Yesterday was one of those mornings where I am quite sure that the devil was
alive and lurking somewhere outside my front door in the star jasmine.
Let's just say, first off, that the Olympics are going to kill me.
Here is a psalm of lament about the Olympic viewing schedule:
Woe, unto you who do not own a dvr or whose children have lodged legos into
your vcr rendering it useless in the taping of late night world events.
Gnash your teeth and weep and wail.
For though you may feel joy in the night watching the Olympics,
anger comes in the morning. Along with grumpiness.
And a general puffiness in the eye area.
So needless to say, due to my late night Olympic viewing,
I was a bit on edge Sunday morning when I was getting the kids ready.
Because I was sleep deprived and all. Then the children where having shoe trouble.
Jack and Will were having trouble with their shoes because when I said,
"Put your shoes and socks on", they heard
"Play more with your Star Wars action heroes."
And then there was Addison whose newly purchased shoes had blistersed both heels.
It seems I bought them too small and he was not having them,
nor was he having the 12 pairs that I hauled out of the deep reaches of our storage shed.
He was hysterical. It was at this point that Scott called. And I said,
"Do you hear this? All the craziness?"
To which he was very compassionate and said he was sorry.
He ventured to ask if I could bring the recorder with me when I came to church.
To which I answered, "I am going to Tahiti."
(Because it is totally logical to entertain thoughts of tropical islands when all
hades is breaking loose in your living room.)
So with a lot of crankiness and sharpness of tone, I loaded the 3 boys into the car.
We made a Payless Shoes stop on the way to church, lest my child show up barefoot.
We made it to the theater a few minutes before the service started.
It was when I went to leave my children to go into the service that Will
and Addison decided to have simultaneous nervous break downs.
They had to be held as I walked into the service so they couldn't break free
and cling to my legs.
I was able to stay in the service due to the heartiness of the teachers
in the face of my weeping children.
Let's pause for a psalm of blessing in regards to Sunday School teachers:
Blessed are those (Nicki and Glen) who clutch other people's sobbing children
so that people can flee to the sanctuary (movie theater) therein.
Blessed are those (Glen and Paula) who watch other people's children
and teach them the ways of the Lord even when other people's children
are wailing and lashing out.
Blessed are those (Glen) who turn the worship music up loud so the hysteria of other
people's children can't be heard in the main service so that people can pretend their children are fine and sing worship songs and listen to the message.
Blessed are those (Paula) who understand when other people's children are worn out and let them nap until the service is over.
And so goes another Sunday. And though it may be difficult to believe,
being in the service soothed my troubled Sunday morning spirit.
And I believe the Lord was there, in spite of blisters and nervous breakdowns.
Sundays never seem to look like or feel like or turn out like I want them to but
somehow amidst the chaos and the tears, with the help of good friends and helpful
Payless shoes employees, he meets me in these wild moments.
Even when I'm not in Tahiti.