Rethinking Sunday Mornings

I haven't sat in service at my church for five weeks now. And I can't remember the last time I heard a full sermon. It comes with this season of life; I'm either nursing, or walking the halls trying to get the little one to sleep, or I'm serving in the nursery. This used to bother me, but not anymore.

But it bothers most parents with young children. My friends have two children under the age of two and they gave up on Sunday morning church services because it was more trouble than it was worth. 

"Or is it?" I ask. 

I understand that it's difficult for tired parents to choose to do something that will only make them feel MORE tired. I understand that most parents would like– scratch that– NEED a break. And I understand that parents, along with everyone else, need opportunities to rest, learn, grow and be fed. I, too, once thought, Why go to all the work of getting ready and driving to church, just to sit in a room away from everyone else? Or worse, spend an hour and a half chasing after an energetic baby in a non-baby proof environment? Why can't I just stay home and wait until my baby is older, when church will be easier for me?

I have since learned to see Sunday mornings from a different perspective.

Rather than ask, "What do I get from church on Sunday mornings?", I ask myself, "What can I give on Sunday mornings?" Then, as I drive to church, I pray that God will lead me to people who need encouragement and prayer. Oftentimes, I find people sitting by themselves in the church lobby, either because they are feeling ill, or they came to church with a family member out of obligation, or they also have young (but loud) children.  All I have to do is muster up the courage to sit and strike up a conversation with them (tip: cute babies are great ice breakers). Or there have been times when a new mom wanders into the nursing room looking for a quiet place to sit, when what she really needs is someone to talk to. Or take today, for example. I filled in as a substitute in the nursery and ended up having a great, God-centered conversation with the other volunteer. And I met new parents. AND I had the chance to love on the little ones. I was reminded that Sunday mornings are about relationships with people of all ages, especially people outside my usual circle. I can be a blessing, but only if I make the effort to go. And my one-year-old can be a blessing, but only when I make the effort to take him!

I know that I am not offering fellow parents an easy solution. And I certainly don't want to guilt-trip anyone into going to church. But if you are a parent who is nearly ready to give up on Sunday mornings, I encourage you to keep trying.  The trouble IS worth it, when you see it as a time of service and building up of the church body, and a way of establishing a pattern for your family. And remember, God can use this season to grow and refine you!

My Little Faith

When I die, I'd like people to say, "Rita was a person of great faith."

But what does a person of great faith look like? 

Certainly, not like me.

When I think of a person of great faith, I picture Esther, approaching the king, ready to do whatever it takes to save her people. 

But me? I avoid conflict. I have a hard time doing or saying anything that might cause people to not like me.

Or I picture the boy David, armed with only a sling and a rock, facing a giant trained to kill. 

A giant! And David was sure that he would win! Me? I wouldn't be so sure. I'd probably be hiding with David's brothers. I like safety. I like certainty. I like comfort.

On most days, I don't feel like a person of great faith. I don't feel like a fountain of faith is flowing from my innards. I think about my dad and his cancer, and my friend whose baby was recently diagnosed with a life-threatening anemia, and I don't feel strong. Instead, I feel helpless. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I wish my faith was great enough to give me the confidence to say, "Yes, God can defeat that giant!"

So, what do I do? I do what I do everyday- take care of my family, call my dad, cook for some people, visit my friend. I try not to think too much about the future, the Great Unknown. I wait for waves of strength and courage to wash over me, for the times when I feel like a person of great faith, times when I might do something more than what I do everyday. Then maybe I'll have the answers. Then maybe I'll be outspoken. Then maybe...

But guess what? Jesus said, "If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you." (Luke 17:6)

Jesus said that it doesn't take a mountain of faith. It takes one grain. Not a fountain. Just one drop.

But it also takes action. I have to move. I have to say 'Be uprooted' to the tree. I have to act on my little faith.

Jesus also said, "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened." (Matthew 7:7-8)

Ask, seek, knock… faith isn't a feeling; it's an action. I don't have to feel faithful. I don't need to feel brave. It's okay if I feel afraid, as long as I am acting in faith. Even if I take only one step in the right direction. Even if I can only whisper a prayer. Even if I am doing what I already do everyday by taking care of my children, calling my dad, cooking for some people, and visiting my friend. If I am obeying God, I am a person of faith.

I'd like to revise my original statement. When I die, I don't want people to say, "Rita was a person of great faith." I'd like them to say, "Rita was a person of little faith, who learned to obey God, one step at a time. And that is how, through her, God was able to do great things."

Role Reversal

For years, my uncle and aunt lived in the next town over, and for years, I made excuses when the holidays rolled around. I figured my parents would host a dinner, or go visit them, or at least send them a card. It never dawned on me that I could do those things.

Until my uncle was diagnosed with cancer. And when cancer finally overtook my uncle's body, I realized for the first time that I was no longer the young niece who had to stand on tiptoe to see over the countertop. I was an adult, and moreover, it was my job now to care for the people who used to take care of me. 

So I started hosting Thanksgiving and Christmas meals, for the first time inviting my uncle, aunt, and cousins to my house. I visited my uncle when he was in hospice care and comforted my aunt and cousins during the difficult time of his death. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling at first, but I grew into my new role, and my new relationship with my aunt and cousins. Last weekend, we joyfully celebrated my baby's first birthday together.

