I Feel the Need To Call My Mother Daily To Apologize

When I was a child, we went to church.  Not one of those big, fun churches… those are the ones with the drums and the worship music and not the hymns and stuff.  No, I was raised Episcopalian, which, if you are unsure of what an Episcopalian is, it’s really a lazy Catholic.

And we didn’t see drinking as a sin.  Like the big joke was that “when 2 or 3 were gathered you’d find a 5th.”

Heh.

But not a fun church.  (And did you know there’s a church in Mississippi that they’ve nicknamed Six Flags Over Jesus?  I know why now.  It was just like getting in and out of an amusement park on a Sunday morning.  WAY TOO BIG for little ol’ Heather.)

Anywho.  Church was boring.  So I sat next to my dad because that made things interesting.  We would snicker at the old women who sang at the top of their lungs and couldn’t really sing.  We would push each other or joke around or draw funny pictures.

We attempted to do this quietly because if my mother caught us, we were in trouble.  It happened often, her catching us, because me and my dad?

We’re just fun people.

I wasn’t aware at the time that perhaps my mom really wanted to hear what was being said or enjoy the worship experience.  Never crossed my mind in the least.

Until Sunday.

I was in the Jesus zone Sunday morning.  I can’t explain it.  I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs.  I wanted to praise.  I wanted to worship.  I wanted to take it all in but the three oldest children (read: the boy, matthew and samara) were making it INSANELY difficult.

They were poking.  They were laughing.  They were pulling fingers during prayer time and when I looked down at Samara with my stern face and gruff voice and growled in a loud whisper, “we’re praying”, she looked at me hurt, and then stated it was the boys fault.

He owned up to it.

That wasn’t the first time that I had to say anything to them.

I had reached the point to where I was ready to move.  I was ready to go and sit by myself.  And I probably would’ve but I didn’t want the entire congregation to know that I couldn’t control the children in my row.

I was so mad.  But I tried to shake it off.  I went to the alter, which is the norm for me, during prayer time and I just prayed to Him that they would “get it”… if at no other time than that one hour on Sunday mornings.  Here of late, I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle with some of them when it comes to our faith and spirituality.

After communion, I headed back to my seat.  A wave of bitterness and resentment came over me and so on my way back to my seat I stopped again at the altar after giving one of the ladies who I adore a big hug.

I was working hard at getting over this anger and resentment when I felt a little body wiggling next to me.  I glanced over and there were the girls…

A few minutes later, the boy was on my left and when I looked past him, I saw the boys.

I broke down in tears.

There we were.  The whole family at the altar.

It was as if God was saying that I need not worry and this was His way of showing me that they might be goofing off in church but they were getting it…

After church and very dear friend of mine said that the picture of all of us at the altar had been etched in to her mind and how beautiful it was.  She said it was definately a Kodak moment and you know what?  It was.

It’s never happened before and I don’t expect it to happen in the near future.  But yesterday?

God knew exactly what I needed and stirred the hearts of five other people to give it to me.

And that?

Totally cool.

Until next time…