I wrote this for The Table's blog and thought I would share it here as well. It captures our life at this moment in time!
With three children some Sundays, no, MOST Sundays, it would be
easier to stay at home than go to church. Being married to the pastor
who needs to be at church early, it has become my responsibility to
gather the brood and get them out the door on time, usually while
juggling a hot dish. He always graciously asks if there is anything he
can do before he leaves. A helpful question, but so much changes in a
mere 30-40 minutes.
Inevitably about 10 minutes before we need to leave, a baby needs to
eat. Nursing has become cue for total mayhem from the other children. Just how much can we get away with while mom has a baby attached to her?
Now it is time to go and shoes that were on are off. One kid is digging
in the pantry looking for something to eat and the other kid is in the
middle of something very important and cannot think about getting her
shoes on until it is finished. Then I start getting impatient because I
like to be on time and then my voice gets a little louder and a little
less kind. Please, get your shoes on.
Meanwhile I am loading a crying baby in a car seat and getting the food ready. The dialogue goes something like this:
I asked you to get your shoes on. No, you can’t go in your
flip-flops, it is winter. Here put this coat on. Well, you need a coat,
it’s cold. Sure you can bring that giant stuffed animal to church, you
just have to share it.
Baby is still crying and then another kid starts whining about
something and the other kid has disappeared to do Lord knows what.
Church starts in 5 minutes and I forgot to change my shirt that has spit
up all over it. This is the point in the Sunday when I am tempted to
throw in a Veggie Tales DVD and call it church, because as many parents
of young children know, in reality, I will probably get more out of it.
Getting out the door to go to church is really only half the battle.
Once at church my children run around and fight with each other or fall
down from running around making it almost impossible to start and finish
a conversation with another adult. My husband begins the service and I
herd my small children close to my side so we can worship the Lord
together. Holding my baby, I try to keep my toddler from running away
to play with the toys and my kindergartner from distracting everyone by
her beautiful interpretive dancing that somehow more closely resembles a
back-up dancer at a Beyonce concert. I close my eyes for a moment to
worship only to open them again and see a child either talking to a
friend (loudly) or balancing from a chair. I am attempting to perfect
the purposeful “stop-what-you-are-doing-right-now” look, but it does not
faze my children.
I am exhausted just writing about our typical Sunday. But, you know,
when I get home on Sunday evening with sugar high kids, (they always ask
for another cookie when I am immersed in a conversation and I nod to
get them to stop interrupting) I never regret going to church.
Despite unfinished conversations, distracted worship and missed sermons,
something happens at church. God shows up. Not in a profound “slain in
the spirit” way, He’s just there in the room full of people who love
Jesus and are striving to live for Him. It is so good for me to be part
of something bigger than myself, to remember that this life is not lived
in vain, to remember I am not alone. I want my children to experience
this, to learn that they are part of something huge and beautiful and
messy and even as children they are invited to participate. And although
it would be easier and more convenient most days, we cannot get this
from a Veggie Tales DVD. So, again on Sunday, we will head out the door
with mismatched socks, spit-up stained shirts, curse words on the tip of
my tongue because at the end of the day it is completely worth it.
