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.
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 . . .
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:
