Surviving Sunday

Church. A simple word, and yet one that strikes fear into the heart of most mothers with toddlers. Can't relate? Allow me to expand on this topic...

The morning was cold and gray, the sun not yet up, and yet it was that my son decided to begin his morning "scream fest" at 6:30am. Mentally gathering the strength to survive "Sunday at the Spooners" I rolled out of bed to begin our daily rituals. Having read about the routine of the day in my previous posts, I will spare you the gory details. However, let it be known that doing even menial tasks in the early morning seems nearly impossibly. I try to fit in a shower, dress the kids, feed the kids, change the kids, all in a timely manner. And before we know it, it is 9:30 and time to begin our trek. Getting Caleb dressed and ready to go, I shoo him out to the porch so that I can get Selah strapped up in peace. So far so good. Gathering our many armloads of baby gear, we finally trek out the door, ready for whatever the day throws at us. It was then that I discovered that all of our shoes, I mean ALL of them, had been eloquently thrown off the porch by my adoring son. Sighing, with Selah in the carrier, I try akwardly to bend down and retrieve the mess before the neighbors start "talking" about the appalling state of our front lawn. Getting this task over with, we began the tedious walk to church. Of course, with Caleb's new found walking capabilities, it took us nearly half an hour of investigating every blade of grass, pebble, etc. and of course, stopping to announce that we had heard a car or seen a bird. Sigh... patience anyone? Finally arriving at our destination, we manage to find a way into the building and are bombarded with the welcoming joy of our little church. Feeling the effects of the morning, we find a place to sit and out comes the food to keep caleb relatively quiet...

It didn't take long for his "joyous singing" to cause us to leave to go to the nursery. And here I stayed throughout the rest of the service. Being right in the midst of nap time, I desperately try to keep two screaming kids happy in the tiny room at the back, counting down the minutes until we can leave again. Sound familiar? Finally, we hear the last song being sung, and I packed up the kids, rushing to the door before it got too crowded and I couldn't make it through. And that, my friends, is my weekly church experience. Each week I am left wondering why I braved it to go out at all. I don't hear the sermon, I don't get to participate in fellowship, the only plus side is that it gets us out of the house and the kids sleep better for me in the afternoon. Kind of sad isn't it???? Despite my lack of participation in the service however, I can't help but feel a little bit refreshed. Did I say refreshed???? After that fiasco? Yes, I come home feeling a little bit of the presence of God. And lately I feel as though he has been telling me that he will honor my committment to come each week. And even if I don't feel like it is worth it, God blesses me anyways. So there it is, my reason for going each week. God is so good to us and the few weeks I feel that "it isn't worth it" are the weeks that I feel depressed and lonely sitting in my little house as I watch the smiling faces walking to church.

So, we will go. Braving weather, thrown shoes, and screaming kids... if only for a taste of the presence of God we will go. And one day, when my kids are a bit older, or we go to a church where there is a nursery... I will have the opportunity to worship alongside a congregation of believers once again.