In which we dedicate

Growing up in a religion that baptized babies, I always questioned part of it. I always thought (and still do) that it was a beautiful and well-meaning ritual, but the reasons behind it always left me unsettled. I proudly serve as a godmother for a cousin and a niece, but the baptisms themselves stirred up thoughts that left me feeling guilty for questioning my religion.

When L was born, I put off baptism for a while, but after needling from some relatives, I gave in and had him baptized.

Well. Kind of.

Instead of in the church in which I was raised, I had L baptized in a park, under a tree, by a minister of a different religion. I did it in a way that was a bit more personal, but to be honest, the baptism was done out of duty. I don't regret it...the ceremony was beautiful and perfect for us, and we asked my cousin and her husband, who we adore, to be his godparents.

Fast forward to a few months after G was born, and I was left struggling with the decision again. About that time, we started attending our new church, where we learned of a new outlook on baptism....baptizing those who were old enough to make the decision. They had a dedication ceremony for children instead;a public promise that we'd bring our boys up to know God, and the church family promised to assist us in doing so.

We attended a class, in which our questions about infant baptism were answered with responses that made us feel comfortable, and felt right in our hearts.

Last weekend, we took part in the ceremony and it exceeded our expectations.

As we stood in the lobby and heard the band start the opening song, I was shaking as I thought of our family members who came to the ceremony that were of different religions. I was sure that the drums alone would send B's grandmother straight into a stroke. (Little did I know Grandma was getting down to the tunes.)

After the first song, the families processed into the church, standing in front of the congregation. Our children were introduced by name. I was already so overwhelmed that I don't remember hearing any children's names but my own.

Our pastor came to greet each of us.

He then spoke on what dedication means, on what we were promising to do, and how the congregation was being asked to help us. Although kids were screaming, running around, and the chaos was only somewhat controlled, I felt the holy moment that was promised to us in our class.

We listened as well as we could (and said a silent prayer that for once, our boys were the least out-of-control children somewhere).

The pastor explained that things were about to get very messy and very spiritual and indeed, they did. The congregation came up to speak with us, to pray with us, to love us. Tears pricked my eyes as my coworker embraced me, as a less spiritual family member locked eyes with me and nodded, as church members put their hands on our shoulders and prayed with us.

My best friend, who I sat next to each week at church growing up, now attends a church that is extremely similar to my own. She came to support us even though she is extremely pregnant, and it meant the world to me that she did so.

After the service, I knew that I was blessed to have gone through this experience. I knew that it was what was right for our family, and I am beyond grateful to have a church full of people helping us teach our children to know God.

And a family who, even though they may not fully agree with us, is willing to respect our decision.

And B's grandma? She came through with flying colors. I should have worried that I would be the one to stroke out, because I was absolutely shocked when I heard what she said to B after the ceremony. She explained that she loves her religion, but she prays a Novena every night that her grandchildren simply find a church that they love and that her great-grandchildren get to know God.

Like I said...everything I hoped for, and more.

Thanks to my friend Elizabeth for the gift of these photos. I wish I could express my gratitude clearly enough.

You rock, sister.