Girding my loins...

I find it difficult to go to church, even on good days.  A host of obstacles always seem to be flung in my path.  And when one is cleared, another appears just behind it.

I love, love, love that my church has an evening service that is liturgical.  While I would rather it be the setting used most on Sunday, Divine Service 3 since I know that one, but I am slowly ... very slowly ... learning Divine Service 1.  It is a shortened service in that just one hymn is sung, but nothing else is stinted.  For me, given that I know so few hymns, that loss is felt less keenly than most might.  I used to really enjoy hearing hymns sung about me, but now that it is so difficult for me to discern melodies or hear the words.  Well, the reminder of how much my brain has changed how I regard being surrounded by hymn singing.

The church is old, and the walk from handicapped parking to at least 1/3 of the way into the pews is rather long.  It is even longer after having sat in the wooden pews for the duration of the service.  A long time ago, one of the pastors mentioned the option of coming in the side door.  I could swear he said I would need to walk through the small chapel, and looking at where the chapel is located, I was not sure how much shorter the walk would be.  Then, the other pastor mentioned it again, and I opted to try it out.  It turns out that there are three side doors, and one is but a hop, skip, and a jump from the sideways pews that line the front third of the church.

However, going in the side door meant that I did not get a bulletin.  That means that while I can follow the liturgy in my hymnal, complete with bookmarks for both halves of the service, I would not have the words of the introit, the Scripture references and copy, or the hymn of the evening.  The last two services meant I was lost much of the time.  Being lost in church is most especially discouraging for me.

I do not like the reminder that I simply cannot comprehend oral text.  Even if you read to me from the Bible, I need to be following along to retain something of it.  Something.  When I watch movies and shows online, I read summaries before, during, and after the watching.  Even with sound and visuals, I struggle to remember what I am hearing, what is happening.

When I was having the cognitive testing for the disability application process, the most brutal moment was when the psychiatrist read me a story and then asked me questions about it.  I could not answer a single question.  Not on the first story.  Nor the second.  Nor the third.  I, the literacy professor, utterly failed at listening comprehension.

I was so stunned at the blankness in my mind that I could not continue the testing for a while.  With regard to the story, there was nothing there.

During the sermons, now, I barely remember any of the text. I try to hold on to a point or two of the sweet, sweet Gospel, but all too often at the end of the sermon, my mind is blank.  Thankfully, the church began recording the sermons last fall.  So, I can listen to them over and over and over to actually hear the Living Word.

During the Scripture readings, I follow along in the bulletin.  I also re-read them when I get home that night and throughout the week.  But without the bulletin, the reading of the Living Word just resulted in more blankness in my mind.  The first week, I tried to remember the reference given and look up the passage as the pastor was starting to read, but I could not.  I find it difficult to look up a written reference.  Remembering and finding a spoken reference is an impossibility.

Being in church, lost much of the time, I wept.  And I felt so very guilty.  Should I not merely be thankful for being in church and for receiving the Lord's Supper?  Oh, how I wish I had more grace when it comes to accepting, to swallowing, what is happening to my brain.

I almost did not go to church tonight.  Walk the long way and have a bulletin, but struggle to walk back out when the service is over or walk the short way and be lost in the service.  SIGH.

So, I upped my girding of loins by throwing social convention to the wind and wearing my stubby braids to church. Stubby braids and a bandana.

Oh, how I miss my long hair.  I have been trying to manage the pain in my head with peppermint and lavender oils. I still do NOT believe in aroma therapy, but the stuff does help.  I fear I am getting to the point where the pain is more than stubbornness can bear, but at least I can braid a small length on either side of my head.

The power of the braids (ridiculous though they are) is so great that an usher actually brought me a bulletin tonight!  This elderly gentlemen walked the entire length of the church and back so that I might be able to follow the whole of the Divine Service, not just part of it.  Yes, I wept in the pew for a while, so thankful for the provision of my Good Shepherd.

A bit of the Gospel reading is still ringing in my ears.  "Are you the Christ?  Speak it plainly."  Jesus' response was that He had, many times, and that the signs had told them such as well.  They simply couldn't hear Him because they were not His sheep.

The sinner in me fears greatly at such an answer.  Am I not one of His sheep?  Do I struggle to believe the riches of Christ crucified are for me because of this?  But the saint in me tells the sinner in me to not be so silly.  I am baptized.  I am one of Jesus' sheep.

But I am also a sheep who asks Jesus to speak the Gospel plainly.  I need Him to do so. I need my pastors to do so. I need my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ to do so.  To speak plainly.  And to speak often.


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!