Gotta Love Her

I love this girl.

How

can

I

not

?

She

made her own

mud.

While

the 8 and 9

year olds were

having a spa day in my living room

for her sister's birthday slumber party.

Guess she decided to do

some mud treatments.

So imagine

my feeling walking into church

yesterday morning with this child

to see that we were having communion.

Somehow I missed the memo.

Lately I miss alot at church.

I like to prepare myself and my kids for communion . . .

before we get to church.

Especially this one

so she gets a tiny glimpse of the significance . . .

But she is silly and fun

in one moment

and impatient and determined in the the next.

So, she let me know as I am trying to whisper about

Jesus' death on the cross

for her sins and mine

that

"This is boring!"

and

"Your breath stinks!"

And I tell her to "Sit here with me."

And she says, "I'm going to the play room" and walks off,

while my friends and family sit behind me,

and it feels like they are watching

(even if they are not, but how could you not watch this spectacle)

as our pastor is leading this most

precious moment of rememberance.

And I am not thinking about the precious body and blood of my Savior

given and shed for me

even though I want to.

But for some reason . . .

it is hard to focus on it

with a girl who likes to stick her tongue out and make cross-eyed faces

for the fun of it.

As my mind is being pummeled in the pew

with thoughts of

"Can't you get it together?"

"Why don't you do a better job of teaching your child proper respect

of the Lord and others before you come to church?"

"If you had the proper perspective of the way to reverence

the Lord, perhaps you would teach your children better."

"Why do you even come to church? 

It's just a waste of time and a disturbance to those around you

when you can't control your child and teach her proper behavior."

Proper.

Proper.

Proper.

I

am

improper.

These are the thoughts going through my head at church

. . . these horrible parenting thoughts . . .

these thoughts of

"You can't control her in the church pew,

what is she going to be like in 10 years?

You

are

teaching

her

disrespect.

You

are

disrespectful.

You

are

a

disgrace."

This is all going on in my head

as

I am sitting there trying to prepare myself and family for communion.

And the trays come around

and she searches for the biggest piece of Wheat Thin.

And then the cups come

and I give to the other children in my row,

take one for myself

and he walks away

and

she is whiny-whispering, left-out faced, saying,

"I WANT ONE!"

I tell her,

"You can have mine."

She goes to eat her cracker

and I say, "Wait! We have to wait for pastor and everyone else."

We eat the cracker, to remember the body of Christ.
The church is so quiet
that the crunching of every cracker can be heard.
Which only reminds me how
easily heard our whispering back and forth probably is.

We hold on to the cup that, if spilled,

will stain the carpet of our church.

So I am holding a cup with a four-year-old that is testing me,

thinking Dr. James Dobson has a book for me,

wondering if he knows how to wash grape juice out of the church carpet.

Breifly . . . back of my mind . . . thoughts
Stain . . .
 grape-stains . . .  blood stains
Wash . . .
washed in the blood . . .
cleaned . . .

We drink the cup.

She says, "Can I have it?"

I say, "No. I'll hold it."

She says, "I want it."

My son gives her his.

She does exactly what I expect:

sticks her tongue in the cup and rolls it around inside

getting the last drops of grape juice

making a little slurpy sound as she does it.

Then I think,

"This is exactly why some churches don't allow children to take communion.

Am I defiling this most holy tradition?"

Do

I

laugh

or

cry?

Well,

in that moment at church,

the answer was

cry.

That afternoon, I could laugh.

Today I can laugh.

At church I am thinking,

"What is the point,

I should just take

my child and myself home

and have my own communion at home

because this is completely a

battle for control played out in front of half the church

and I am losing it."

I am sitting there in the pew

and start

thinking about these pictures

that I took of my girl in the mud.

This vibrant,

alive,

all-in,

kind of girl

that I love so much.

And wondering . . .

how do I do this, Lord?

What do you want me to do

here in this moment

that is so full of reverence and holiness and meaning

yet feels so messy and chaotic and sloppy and frustrating.

Childlike faith.

Climb up in His lap kind of faith.

Faith in a Man who gave his life.

For the frustrated.

For the sloppy.

For the chaotic.

For the messy.

For the broken.

For the one who can't keep it together in the church pew.

For the one whose mascara and nose are both running.

For the heart that hides insecurities.

For the heart that tries to push back fears.

For the one that feels condemnation.

For the one that cannot keep all the rules.

For the one that feels like a failure several times a day.

For the heart that says at last . . .

"I can't do this .

But here I am, Lord.

I need you.

In the big stuff

and in the every-Sunday-battle

in the pew

of a little country church

and the battles

of a little house

in day-to-day life."

And I am reminded that

life is not about painting a perfect picture

even in church where it feels so pressured to do so.

And perhaps my daughter will learn of Him

through this time of remembering.

And perhaps she will teach me that I am not a perfect and proper parent

who does not need a Savior,

but rather that I am imperfect and improper

and desperately needing my Savior.

And that I am never

in my own strength and performance

enough.

But He is.

And He makes up where I lack.

And He went to the cross for all of me.

And I know that I need it . . . need what He did.

And I receive the gift

of being enough

in

Him.

Hosanna.

Palm Sunday.

He enters Jerusalem on a donkey.

Wednesday, I will share the Easter story

of Jesus . . . his death and his resurrection

with preschoolers with Resurrection Eggs.

It will be messy,

chocolate stained chins,

chaotic, questions, and poking back and forth,

wiggles and squirmy kids

while I tell them about Jesus.

It will be imperfect.

And it will be a seed

planted in their heart

and mine

that He died and now lives

to wash away our stains

that are far deeper than

the chocolate eggs on our faces.

Clean us and give us new lives

to live

in

His grace.

Linking up with these great women of faith

Read their stories here:

Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood