Palm Sunday

When I first told my mother the story I'm about to record here, I said, "I'm going to tell you what happened this morning and then I don't ever want it mentioned again!" Of course, we talk about it all the time. So I might as well do a blog post on it.

It was Palm Sunday, and if you go to a more liturgical church, you know that Palm Sunday is kind of a big deal. So I get the kids all snazzy for this big walk down the aisle carrying palm fronds to commemorate Jesus's entry into Jerusalem the week prior to his death. Early in the service when it is time for the kids to carry down there palms, Shepherd refuses to because (said with a pout and arms crossed over chest) "I don't want the people to see me. I want to see the people." And Lydia just got mad at all the other kids for walking down the aisle because she thought they were walking to BJ. So she ran down the center aisle sans-palm-fronds yelling, "No, that's my daddy!"

Fast forward 20 minutes.

I was already feeling like this Sunday was a pretty big fail. Little did I know how much worse things could get. I had been in the nursery with all my kids, and Shepherd was in a foul mood. In an attempt to salvage the morning, I asked Shepherd if he wanted to go sit in the back of the church for the last couple of songs and then go home with Dad for lunch. He thought this was a great idea, so Shepherd, Lydia, Violet, and I headed over to the sanctuary.

While crossing the walkway between the fellowship building and church, Shepherd and Lydia raced to the door while I strolled far behind with Violet on my hip. I was only about halfway across when I realized that Shepherd was already opening the door for Lydia. I peered into the windows, and to my great horror, realized that the service was not as far progressed as I had calculated. It wasn't the final two songs. It was the middle of the sermon.

While I'm putting these pieces together in my mind, I hear Lydia yell "Daddy!" while bolting to the center aisle. I immediately start racing to the door, but before I can even get there, Shepherd says both the sweetest and worst possible thing he could've come up with: "Don't worry, Mom! I'll get her for you!" And off he goes toward the center aisle.

By the time I reached the double doors for our center aisle, both Shepherd and Lydia were at the end with BJ, who had descended from his grand pulpit to try and rein in the chaos our children where so effectively stirring up. While I'm walking down the aisle repeatedly saying to no one in particular, "I am so sorry," BJ is telling Shepherd and Lydia to go with Mom until church is over. At this point, the kid who doesn't want the people to see him decided to demonstrate Biblical wailing and gnashing of teeth: "But I'm so hungry! I need lunch!" At which point, one of our members bellowed, "I'm hungry, too!" And everyone burst out laughing. That is, everyone but me, who at this point had decided Violet was the only child I still loved.

After dragging my weeping children from the front of the church to a side exit, I took them to the playground where I hid behind a slide until about 80 percent of the people had left. I then skulked back to the sanctuary to get BJ. As soon as I walked in, my dear, sweet, wonderful friend Megan started laughing at me. Not with me. At me. And for the first time, I saw that there might be some humor in this situation after all.

I have heard A LOT of moms say that they don't go to church because their kids don't behave well enough, and I so get that. If I weren't a preacher's wife, I would probably be hiding under my bed on Sunday mornings. But now that I've experienced what must be a humiliation of historic proportion, I have a few words of wisdom from the other side. First off, if your children embarrass you to the point you want to live in a hidey hole for the next 6 months, you'll survive. My kids behaved abominably, but I'm okay. It wasn't the apocalyptic catastrophe I was certain it was going to be when I first saw Lydia head down that aisle. Secondly, chances are good that everyone else at church will be okay, too. No one at church was angry. From what I've heard, it was simply a memorable-in-a-good-way moment for everyone there. If you're at a church where people get mad about kids being kids, you should probably find another church anyways. And finally, your kids need you to be willing to be totally humiliated. The benefit my children receive from the rich relationships they have with our church members and the love with which they are showered by everyone at the First Christian Church of Ardmore is worth so much more than the cost of any humiliation I've had to endure over the years because they were somehow less than perfect. Children need to be loved at church more than we parents need our pride (this coming from the schmuck who hid behind a slide for 15 minutes.) 

So in closing, thank you to everyone at church who laughed and who loved. Your grace made it easier for me to come out of hiding. What a reflection of God's love you are.