Communion

White lettering on black background says "Communion."

I’ll relate the story as I’ve heard it told.

It happened when I was about three.

I escaped from the church nursery and made my way to the sanctuary.

My Dad, the church’s pastor, was serving communion.

My Mom, pregnant with my younger sister, was playing the organ.

Mom spotted me coming and tried to get the attention of one of the ushers.

I proceeded, un-intercepted by any usher, to make my way to the front of the church and around behind the communion rail to where my Dad stood.

I tugged on his robe, I’m told, and made a request.

“Can I have something to eat, too?

May we all be that innocently bold, to come to the communion table and ask to eat.


I’ve struggled in recent months to find the time and energy to write. A group of writers proposed writing something every day for the month of October, based on a one word prompt, and writing in just five minutes – no worrying about perfect grammar or always being poignant or well-polished. I’m giving it a go in an effort to jump start my writing. For the one word prompts, I’m going to follow along with The Upper Room’s Sight Psalms. They put out a picture a day and apply one word and a short reflection. If you are reading this, thanks for accompanying me for this experiment in motivation and discipline.

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