Doughnuts and Beepers.
First, before I go any further I have to claim a true contempt for the nursery/toddler rooms at church. I have four children. At one point three of them were under the age of three and my husband was deployed to Iraq. I loved leaving my kids at the nursery so I could go to church and be fed or at least get a decent hour of sleep (depending on how much coffee I had had that morning). However, I hated “leaving” my kids in the nursery. I wish I could say that it broke my heart to have each child torn from my grip as some sweet little old lady took my child. I wish it just broke my heart to have them leave my side. I know that feeling was probably there too but my real feeling was that of frustration. This frustration came when I had a baby carrier, a one year old running around in circles around my feet, and my three year old daughter tugging at me so hard my dress was being pulled down so that quite possibly I was giving a better show than a porn star. It was at the moment each Sunday I would go through the “ordeal”. I love safety. I really do. I am not complaining, well I am complaining but …. Ok. There are no excuses for what I am about to say. I hated the “signing in “ process. For each kid there was a “line on a clip board to sign” which required me to have two hands free to sign and I am not an octopus. There were clips, nametags, beepers, and beeper numbers given in case anyone needed me (Please don’t need me!!). This was all done in triplicate. I really wanted to just put UPC codes for my kids at one point and scan them in but apparently there is something in Revelations about a mark of the beast and this UPC code would only apparently rush in the end of the world. Oh, Well. So, in general I hated the signing in process. That’s all I’ll say about that.
However, I loved the nursery workers. I loved how they comforted me. I loved how each time I dropped off my kids they’d greet me with a smile. They would hug me. I loved that they would acknowledge how hard it had been for me that morning to get up and get all five of us to church by myself. I loved that they would welcome me with kind words and tell me what a good mother I was even when I could see I had forgotten to wipes Reece’s face off from his doughnut. They didn’t minister to me with deep thoughts or long sermons. They hugged me and hugged my kids and loved on us. I needed that love.
You see some Sundays I was just barely crawling in there. It would have been so easy to stay home. I knew that as much as I was just about to fall apart and cry walking in that place that upon leaving I’d be rejuvenated. Sometimes that rejuvenation came because of the sermon, sometimes by that wonderful lady that would grab me in the fellowship hall and ask me how I was doing, or by a word from a song and I’d finally get to cry and let out all the tension go. I needed those walls, that carpet, those pews, the doughnuts (I have a thing for doughnuts). I needed the smiles and a place to be home. I needed somewhere to fall apart that was safe.
You see we are all going to “go” somewhere to fall apart. It might be a doughnut, a bar, a friend, a new lover, a book, television, or angry birds. Everyone picks somewhere to go to fall apart or get away. I chose to be with Christians. Why Christians? I like them. As hypocritical as they can seem, they are usually just broken people trying to pull it together. They aren’t a library group of women who come in their best clothes and talk about all the newest and greatest from confusing parenting magazines. At church there are these wise souls who made tons of mistakes with their own kids. These gray haired parents have so much encouragement and wisdom to share. There are broken and hurting marriages and imperfect pastors. However, in the midst of this chaos of sinners , they all share this hope. I like hope. I like feeling hopeful. More than feeling hopeful I like knowing that there is always hope because there is always a God. A God who so awesome loves me. He even loves me enough to makes sure that they supply sprinkle doughnuts at church. So, I hate signing in but I love being there. Because being “there” means I am going to make it “there”.
