Then it begins. The worship service starts and the boys start fighting over the toys in the busy bags. Matthew has a race car and Sam doesn't. Sam has a train and Matthew doesn't. There is some screaming. We get some "looks" from some people around us. Jason or I "hush" as loud as we can, in that forced quietness that parents use so often. I tell them to take turns, Jason tries to distract one with a different toy or a book. They are quiet for awhile. Then Sam wants to "sit" on my lap. So he does that for a few moments, then he starts laying down on my lap while I try to force him upright. Then he accidentally kicks Matthew as he's trying to lie down/get up while he feet and legs flail around. Matthew throws his head back and cries in typical fashion and tears start immediately rolling down his cheeks. Jason grabs Matthew and consoles him. We are at the scripture readings now. I have no idea what went on before.
Matthew is again happy and ready to explore his bag. He starts laughing wildly at something, we don't know what. Sam starts laughing too. Then one of them throws a toy at the other. Again, there is some more hushing, crying, consoling.
Then it's the children's message. This is Matthew's time to shine. Jason or I go with the boys up front as they won't (and shouldn't) go up alone. They are both happy and excited. Jason or I are not happy or excited, rather we are anxious and worried about what will come next. Last week I wore pants so it was my turn to go up with the kids. We sat in the front of the church, the boys were next to each other and I was to their right. As soon as we sat down Matthew started to make loud sputtering noises. What on earth? I hush again and he laughs. Then Matthew bear hugs Sam, almost like a seated tackle and starts to take him down. Both are laughing. I try to separate them and tell them to sit still and listen. The pastor interrupts his message to tell the kids (my kids) to listen to their mommy. Ugh. That's embarrassing. I grab Sam as he is the closest to me and put him on my lap and bear hug him while he flails about. I am unable to grab Matthew as he's too far away so I hope for the best. He inches away, then lunges forward and pulls at Sam's arms. They both laugh. I hush and struggle to restrain Sam and hope Matthew just doesn't start running around up front. Finally it's the prayer, then time to go back to the seats. I don't look at anyone as we return, rather I keep my eyes down.
The rest of the service is more of the same except that Sam announces he has to potty and go poopy. Jason rushes him out and I flip through a book with Matthew. Then it's over. I don't know what the sermon was about. I don't know what songs we sang. All I know is that I'm exhausted, embarrassed, sweaty, disheveled and well, pretty humiliated. Any sense of pride that I felt going into church is completely gone and I've been put into my place. All sorts of thought go through my mind. "Someone is going to die." "Why can't they be more like so and so's kids?" "They are not getting to watch any TV today. No, no TV ever! No more cars! Banned to their rooms! No snacks!" "What am I doing wrong?" We walk out of church, but the antics are not done yet. On occasion, Matthew, the little offensive lineman, tries to push his way out. Once we get to the pastor at the door, he shuns the handshake and throws him a glare. Well, that ends it. While I may not have gotten much out of the sermon, I am certainly more aware of my own sinfulness (and my children's) than I was before. Just look at my thoughts. Yep. I need a Savior. I need grace, mercy, patience. All of the above. Because I certainly am not good enough to make it to heaven based on my own merit (or parenting skills).
"Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" Romans 7:24-25
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