Mixed Blessings

Attending church is one of the highlights of my week. I enjoy several aspects of the worship service -- the liturgy, the music, the pageantry -- and I also like socializing with the other parishioners. I'm very fond of the clergy at my parish, so that only adds to the experience of worshiping there.

The majority of people attending services on Sunday morning are families and couples. For single people, church can be a very isolating place. As I am currently (and for a while now) single, I sometimes find myself feeling a little awkward and, frankly, envious on Sunday mornings. Even though I've been in some wonderful relationships, I've never been with anyone who regularly attended worship services with me. In a couple of instances the impasse was sectarian. A boyfriend I had who was raised in the Baptist church went to mass with me once. He was clearly uncomfortable with the Episcopal experience, even going so far as to decline communion. I've also dated agnostic and athiest men, so their obstacles to attending worship with me were even greater.

Several of the couples at my parish have children. This is another area where my inner green monster raises its ugly head. I ache to have children, and despair with each passing year that I never will. Seeing the happy kids at church interacting with their parents, marching to children's chapel and attending formation classes fills me with joy and dread both -- joy at the site of the gleeful youngsters, dread at the thought that I will never know the joy of being a father.

After the service this morning I was talking with a woman from my parish who recently had a baby. When I left her table, I noticed her daughter's stroller and walked over to look in at the baby inside. She was fussy, and I leaned down to see what was wrong with her. As soon as I touched her and talked to her, she stopped fussing and started to smile. I identified the underlying cause of her distress -- her pacifier had slipped out of her mouth -- and placed the offending passy back into her mouth. I was overjoyed at being able to perform this small act to comfort her; however, it was again joy mixed with dread -- joy at helping a small child, dread at the thought of never being able to comfort my own baby.

I fervently believe that God has a plan for my life. I sometimes wonder, however, if that plan includes marriage and fatherhood. That being said, I refuse to concede that I am not the master of my destiny, not the captain of my soul. I think the onus is on me to be cognizant of the opportunities God offers to me. I was blessed with the good sense to end relationships that I know cannot progress towards permanence, and the strength to be alone for the right reasons rather than with someone for the wrong ones. I have to rely on that strength right now, because God knows I'm not getting any younger. The passage of time may be constant, but its coursing grows louder in my ears.