They say that your
life passes before your eyes at some point during a trauma where death seems immanent. I have my doubts about that since during my traumatic death engaging moment, nothing of the sort occured. (A later post, perhaps?) If it were true, however, I wonder if the specific scene I have been reflecting on would show up.

I remember how much I liked church on Sunday night. Not the preaching, not the praying, not even the hymn singing. It was the atmosphere, the lights, the quiet, the reverence, even the sleepiness. The seven-fold Amen at the end was the cherry on top of one hour in God's sanctuary. This is all true even though I probably whined about going.

For this blessing I have my parents to thank.