Yesterday morning, by the time my alarm went off, I was already trying to justify calling a sick day and skipping church. William hadn’t slept well, due to a bit of stuffiness, and I was exhausted.
But roll out of bed, I did, and I got to work preparing myself and the boys for church. This all takes a bit longer, as we’re still very, very far from settled into a working organizational system. Actually, that makes it sound much better than it really is: barely contained chaos. In fact, I look around and am amazed that I’m not totally freaking out. I’m thinking maybe that has to do with this meditation. (When I wrote that, I wasn’t thinking that this season of craziness would extend into April and include sheetrock dust and paint fumes, but God knew!)
The big goal is to be at church at 10:00, so we can enjoy a bit of visiting before the service begins at 10:30. At 9:55, Ryan is looking for something and can’t seem to find it. Five minutes later, he really can’t find it. Okay, strap the kids into the car so we can check my parents’ house.
It’s 10:15 as we leave our driveway.
And no luck at my parents’.
Back to our house.
Give up, and Ryan decides to just drop me off with the kids, and he’ll resume his search.
10:27, we’re heading to church (which is, fortunately, a mile down the road.)
Did I mention that I hate being late? Than I wake up very early on Sunday mornings, just to avoid being late? That I had put in four hours of work, and was still going to get to church late?
I said as much to Ryan in a wry voice, and he laughed a bit, too.
“Good thing ‘being a Christian is about more than just Sunday morning church’,” I said, still a bit sarcastic.
But the Holy Spirit jumped on that thought. “It sure is, isn’t it?,” He whispered, and suddenly, suddenly I knew that my four hours of ironing and bathing and looking and finding and bed-making and cereal-pouring and tidying was not in vain, and that getting to church at 10 was so far down the priority list, really. The [somewhat miraculous] fact that I’d done all of that with a smile and joy and servant’s heart — well, that counts as important. I mean, really: does church count as a powerful Jesus encounter for my family if it’s preceded by four hours of Mean Mom? And is Jesus any less present in my conversations about how important the Lord is to me as I put on socks, buckle sandals, then He is in the 20 minutes of congregational worship?
Isn’t it great that being a Christian is so much more than getting to church spit-shined and on time?
I think so.
(Of course, we’re aiming at 10:00 next week. Wish me luck! Ha!)