Normally we don't go to "late service". Normally, I get ready for church on Saturday, and by that I mean I have my clothes picked out and my hair ready.
Back in the day, my shoes would be checked just incase I hadn't put them away in peak condition ... or sometimes it was so I could definitely find them. My purse, aka the diaper bag, and later the activity bag, would be packed. Those
back in the day days taught me to get myself as ready as possible so that
getting ready time could be minimized because Sunday mornings came fully loaded with every gremlin imaginable.
This Sunday we sat on a different side of the church than usual, closer to the door, second set of pews, me first going in, and behind a young man who seemed to maybe be the father of a blonde ponytailed girl with a jingle bell clippy and a sort of introverted looking early teenager. Shortly, another couple of middle to high school aged kids slid in with them and every one occupied themselves on their phones. I wasn't sure it was a family, but they were setting more quietly than friends tend to even during the time before church begins. After the singing started a very frazzled looking frail shouldered young woman came in to their pew and I noticed she was holding the hand of a young boy. One, two, three, four, five, I thought. Five kids. Also that it's never a good sign for a young one, who might have been in "children's church" rather than "big church", to come in being led along by the hand.
It's surprising what you notice when you don't even realize you're paying any attention.
This is what I thought I noticed. Her hair was absolutely a wreck. I'm not saying that like someone who is being critical. I'm saying it like someone who knows what it's like to sleep with her hair in a ponytail and wake up with something that appears to be a falling apart bird's nest. It was so bad a tangle ... the tangles were tangled ... and I just realized, once she has a moment for a hair brush, she's gonna know why I hugged her and said what I did after church.
At right about the peak of the sermon, there was a loud crash. It sounded like a pane of stained-glass had fallen and shattered in to reverberating pieces on the wooden floors.
Maybe you don't know this about me but, I am an intent listener. I want to hear your words and the nuances of your words. I want to hear every subtle shade of what you are communicating.
Preacher was talking about the paraplegic being let down through the roof while Jesus spoke in a very crowded room ... and I was imagining my body frozen from the neck down ... and I'm being lowered ... and it made me wonder how "frozen" we might really be spiritually.
Anyway, the little girl in front of me had dropped her tin of colored pencils. The whole thing. It was surprisingly loud because it was so unexpected. I jumped like one might just before hearing "SHOOTER".
Silly me. Just pencils. The little girl was so embarrassed - she pulled her hoodie up over her head hiding her face as her daddy leaned in to whisper something. The 500 or so congregants returned their eyes up front and the sermon continued without pause.
Mom didn't stir for that though glances were exchanged with the dad when their eldest got up and quietly left (presumably for a bathroom break but only the parents could guess I guess).
Five kids. Sunday morning. Christmas time. Advent. Week two - a lesson on hope.
Hope ... the word
hope seems to be changing its commonly held meaning from the archaic, a
feeling of trust to a word which means
desire or want ... as in I
want, ummm hope, to win the lottery. (That would be fun!)
My Advent guide actually suggests setting up a wonderful expectation that will be dashed so that one might understand what it feels like to anticipate a delightful "occurrence" only to be disappointed by a change in circumstance. Briefly - just long enough to feel the sting of hope now lost. Life brings object lessons in that without parental manipulation - I would not betray my kid's trust in me, even briefly, to highlight that fact.
I'm actually "doing" the Church's Advent Guide alone, during my quiet time.
It is disturbing that this guide suggests something that feels wrong to me. When I began this post yesterday, I hadn't read this portion of the guide yet - HOPE week in the study.
It seems to me that the feeling of trust is intrinsically different than the feeling of desire or want. Those feelings seem to come from different "places" within me. The words are not synonymous with each other. To trust seems to be difficult for most of us where to desire or want is easy.
What do you desire/want? Who do you trust?
The family sitting in front of us reminded me of the Sundays of my children's childhoods. The dynamics of getting and keeping everyone "there" for the lesson felt very familiar to me. She was - overwhelmed probably is it - and chronically overwhelmed is what I saw through my years of living that without even realizing my state. It has been the hardest thing I've ever tried to do well - raising five very different people, together, and especially when I don't have some important things figured out or the ability to execute everything well. I wish I might have done countless small things better.
It is my hope, my only hope, is to trust God's faithfulness in mending the brokenness in all our lives, in the world.
Do you think maybe those older women in the church my kids grew up in noticed? I bet they did. And I bet they were praying for me.
That's what I said to the woman (who was a stranger) ... I'll be praying for you during this wonderfully frantic season and as I hugged her I whispered, "You are rocking this! Hang in there, it is survivable."
