Have A Little Faith In Me...

So, first off, I'm done with my little All Rufus, All the Time streak I've been on for the last couple of weeks or so.

Indeed, today, I'm writing about something that I've been hesitant about putting out there for the world (or, at least, the ten of you who read this), if only because I'm afraid that once I write about it, it will get picked apart and/or it won't be taken seriously. What can I say? I can be a bit insecure regarding certain things (who, me?!).

Anyway, here I go: In the course of two months, my spirituality has been restored. I know, it sounds überdramatic and I'm sure that most people will probably laugh it off, chalk it up to Hal, but it's true.

As always, let's take it back a bit (I swear...sometimes my blogs are like TV shows, where they go, like, "Previously...on 'Lost'").

If you recall, in an entry dating back to March 12 ("Shul Ties"), I wrote about how I had gone with a friend to Shul (synagogue) while I was staying for a weekend in Minneapolis. It was there that I was bitten by the religion bug, instilling within me a desire to get more spiritual. In spite of myself, I wanted to have my faith restored.

My biggest hurdle to overcome was pretty simple: Myself. In light of the fact that I have to work weekends at my job, I would work Saturdays and on Sundays, I go to my parents house to get my laundry done.

Here's the thing. All my life, I've avoided any type of change as if it were the plague. I hate change, the concept of New and Improved, Different. So, as you could imagine, the idea of nixing my three-year system of waking up at noon, shuttling my car a mile down the road at 12:30 (sorry, 12:35! Inside joke!) and spending the day with my parents was, well, less than desirable.

But in the last four months, I've been embracing the notion of change, any sort of deviation from systems. In fact, I try to avoid systems, patterns. I mean, yeah, I still have traditions like Friday Night Chinese with the folks or Wednesday night's dinner and a movie (or hitting the Quorum bar in Bellevue) with Christina, but I don't feel compelled to cook something every Tuesday for someone. I don't go to my parents' every single day and I no longer clean every Thursday (when do I clean??? Whenever it's dirty or messy. I just sort clean as I along),

Speaking of messy, my life is pretty disorderly, these days, but in a way that's fun, exciting and, for the first time (seriously...like, ever), spontaneous. There's a pleasant surprise around every corner and, instead of running in the opposite direction, I stop, throw my arms out (Think Tim Robbins in "The Shawshank Redemption") and let it hit me head-on.

But that's not what this entry is about. That's a topic that could take up at least, well, all future entries. It's too much, too broad a topic for one simple entry. It'd be like trying to shoehorn three villains into a two-and-a-half-hour movie (oh, wait...!!).

No, this entry is about my spirituality and faith in G-d being restored.

So, with the notion that Change is Good fixed firmly in my brain, I decided, with the new schedule bid at work, to revamp my weekend schedule, changing my days off from being Sundays and Mondays to Fridays and Saturday. Doing that, I had to make a bit of a compromise. In order to go to shul on Saturdays, I have to be into work on Sundays at 6 a.m. Now, I'll make this clear: waking up at 5 a.m. is not my favorite thing in the world to do. In fact, I pretty much despise and dread doing it every week. At the same time, though, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, because I know that it's for a good cause.

On Saturdays, I wake up at 9am (OK...9:15), put my suit on, grab my Tallis bag and I drive to Beth El synagogue. I go there and, no pun intended, I'm overcome with this heavenly feeling as soon as I sit down in that sanctuary. All of the drama I've faced during the previous week, all of the angst and sadness and whatever...for two or three hours, it just melts away. And the thing is, I'm not the best when it comes to reading Hebrew, I don't always know what it means when I'm reading it, but I do know this: I feel better leaving shul than I did upon entering it. It's a feeling of peace. It's like I'm given a fresh start to do better, to be better.

And I love the people that go to my synagogue.

At first, I was really nervous about how people would react to me just, ya know, showing up. I was afraid that the they would look down upon me for not having been there for so long or that they would look at me and think, IMPOSTOR!!! Another fear is that I would totally do something "wrong" or "incorrect" and I would get yelled at. Hey, those were the fears I had, founded or unfounded.

Luckily for me, all of my fears were for naught. Everyone has really embraced my presence. It was so funny. The third Saturday I was there, a luncheon was held and I was invited to sit with an old doctor of mine and his wife. I'm sitting there and this sweet old lady sitting across from me, after we're introduced, says to me: "I've seen you here the last couple of weeks or so." I was really taken aback. I replied, "Seriously? In all of these people, you noticed me?" The doctor looks at me and says, very matter-of-fact, "people notice."

Apparently.

Since that day, I've really tried to plunge myself head-first into the congregation, introducing myself, putting names with faces, sitting down with them, talking with them. It's so nice. All this time, I've been denying myself this wholly fulfilling--spiritually and socially--experience of going to shul and just embracing my Judaism. I love it. In fact, I'm thinking about joining the Rabbi's class, so I can learn more about my religion or, at the very least, refresh my knowledge.

It's so funny. The moment I realized that my faith, my belief in G-d was truly restored, I was giving love advice to a friend. I said to them, "There's a reason why you got together in the first place and there's a reason why you broke up. If you're meant to be together, then you'll be together. G-d has a plan."

I couldn't believe I had said it. Two years ago, if anyone had told me that, I would have punched them in the mouth or, at least, the ear. But there it was, natural and unforced.

I couldn't help but smile.

And the thing is, I'm not going to say I'm this SuperJew. I'm not. Far from it. At this point, I probably haven't even skimmed the surface yet. But you've got to start somewhere.

My main fear is that, like so many other things in my life, it will turn out to be a passing phase and, on one Saturday morning, I won't hop out of bed like I've been doing, these last two months. I'm afraid that I'll think to myself, Eh...what's the point?
And I'll be honest...it's happened before. There's always the potential for it to happen again.

But as a certain pop mega star once sang...

Yes I've gotta have faith...
Mmm, I gotta have faith
'Cause I gotta have faith, faith, faith,
Mm 'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith