BANG! BANG! BANG!
“MOMMY I UP!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"MOMMY I WANT OUT!”
My head exploded with noise as I fell out of bed. Glancing up at the clock, I fumbled to make my way out of the room. A blurry red 5:50 a.m. beamed back at me, haunting my muddled brain. You’ve got to be kidding me child! I hurriedly opened my daughter’s door hushing her, hoping she hadn’t already awoken her brother, who I had barely coaxed back to sleep 50 min before.
“Mommy I up!” My daughter exclaimed again, fearing I would put her back to bed.
“I know, but you don’t bang on your door,” I sternly whispered, ushering her to the living room where we could talk.
I instinctively reached for a banana on our way. My mind raced through everything I needed to do before church, all while trying desperately to wake up after a short six two-hour-increment, interrupted sleep. Getting my daughter set up with “Super Why” and her banana, I grabbed my Bible and journal and headed for the other room. I scarcely sat down and opened my Bible when I heard brother set up a wail from his room, exclaiming that I’d forgotten him. I let my tired head fall to the table, wishing I could go back to bed and sleep. Grudging myself up, willing my feet to move, I made my way towards the cries. Walking into his room I saw his little seven-month-old face break into relief as I reached to pick him up. Carrying him to his changing table I “quickly” fought to change his diaper, then kissed his adorable little face. Gathering him in my arms, I headed back out to the dining room.
Sitting him down on the floor, I tried to do my quite times. I had just finished reading when my son set up another wail from banging his head against a chair, getting stuck underneath. I stood up to move him to a different spot, but he immediately started crying again. Carrying him back to my chair I sat down to feed him. He curiously, kicked my journal and Bible onto the floor as I let out a moan. After he finished, I released him back to the floor while picking up my Bible and journal. I opened my prayer journal wondering how I was ever going to get through the day. Half way through journaling, my daughter walked in, without her diaper, announcing, “mommy I peed.” I merely stared at her for a minute-feeling-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me-second before pointing her off to the bathroom telling her I’d take care of it and would come get her in a little bit. I stared back down at my prayer wondering what was even the point today. Picking up my pen, I decided to finish, before going to take care of the mess that was awaiting me.
Setting aside my Bible and journal I went and grabbed our spot cleaning carpet cleaner and headed back to the living room for my daughter to show me where she peed.
After putting away the cleaning supplies, I looked at the clock realizing it was already 7:30 and I hadn’t even started breakfast yet. Well I guess pancakes are out for this morning, I thought, as I stared at the kitchen, counters covered with forgotten dishes from the night before. Maybe I’ll just make shakes, toast and eggs. I opened the freezer to pull out our strawberries and chia seeds when my daughter bursted into kitchen crying out “I wanna help!”
“Just wait a second while I get everything set up and then you can help,” I responded, while putting the items on the counter.
“Ok!” My daughter happily replied while running to grab her stool from beside the washer. I went back to the freezer grabbing more things when I heard my daughter try and scoot the stool out on her own.
“Mommy I need help!”
“I said to wait a second!” I groaned, putting the items I had just grabbed down and helping my daughter with the stool, which was about ready to topple her.
Breakfast finally made, I told my daughter to go get her daddy up so we could eat. Putting the shakes on the table and going back to grab the toast, I realized I totally forgot about my eggs. I looked over at the stove to find hard pale eggs staring deadly back at me. I grumbled under my breath, wanting to let out a cry, but put the eggs on the table anyways. Grabbing my son off the floor, I buckled him into his chair. I looked over to see my daughter already sitting in her spot.
“I hungry mommy.” My daughter whined while trying to reach for the closest thing on the table.
“No, be patient! We have to wait for daddy and then we can eat.” I said, while irritably looking down the hallway for my husband.
After waiting a few more minutes, I walked down the hall to find my husband still sleeping. Short-tempered, I again told him that breakfast was ready, if he would like to join us. Marching back down the hall, I started getting the kid’s breakfast on their plates.
A couple minutes later, my tired husband staggered into the room and sat down. We prayed and started eating. By the end of breakfast, both my husband and I were grumpy and getting on each other’s tired nerves. I agreed to let him hop in the shower first to wake up, while I cleaned up breakfast and picked out the kids’ clothes.
With my husband out of the shower, I hopped in and both kids ended up charging in with me. Tripping my way over two extra obstacles, we finally get everyone clean and I banged on the wall signalling for daddy to come get the kids.
It didn’t take long for my son to set up a holler, bawling his eyes out, refusing to do anything for daddy as he gently tried to dress him, announcing he wanted mom and it was time for a nap.
I glared at the clock as it told me I only had 30 minutes before we had to be leaving and I still had to figure out what to wear, get ready, and now determine what to do with my tired son. I hurried to throw on some clothes and went to rescue my husband from my extremely distressed baby.
I decided to go ahead and dress my son for church before sitting down to feed him. After about five minutes of wrestling with him to get clothes on, I finally had my unhappy baby dressed and ready to eat. I sat down and tried to put him to sleep which almost worked, until my daughter burst into the room, exclaiming in her whiny voice, that “daddy said be quite!” I glared at her, snapping my fingers and sternly pointed for her to leave. It was too late though, as her brother had already popped his head up wide awake, wanting to see sissy. I groaned and set him, somewhat happier, on the floor. Ten minutes before we needed to be out the door, I hurried to go finish getting ready.
Halfway through putting on some sort of makeup, I heard my husband tell our daughter to “go to mommy, she does your hair better.” Wanting to explode inside, I decided that my makeup would just have to wait. I picked up my daughter and “quickly” brushed her hair into a ponytail. Finally conquering a lopsided victory, I called out to my husband that he could go ahead and get the kids in the car, I would be there in a minute. Looking in the mirror I realized that my outfit made me look like a bloated hippo and scanned my closet for something different. Three to four outfits later, my husband came in annoyed, saying he had the kids in the car, like I asked. Then, noticing I was throwing clothes everywhere commented that he thought I looked fine in what I had been wearing.
“Ok, ok. Thank you," I said, ignoring the mess that just blew up in our bedroom, "I’ll be there in just a second. Did you grab the diaper bag and bibles?” I threw back on the outfit I had started with, then ran to the car flicking off lights on my way out the door. “Ugh! We’re going to be late,” I complained, as I slammed the door.
"It's ok," my husband tried to reassure, "we'll still make it."
So what’s the point?
We’ve all been there. Sunday can seem like the hardest day to actually get up and go. Chaos and frustration always seem to pile up a mile high, more than any other day. So why, when everything seems to go wrong on Sunday, would we still try and go to church every week?
You may have a different list, but this is mine:
Occasionally, my introverted side likes to argue with this one. For the most part though, I love going to church for the people and friends. Catching up and sharing life with others can be such a wonderful thing. There’s nothing like being around a group of people who love Jesus and want to work together to share His love and truth.
I enjoy learning about God and His Word. A lot of times, something the pastor says, reaffirms what I have been reading in my own quite times, driving the point home a little harder. The sermon my make me think about a new area of my life that I need to work on, or will remind me of something that I haven’t thought about in a while. Some Sundays, it’s a song that hits on the exact struggles I’m going through that week and helps pull my eyes to Christ.
Freedom from Kids
I will be honest, some weeks, the reason I drag myself to church in the morning is just to stick my kids in nursery and have a break for an hour. As much as I love my kids to death, it’s amazing how fast their little winey, crying voices can wear me down. As a stay at home mom, that short, sometimes long, hour at church can be so refreshing just to be around and observe other adults without having my kids mauling me every second.
It’s a thrill helping out in the church. Yes, it can be tiring and overwhelming at times (ok, many times). Yes, some days, I would rather sit in the service rather than help out in children’s church. Yes, sometimes, I don’t want to be responsible for anything. In the end, though, I never feel as connected to a church than when I’m helping it function the way it should. It’s kind of like when you let your kids make their own lunch and they end up enjoying it and actually eating it. The more you serve in a church the more sense of belonging and “ownership” you have in the church. You get more excited about what’s going on and end up learning more than when you are just on the sidelines watching.
I have to be honest, I have been hurt and burned by “the church” before. It’s not a fun experience and can really keep you from wanting to go back. Let’s face it, though, the people who make up the church are human, selfish, rotten sinners, all in need of a savior. The beauty of a healthy church, that’s trying to live and breathe the love of Christ, is even amongst the hurts and frustrations, there is also a steady flow of encouragement. Being able to pray and talk with other people who have made some of the same mistakes you have and yet have lived to tell how God’s grace and power have overcome their weaknesses is amazing! Being surrounded by people who accept you for who you are and are willing to love you despite your obvious faults is a breath of fresh air. Although, that’s what the church is supposed to be, actually finding one like that can be a challenge. More often than not, one finds stiff-necked, arrogant, judgmental people who will stick their nose up at you for not acting or doing the things that they do. Those are some of the times when you go, not to be encouraged, but to be an encouragement to others.
Like what you read? Want others to be encouraged too? Please share.
Melody, a proud mother of three beautiful, adventurous children and the wife of one very loving and caring husband. Molded, daily, by the Maker of the Universe and longing to become more like Him.