I remember a Sunday that was during a summer visit to Nana's. She was pretty strong on going to church. We went, and since it was Catholic, there was an involved series of actions we had to take during worship...kneeling, genuflecting, sitting, standing. They were part of the discipline of worship, and Nana expected me to do them according to the honor deserved by the God we worship.
This one Sunday I was feeling pretty miserable. Stomach ache I think. Couldn't sit still. And the kneeling...! I was in pain. Nana explained that I needed to kneel anyway. I could hardly stand it (I think I was 9). I squirmed. I wiggled. I bent my head.
Nana got pretty mad. She was not happy with me. We walked out of the church in silence, her glaring and me relieved. We didn't talk about it anymore.
I wondered if Jesus really wanted me in church sick. Did't matter. Nana did.
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