God's Love

For the billionth consecutive Sunday, I was unworthy of the Sacrament last week. Normally, I make it to church in time to miss the Sacrament. Lately, I've been telling myself I need to be present to all of church, to show God that I'm serious about repenting, so I take the kids to the back, on the hard chairs, in the overflow. It's embarrassing to pass up the Sacrament. I've written about this before. My kids don't even ask about it anymore. I want, so badly, to be a mother who can take the Sacrament with her children. How can I really teach them its importance when I don't participate in it?

Last week, the cultural hall was closed because they refinished the gym floor, and it needed to be free of feet for a time period. So the whole ward had to crowd in the chapel. I was early but only barely. The kids were at their dad's, so it was just me. Finding a spot for one body wasn't going to be difficult. But I was nervous to see that I was bound to the chapel. And since all the rows were filled, I was bound to sit next to someone. Or, I could walk out till the Sacrament was finished. I decided to face it. I looked around for someone who wouldn't be judgmental of me when I passed the trays on without partaking. I found my visiting teacher. She's wonderful. I approached her but then realized she was saving the row for her family. Of course. And she has a very large family. There was some room on the row behind her, right next to Sister Michaels. I don't know Sis. Michaels well at all. I do know she has a heart of love because she's my son's primary teacher, and she is so good with him. She's new in the ward, though. I thought I already looked awkward looking for a place to sit, and it would be just as well to sit next to her than anyone else. I asked if the spot was taken, and she said no. I sat, and we didn't speak to each other.

Before I went to church that day, I'd prayed to feel God's love while I was there.

Well. We sang the Sacrament hymn. I was becoming more and more nervous, trying to convince myself that it didn't matter what she would think, trying to remind myself that the fact that I was unworthy of the Sacrament was a much bigger issue than what Sis. Michaels would think, trying to comprehend the seriousness of my sins, praying that I could be forgiven, trying to make myself believe that this time, I was worthy. It'd been a few weeks, after all. But, I didn't feel worthy in my heart. These thoughts continued during the prayer as I listened to the words "to all those who partake" and knew that I was not among those blessed ones, not today. I have rejected the love and grace of the Savior, which I illustrate when I pass the trays of the Sacred Emblems.

I was hoping the deacon would deliver the bread and water on my side. Sis. Michaels, that way, may not know that I didn't take the Sacrament before passing to her. But it didn't happen like that. Instead, it was passed down the pew to Sis. Michaels and then to me. First the bread. She offered the tray after taking a piece. I wished that I could partake. I hoped she wouldn't gossip. I hoped she wouldn't sit and think about what I had done, trying to guess. I hoped she didn't think I was a bad mom. I hoped she didn't think I lacked a testimony.

Avoiding her gaze, instead of taking a piece of bread, I took the tray handle and passed it to the deacon to my left.

How humiliating.

I held on to a hymnbook, closed my eyes, and prayed. I tried not to worry about what Sis. Michaels was thinking.

I also passed on the water with shame, humiliation, and sorrow for my sins. I prayed some more as the deacons offered the water to the rest of the ward.

Soon before the deacons were finished, Sis. Michaels leaned in toward me, put both her arms around me, and told me, "You need to know that you are loved." Before my tears could swallow my voice, I told her "thank you." Soon, I was sniffling and wiping my face. She hugged me again, and as I wiped a tear, I smiled at her and said "you did this," jokingly, about my daggum tears. She whispered, "I was only following an impression, which is something I do often."

I reflected on that. He loves me, my reader, even as I am passing up the offering of His Son. He loves me so much that He will inspire a good and righteous sister to tell me, on a prompting, that I am loved, even while I reject the offering of His Son.

How humbling.

I was rewarded for being on time. I was rewarded for not running away. And now I will make every effort to never skip any portion of church to avoid the Sacrament, or for any other reason. I know that I won't experience something so incredible every week, but I never want to miss out on feeling God's love. If I'd run away, like I'd been tempted to, I would have missed that beautiful answer to my prayer. Sis. Michaels would have missed an opportunity to listen to the voice of the Spirit.

I'm so grateful for His astonishing, astounding love. I can't wait for church tomorrow. And I hope that the following Sunday, I'll be among the partakers.