Then, just a few days ago, I found out that my dad (who lives out-of-state) has cancer and is need of chemotherapy. My mind raced with questions like "Will they still work while they go through this?" and "Who is caring for Mom while she cares for Dad?" Whatever happens, I am prepared to take on the role as caregiver. God had already prepared for me that. If my parents need to come and live with me (and I realize that this may not be easy), I would not hesitate to say 'yes'.

When we were born, we were completely dependent on our parents. At some point, our parents become dependent on us. But it isn't like a business, where everything is counted 50/50. It's family– family as God intended. Sometimes we need more care, sometimes we give more care. And when the time comes for me to be the one to give more care, I know God will give me new strength and courage to do so.

More than a Little Grace

I was frustrated beyond words. Here I was, with all six children, out at a horse ranch for our scheduled riding lesson, and no instructor was in sight. And this was after she had already cancelled our lessons on two other occasions. 

What was it this time? I wondered.  

We waited ten minutes. We waited twenty. My children's excitement diminished with every passing tick of the watch. After waiting thirty minutes, we prepared to leave. That's when we finally got a hold of the instructor on the phone and tried to reschedule for another day.

Some people love to give advice in situations like this.

"Write a bad review!"

"Demand a full refund!"

"You have your rights as a customer!"

I didn't need anyone's help. My mind entertained the many things I could do to relieve my frustration and justify my ill feelings toward the instructor. And I had already bought a gift card for her as a parting gift after the last lesson. She certainly doesn't deserve that anymore! I thought.

But after my anger cooled, I decided to pray for the instructor. The few things I knew about her was that she was the mother of a baby younger than my own. She was unwed. And she was trying to move her business to a different location in hopes of making a little more for her small family. She had a lot on her plate! That doesn't excuse her flakiness, but I can certainly be understanding and give her a little grace.

Okay, I won't ask for a refund then, I decided. Besides, she offered to do some extra long lessons for the one she missed. But she is definitely NOT getting the gift card.

It was fair enough. I was still being nice. It was almost the day for our final riding lesson, and I was prepared to say a polite thank-you and leave it at that.

But something prompted me to take out my stationery and write the instructor a note. 

She really is an excellent teacher, I told myself. She at least deserves to know that.

And the more I wrote, the more I KNEW that I was going to give her the gift card after all.

A few days after the final lesson, I received an e-mail from the instructor. She thanked me for the surprise gift and told me that she had loved getting to know our large family. She was especially encouraged as a new mom, she wrote.

And then I was glad that I didn't insist on my rights as a customer. Rights have their place, but they leave little room for grace. And I was glad that I didn't stop at being nice and polite. What is grace if it doesn't go above and beyond what we think is just?

What is grace, if it is not abundant, breath-taking, immeasurable and... unexpected?

A Season of Slowing Down

I have high ambitions for my children (who doesn't?). If we could, we would take classes in dance, horse-back riding, art, choir, French, Chinese, swimming, piano, gymnastics, tae-kwan-do, archery, and fencing (just because).

But of course, we can't do all those things. Our money budget won't allow it. Neither would our time budget. If I try to schedule classes for six children, I will find myself doing nothing more than chauffeuring them from place to place. The number of things we do outside of the home is very limited.

Still, I had to make a tough decision this year. After directing our church's children's choir for three years, I told our music pastor that I needed a break. This was as much of a surprise to me as it was to him. I'm a person who does everything 110%. I don't start something unless I can finish it. To say I need a break is equal to saying I've failed. I feel like I've failed my children (who sing in the choir) AND my church family.

But I realized too that if I give 110% to the choir, I cannot give 110% to mothering. After surviving a crazy week with six sick children (trying saying that three times) and helping at or hosting a number of events, I thought about my time budget and knew that I was getting dangerously close to bankrupt. And the things I needed to do for children's choir was still at the top of my to-do list.

I was so fatigued at that point, I could barely think. I kept telling myself to do what I did in the past: hope for better sleep and push through by going into robot mode (highly efficient, but basically heartless). Then, in a moment of clarity, I caught a glimpse of my future. What will life look like when school starts? Will my children someday tell me, "Mom, I wish you did more with us." Will I be so caught up in "doing" and striving for my high ambitions that I forget WHY I'm doing these things? I have two middle schoolers this year. What if they need to talk? Will I tell them, "Later… later…" I have a feisty one-year-old. What if he gets into trouble? Will I be stressed out and yelling at my children? And the children in the middle? When can I sit with them and read, or play games, or just cuddle? Even though I am with my children almost all day long, I spend most of that time telling them what to do. And at the end of the day, I don't want "Hurry up!" to have been the only words my children hear come out of my mouth.

I am thankful for the Holy Spirit's voice telling me to slow down. I am thankful for my friends who have also made changes to slow down and were encouraging to me as I told them of my decision. I am thankful for my husband's support, and for my precious children's smiles and antics. I still have high ambitions for my children, but having opera singers, or black belts, or champions in anything won't mean a thing to me if I don't have a relationship with my children. Time is more precious than gold. I have six autumns left with my oldest child, and I don't want to waste even one.