This is a reprint of the Director of Lifespan Religious Education's column from the January issue of The Beacon newsletter
Almost ten years ago I began to write in a journal. I decided I was going to try to write every single day. I failed. About eight years ago I decided to try again. I failed. About six years ago I decided to try again and this time, for whatever reason, something clicked and *nearly* every day since, I carved out a small, precious bit of time to write in my journal. But then something changed. There is no entry in my journal for the day our twins were born. There is no entry for the day after. No entries for the days of recovery in the hospital. No entries for the eight days our son was in the NICU. No joyful entry when all five of us were home at last. No "milestones of the first month" entry, no entries detailing the insanity of sleep deprivation or the ecstasy of first smiles. The spiritual practice of journalling that I had built up over years is broken. Like a once-prized roadster on blocks in the front yard, it sits waiting for me to patch it up and turn the engine over to see if I can still coax it to life. There is, and always will be, something more pressing, more exciting, more fun or more important to do than to sit down and write in my journal. But as the babies settle into something resembling a schedule (gasp!) I am remembering the pull of having a practice.
But to create (or re-create) a practice, we must change. Not only do I have to remember how helpful the practice of journaling was, not only do I have to muscle that chunk of time into the schedule of my life, I have to write. In order to return to journaling every day, I have to journal every day. Simple? Yes. Easy? No. When we make time in our lives to contain something we desire it doesn't stop the rest of our lives from continuing to crash back in. In my days of thwarted attempts to try journalling again I've done laundry instead, shopped for baby clothes online, caught up with email for work and made myself some very nice sandwiches. I wrote successfully today. I wrote for thirty minutes, uninterrupted, and it was lovely. But unless I do it tomorrow too, it's not a practice. And what I want, even more than a record of my day or a way to process the day's thoughts, is a practice.
It's the same with church. If you come to church occasionally, you might hear a good sermon, meet some nice people, enjoy the conversation and the coffee. And maybe that's all you want. Maybe you want a little food for your brain and a smile at coffee hour and you're a happy camper. But if you want a community, if you want a place for your children to grow into a sense of their own spirituality and explore the wisdom of the traditions of the world, if your want to be heard, if you want to listen, if you want to belong, that's work you have to do every week. Every Sunday morning First Unitarian saves a place for you. I hope to see you there.
