Mea culpa. Although I am a law-abiding, God-fearing woman, I must confess that I did not go to church on this sultry Sunday morning in June. I wish I could regale you with an impressive list of heart-wrenching excuses, but alas, I cannot. My husband isn’t sick; my dog has not run away. The car cranks right up, and I got plenty of sleep last night. I simply didn’t go.

Instead, I communed with one of my closest friends—a woman I have not seen in two weeks due to our work and travel schedules—over breakfast. As we sprinkled black pepper on our eggs, we talked about what’s been happening in our lives. From family concerns to professional matters, we mapped out plans for tackling our most pressing goals. While we buttered our sourdough (me) and wheat toast (her), we made one another laugh. In the end, we had both managed to forgive someone we think wronged us and to release a few worries that we need not be bothered by. We acknowledged those people we are remembering in prayer. By the time the waitress brought us the check, we had listed several people and experiences for which we are grateful, and acknowledged a couple of our shortcomings that we want to be mindful of as we go about our day-to-day lives this week.

I dare say we both left the table feeling better. So maybe it was a lot like church after all: two pilgrims gathered together in search of spiritual sustenance.

Amy Lyles Wilson