The Assumptions we Don't Realize we're Believing

 Going back to places often brings up a lot of memories. And it can make you think a lot about life.

I was recently back at the college I graduated from. I spent two years at Briercrest. I learned and grew a lot in my time there. We arrived a day early for the reason we were there, so I had time to explore the community . . . 17 years after I finished school there.

I wandered the once very familiar streets of the small town - noticing what what had changed and how much was still exactly the same. As I did, memories of friends, the crazy things we did as college students, classes, profs, and dorm life came flooding back.

After a bit of walking, the flood of memories slowed and I started thinking about other things. I started reflecting on how things have gone in my life both when I was a student there and the time since. Specifically about some of the things to do with circumstances in life.

If you've read what I've written about the last few years, you'll know I've written a lot about singleness in the church. And this is where my thoughts were again.

When I was growing up, going to a Christian school for any amount of time for post-secondary was seen as basically a guarantee that you would find the person you were going to marry. So spending two years at Briercrest and not having gone on a date with someone was seen as strange in the circles I was part of. In fact, it was a bit of a joke in my family that I had "failed" Bible college because I came home single.

It was this experience that made me realize how easily we believe things without thinking them through and make them a part of our assumptions. If you had asked me why I was going to Briercrest, I would have given you a lot of reasons, none of which included finding someone to marry. And all of them were absolutely reasons why I chose to go.

What I didn't realize was that I'd bought in the assumptions that gave Bible colleges the nickname "Bridal College" and made the quip "ring by spring or your money back" so popular in places I was. All these things were said in jest, but there was a degree to which everyone also assumed they were true and believed them.

I never would have said these things out loud or acknowledged I believed them, but they had become a part of what I thought, believed, assumed. So to graduate after two years still very much single and hear jokes about failing because I was still single was harder than I was prepared for. It revealed the things in the church culture I had grown up in that I had just taken in without thinking about it.

And I think it's just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the assumptions we believe without even realizing it. Especially when it comes to singleness in the church.

So, what do we do with those assumptions?

How do we become more aware of the assumptions we're believing and how they impact our lives?

And what do we do when we become aware of them?

I think we have to start with asking ourselves why we believe the things we do. That's how we might begin to see where these assumptions are in our lives. 

And when we become aware of them, we can choose to see them differently.

In my case, I realized as I wandered the streets and buildings at Briercrest, I was finally in a place where I didn't feel like I had failed or that something was wrong with my because I graduated Bible college single. But, I also know it took me a long time to get to that place, because of the assumptions I had believed.

The Hardest Sunday to go to Church

 Some dates on the calendar are difficult ones for all of us for a variety of reasons.

As I flipped my calendar to the month of May yesterday, I realized we were fast approaching what I would call the hardest Sunday of the entire year for me, and many others, to go to church.

What is that Sunday?

It's Mother's Day.

When I tell people that, some have a list of reasons why I might not want to go to church this particular Sunday. But, many others have no idea why.

Let me tell you why . . .

Most Sundays I go to church and I sit surrounded by couple and families. Some Sundays, I feel acutely out of place as a single person with no kids of my own. Other Sundays I hardly notice that.

But, on Mother's Day . . . that feeling of being out of place is amplified. 

I can't tell you the number of Mother's Day Sundays I've sat in church where mothers are celebrated - applauded as they're asked to stand, given gifts as they leave the service - & I've wrestled with how it makes me feel. The way I feel ignored again.

I know that there's nothing malicious about it. There's no plan of making me, and others like me, feel ignored. I see the desire to honour mothers for the very important role they play, for all they do. And I know it's needed. I watch my sister as a single mom and I don't think she gets enough recognition for all she does.

But, I do wonder if there's a way to honour mothers without making it incredibly obvious who doesn't have kids. I wonder if there's a way to celebrate and acknowledge the role of mothers in our lives that doesn't leave some feeling like they're ignored, or unvalued.

Maybe, as we return to what feels more like normal after a couple years of not being able to do this, we can change the way we do things?

Maybe, we can look for ways to give gifts that don't mean people are basically asking if you're a mom as you leave the service. (Yes, I've had this happen. It was one of the worst feelings in my life.)

Maybe, we can celebrate the way even those of us who aren't moms still play a role in the lives of kids and others in our lives alongside mothers - at least in the public parts of what we do.

Dear Grandma

 As I walk through a year of firsts without my Grandma around, there are times and things that I reflect on. Tonight as I sit I'm reflecting on Easter and memories around it. Choosing to remember the good.

This post is the form of a letter to my Grandma.

Dear Grandma,

Today was Easter Sunday. I thought of you a lot today. The first Easter Sunday without you . . . except it had already been a few years since you were able to be at church or our family gathering. Not just because of COVID, the last few years, but even before that. Son, in some ways it was the first resurrection Sunday without you, and in other ways it wasn't. But, no matter what, I thought of you a lot today.

As we sang songs pointing to the resurrection and about eternity with Jesus, I pictured you today. Standing in Jesus' presence today. No more body or mind failing you. In the presence of your Savior forevermore. I could almost hear your voice singing praises to God, as I know you always loved to do here. 

In the midst of all the things we do on holidays, you always made sure we were reminded of the real reason why we gathered to celebrate. You always made sure we didn't forget. You pointed us to Jesus. On Easter Sunday, you pointed us to the empty tomb and our risen Savior.

As my Mom & I made the potatoes and got the ham ready, my mind was filled with memories of you in your kitchen. Always busy getting something ready, making sure nothing was missed for dinner. Even in your busy-ness of making sure it was all ready on time, you welcomed us grandkids into your kitchen to help. As we got older, I'm sure we actually helped, but sometimes I wonder if in those early years, we made more work for you by helping. Yet, you didn't turn us away when we wanted to help - you found something we could do.

As we sat at the table to eat together, I missed the large family gatherings at your house. This one was smaller . . . just 7 of us this day. It's been that way for a while. You were unable to come already by the time the thing happened that shrunk our family gatherings so much. I know that family was so important to you. As much as having us all in your house all day wore you out, I also remember the smile on your face when we all squeezed together to fit around the table. 

(And I remember how anyone in your reach had to watch their plate carefully. You never knew when you would decide someone hadn't eaten enough and would add more food to their plate when they weren't looking.)

Even, as I served my food today. I dutifully took at least one scoop of everything on the table. The "no thank you" helping (you always had to take one scoop of every dish on the table, no matter what, even if you didn't like it or didn't think you would) that was the rule at your house while I was growing up, still directs me when I'm serving food. I wasn't a fan of that rule as a kid, but it has served me well as an adult.

As we put the paska (Mennonite Easter bread), on the table after dinner, I noticed that no one had gotten the sprinkles out yet. I had to go and find them before we could eat it. I remembered how you always made sure there was an abundance of them on the paska before you served it. I never understood why, and I really still don't, but paska was always served with icing and sprinkles (yes, on bread . . . a sweet bread, but bread). And I will always eat it that way.

Today, I missed you. I missed your smile, your laugh, your hugs. I missed hearing you sing with joy as you celebrated our risen Savior. 

But, I know you were celebrating in a way I can only imagine right now. A way you weren't able to for so many years at the end. And that brings me joy in the midst of tears because you're not here with us anymore.

Love you always, 

Tamara