This today in a posting by a local church about upcoming services:
Enter and exit through the ramp door at the south end of the parking lot. Masks are no longer required for worship; however, the crying room is still temporarily closed.
I wondered about this. Who is crying in the crying room? Is this a room for grieving adults or screaming babies? And where is such a room? In the basement? Across the street?
So I googled it. And found out, despite having attended church religiously for at least, oh, maybe fifty times in my life, that crying rooms are common. They are spaces at the back of a church set aside for fussy children and their sweaty, beside themselves parents.
One site I found went so far as to criticize parents for letting their kids use the crying room to run amok. I had no idea.
I think the crying room should be reserved for people – of any age – who have just had it. These would be people who are wrung out – young and old – and no longer have the wherewithal to keep a stiff upper lip.
The crying room should be the place for undifferentiated weeping. Unqualified weeping. Free to weep would be the motto, the saying stitched on the quilt hanging on the wall, the one made by one of the beloved church ladies, the one who keeps the coffee urn full and brings the donuts in between sewing patches on her quilt.
Free to weep. No questions asked. You cry, sob, choke up, hiccup, blow your nose, again, and then go join the rest of the congregation singing Hymn # 506. Recovered and calm and smiling at crying babies spitting up on their parents.
|Pat on Anger Management|
|Vickie on Sugarcane Flower|
|Sue on Sugarcane Flower|
|beth on Sugarcane Flower|
|Deb on Sugarcane Flower|
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What happens here on Red's Wrap is all over the map. There is no single theme, no overarching gripe, no malady of my own or others that dominates. I write about what seems important or interesting at the moment and what aims me toward hope. I write stories, essays, poems - whatever fits the day and the mood. Nothing stays the same, here or anywhere. That's a good thing. Happiness. It's relative.
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