a more liturgical tradition. The kind that allows the church calendar to dictate the rhythms of life and set the tone for worship. Our church usually does a pretty good job of at least changing the fabric draped over the cross in the baptistry, but for some reason, Ash Wednesday came and went without a change in color. Our cross still sports the bright red and gold colors of Christmas. We’ll celebrate Easter on Sunday, and I know for a fact that the cross will be arrayed in shimmering white, but I have really missed the purple cloth of Lent this year.
I grew up in traditional Southern Baptist churches, and I never knew that there were entire seasons built around Christmas and Easter. I didn’t know what Advent was until my grandmother died and we began celebrating Christmas at my aunt and uncle’s house. They, being good Episcopalians, place an Advent wreath in the middle of their dining table and light the candles throughout the season. The wreath fascinated me, and from that moment on, I was intrigued by this other world of rich traditions that I knew nothing about. As a teenager, most of my friends were Catholic, and their observance (or lack thereof) of Lent always grabbed my attention. We Baptists didn’t give up anything for Lent, and I really didn’t see how abstaining from chocolate or Coke would have any affect on God at all.
