Church has been playing musical chairs. For a necklace of Sundays, it took place in the same room, with a familiar quilt as a backdrop. But the setting has been on the move. Church is not a building, and yet it usually takes place inside one. Benjamin is partial to predictability, and is rattled by change. I took him to a new place of worship, with a familiar preacher, and he complied. But when I asked on the way home, he was not sold on the new arrangement.

 

The next week we drove to yet another location, and while the format had differences, it also had continuity. He gave a thumbs up. 

 

The topic was ladders. Conveniently, the room included a spiral staircase, which served nicely to illustrate the story in Genesis. Jacob had a dream in which there were angels ascending and descending, with God at the top rung. Personally, I am glad it was not like the song in Fiddler on the Roof, with one long staircase just going up, and one even longer going down. As we congregants lifted our feet beside one another, I savored the sense of community, even as we went in different directions. It dulls the lie that we are somehow lost, when we bump elbows with fellow travelers. 

 

The message was that it is ok to not leap to the second floor in a single bound. Small progress is just fine. I found this reassuring. I have on occasion looked for those colored spaces on Candyland that zip you farther along toward the finish. When playing a board game with a small child, I can hang on to the notion that getting there faster is not necessarily a win. Enjoying the child, and the simplicity of the journey, is satisfying. But life gets complicated, and impatience thrashes me like rain against the window panes. 

 

For today, I will lift my feet not to escape the step I am on today, but to welcome what comes next.