The long road to closure

Tonight I went to a church choir rehearsal for the first time in over five years.  Of course for those who have never gone to a church choir rehearsal, or have never wanted to be a part of a church choir, that will likely sound oddly unremarkable.  However, given that singing in various choirs, including church choirs, has been a huge part of my life, five years has been a long hiatus.

Roughly five years ago, perhaps closer to five and a half, we made the painful decision to leave our church home of 10 years.  It was the only church we had ever attended as a couple, it was the church where both of our sons were baptized, it was the church where I taught Sunday School, Superdad was a deacon, and I sang in the choir.  Singing in that small, highly unprofessional, rag-tag choir was my joy.  I grew to love its participants and its director.  By default more than anything I became the soprano soloist and overcame virtually every shred of fear I ever had about singing solo.  And, as the years went by and so many other houses of cards came crashing down within that little church, the choir was the one place I continued to feel at home.

I know why we left and they are still good reasons.  But those reasons don't change the fact that saying good bye was painful and more than a little tinged with regret.  It didn't help that shortly after making such a momentous decision we were thrown into the pit of grief and despair.  It didn't help that just when we decided to take the moral high ground and walk away from our community of faith we were suddenly in most desperate need of such a community.  And, in its own strange way, it didn't help that that same community, those same lovely people, still rallied around us and did everything in their power to let us know they were thinking of us, praying for us, and available for anything we might need (everyone except the minister, I might add).  It didn't help only because it reminded us yet again of everything we were choosing to leave.

Since that time we have sporadically attended and recently more regularly attended another church.  It is in so many respects a truly wonderful church.  It has a good children's program, an excellent pastor of the highest integrity, and a dedicated, faith-filled group of people filling its pews.  There is a strong commitment to social justice and it is openly engaged in dynamic, stimulating discussions of faith and all its ramifications.  It is a good church.  And yet, I have only been able to barely dip my toe into this particular body of holy water.  I have been holding back, reluctant to put down roots.  First, out of grief.  Then, out of apathy.  And now, a reluctance to let go of what was and allow myself to imagine what might be.

Whenever I run into people from our former church they always say, "I hope that wherever you are, you are still singing."  I have always smiled and simply said, "Not right now.  Maybe someday."  I had a million excuses- pregnancy, a new baby, three kids, etc, etc, etc... But really, none of those were the real reason.  The real reason I stubbornly refused to join the choir at this new church was because I knew it would mean it was really over, we really weren't going back.  Ever.

So, tonight I went to the first choir rehearsal of the new season.  It was... fine.  I enjoyed singing again.  I enjoyed stretching my brain again in that way as I tried to rekindle my sight reading skills.  The people were very friendly and happy to have some new faces join their ranks.  The director was earnest and capable and even moderately inspiring.  I'm sure I could grow to love these people too.  But tonight, as I drove home, I felt the tears start to come.  And I think it isn't just about the old and new choirs and the old and new churches.  I think it is about the fact that five years ago everything was different, and I liked so much of what we had and loved so much of what we were looking forward to.  Then, it all changed.

I like so much of what we have now, and I certainly love so much of what and who we have now too.  But there are still those losses, people I miss, places I remember.  Sometimes it's hard not to want to go back, even as I know there is never any choice but to go forward.  So tonight I tried to take one more step forward.  I'm sure that someday I'll be glad I did.