I encountered a prayer station recently that invited me to run my hands through a bowl of water and remember my baptism. This is what I wrote on the back of my program:
I can't hold it in my hands, like I can in my mind.
It just keeps slipping through my fingers.
I had the irresistible urge to arms splash it all over my arms and my face - trying to go back to that day.
Even though it was awkward and my embarrassment over my teenage body and behavior was real, I still want to go back. To see Ian hand me my Bible, to see my grandmother's pride, to experience the wonder and strangeness. To wash away all the sadness and sorrow and grief that I've added to my life.
It's been so long since I've been wrapped safely in someone's arms and just held like I imagine God holds us. I'm lonely and my baptism day was one of blessed and beloved community. And I want to go back.
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I don't feel lonely everyday, but I did the day I wrote this. I can't go back to a time of innocence, but you know what? I can take a bath. I can pray. And I can always remember.
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