You’ve all read my previous descriptions of how much Miss 2 loves church. She has without a doubt been my most challenging little church-goer. I dream of reverence, she dreams of running unfettered up and down the pew, singing, eating fruit snacks, and raising a ruckus.
Pretty much every Sunday she meets her goal and I don’t.
It isn’t always easy being a mom at church. You tend to spend your time whisper reading picture books, walking the halls, or locked away in the “mother’s room” nursing a baby. You want to ponder the scriptures, listen to what is said, and grow closer to God, but it doesn’t always happen. It is a time when you show your devotion, simply through your attendance. It is a test of faith just to get all those little bodies, as well as your own, into the chapel in some semblance of presentability.
On the rare occasion, I am left without a child in my arms or on my lap, only to discover that I am too fidgety or too comatose to make the most of the moment.
There are times, however, when you can see the silver lining in the cloud of naughtiness on your pew.
Last week, as I rocked Tiny Baby who was trying to climb me like a tree, gave the evil eye to Miss 5 so she would stop tickling Miss 6, and spotted yet another hole in one of Miss 8’s tights, a shining silver gleam of hope appeared.
It came, unexpectedly, from Miss 2.
She actually paused mid-rampage through the diaper bag, looked up at the man who was speaking, and said. . . . (drum roll please). . . . .
“He says we should pray.”
(cue the choirs of heavenly angels and my grateful weeping)
Glory be! Instead of pleading for liberation, she actually listened in church. A cute, tiny little two-year-old seed of faith was planted! Dare I go so far as to hope this could possibly be a teeny, tiny, churchly turning point?
Can it be that my motherly struggles to make it through each Sunday will be worth it in the long run?
I hold this moment up as a shining beacon to all moms of little ones, who spend your Sundays wondering why you ever got out of bed, and if you’ll be able to make yourself do it again next Sunday.
There is hope, my friends. There. Is. Hope. Carry on!
I remember the day I realized we were averaging more time in the meeting, than in the hall!
But, I still can’t help but be thankful when we are too sick for Stake Conference because…
1. It’s an hour drive away
2. My autistic kids are off their normal schedule for Sunday which only recently became tolerable…(I hardly ever have to haul my 7 yr old over my shoulder into the hall…like only 4 times a year or so, now)
3. We have to be in the RS room, because my kids can’t handle the crowd, and the other mothers in there look at me like I’m the worst parent because my children are still bouncing off the walls.
4. I feel judged, and panicked, and I know I will cry all the way home.
5. I can’t listen to anything, anyway.
Those sound like excellent reasons to be happy for a stake conference excuse once in awhile.