It Was One of Those Sundays. . .

So yesterday I took the kids to church by myself because Alex wasn't feeling well. Usually when I'm by myself at church with the kids they are pretty well-behaved, sometimes even better than when Alex is there. But this was not one of those times. I made the mistake of letting Lance pick the seat. He chose the long middle bench, second from the front. Not that I mind the front, it's just easier to corral the kids if we are on a short bench. Also, Lacey hadn't come in with us because she had a boo-boo on her heel and just couldn't walk all that way. Then the freedom of a long bench was too much for an 18-month-old to resist. About two minutes into the first talk I had to leave with Lia because she was screaming because I wouldn't let her walk on the bench. We went out into the hall where I expected to find Lacey. Well she was wandering around the church--shoeless. Then Luke followed me out and he and Lacey proceeded to run through the semi-empty halls. We took a little break in the nursery, but about 15 minutes until the end of the meeting I said, "I came here to listen so we are going back in and you all had better be good." Yeah, right. We didn't make it another two minutes before we had to leave again. This time I was mad. I was mad at the kids for not being quiet. Mad at Lance for picking the front. And mad at Alex for not being there. I was "this close" to dishing out a helping of "butt-whoopin' soup" (as Alex likes to say) right there in the church.

When the meeting was finally over I was trying to gather up the remnants of our time there--fruit snack wrappers, crayons, paper, shoes--when the man who had been the last speaker (I didn't catch his name because we were out in the hall) tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I want to tell you that you are my hero. I watched you the whole time and I thought "How does she do it?" You really did a great job with those kids. I know it's not easy, but your children will be the recipient of your faith." By then I was sobbing, partly out of guilt for thoughts which had they been acted upon would have resulted in a meeting with child protective services, and partly because his words were so sympathetic and just what I needed to hear at that moment. I could only blubber out "Thank you. . . thank you."+


So the lessons I learned were if you see someone struggling with rowdy children in church, offering kind words might be the best thing you can do. and don't let your seven-year-old pick where you sit in church. :)