The best part of returning to church so far has been that it’s offered an oasis of calm in our ridiculous lives. We wake up, we hectically prepare the kids for school, we work and work and work, we pick the kids up, we put them to bed, we work some more. Even this day, Valentine’s Day, my wife skipped church to continue a project. (We hired a babysitter for that afternoon, but not so we could go out for romantic dinner — so we could work.) Sometimes we get to play with our kids for a while. Sometimes we get to watch Lost. But church is one hour a week in which we don’t have to write or research or pitch or network or parent or do much of anything. One hour a week in which all we have to do is think.

One hour a week of sweet boredom. When I was a kid, time going slowly felt like torture. As a grown-up — as my days and weeks and years hurtle by — I find that one creeping hour feels like a gift.