The Church of the Holy Endorphins, Northern CA Parish

When I was growing up, our Sunday ritual revolved around the morning Eucharist at St. John’s Episcopal Church, two blocks from our house. I wore my red leather Mary Janes on special occasions, and counted the big hats on Easter Sunday, but most of my time was spent sitting at my parents’ feet, drawing on the weekly program with one of the many pens that my father always carried in his suit, perhaps for this specific purpose. After church there was coffee hour in the Parish Hall, which was only memorable to me in that when I was three, I walked into a stray cigarette that was about toddler cheek height. I actually don’t remember the event, just the cigarette shaped slight crater in my cheek today that always reminds me of church.

Aaaannnyyyywhoo.

We had a core social group of a few other couples and their kids: The Cordes’, the Stewarts, and the Bradleys. We spent many holidays together over the years; in addition to the religious connection, we found a social network for our family.

I think about church a lot now that I’m a parent, as well as ritual, especially now that the holiday season is beginning. While Josh is Jewish, from what I gather he did not have similar formal traditions and rituals to what I experienced growing up. That was one thing that was so appealing about him, that holidays were not so dependent on having a specific ritual. Sometimes rituals can be tiring, and for a while, I wanted a break.

Parenting has brought out some of the ritual in me. At this time, we’ve decided to forgo formal religious institutions, but we do have a weekend tradition. Every Saturday morning (barring illness, morning sickness, or pre-relative cleaning frenzies), we load up the car and drive to a local park, where we attend Stroller Strides, our “mom & baby” (and dads) fitness class.

We don’t wear the big hats and Mary Janes of my childhood, but I do make sure to have my trusty visor to shield against the sun, and a solid pair of running shoes.

We don’t have hymns, but we do sing songs to help us through the prayer of resistance bands: “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

We don’t have the blood or body of Christ, but we do have sweat pouring down our bodies, and G2 and granola bars to re-fuel after class.

We don’t have the coffee hour in the parish hall, but we do have abs and stretching by the playground as our kids get their own workout after spending an hour in their strollers.

We don’t have the Christmas Pageant, or Palm Sunday, or an Easter Egg Hunt, but we do have holiday themed circuit training (tomorrow is the Halloween class, so we'll be doing pumpkin squats or something like that)

Stroller Strides, much like church, has gotten me through some big fears. Fear of exercising in front of people (SS is at a park that is usually filled with our future fellow parishioners, “Temple of the Saturday morning Soccer Match,”), fear of running, pushing through the nausea to find that exercise can help.

Last Saturday, we hosted a small pumpkin carving party, and as some of my fellow Stroller Striders and I chatted while our kids raced around our yard, covered in washable marker from decorating pumpkins and piling on top of one another into the hammock, I felt so happy and realized that for now, our quirky kind of church will do just fine.