Sundays. Sundays can be rough, especially for this pastor's wife.
Preparation for Sunday morning begins on Saturday night. Clothes are laid out, bags are packed with carefully selected non messy snacks and quiet toys, and I always tell myself that this time I am going to get up just that much earlier so that I have more time to get ready in the morning.
Then Sunday morning hits and I don't want to get up. I never got as much sleep as I had planned. The kids (except Sophia) are sleeping quietly and it seems a shame to wake them until I absolutely have to. Eventually, I get up, wake the children up and then hurriedly try to make sure they have breakfast and are dressed.
My walk to church is ridiculous. We live across the street from the church. I mean...literally...if you are at the church, cross the street, and walk past one house you are at our house. This walk should take no more than three minutes. At most. For some reason it takes us at least ten. That ten minutes is spent herding my troop in the right direction all the while shouting things like "watch for cars," "don't you dare chase that squirrel," "don't eat those rocks," and "we aren't taking bugs into church!"
Once we are finally seated in the pew I realize that I have spit up all over my shirt or that I totally forgot to brush Sophia's hair (and you can tell), and worst of all, that I probably should have gone to the bathroom before I made that harrowing journey across the street.
The church service isn't much easier than the walk to church. Although, the commands have changed. Instead of shouting at the kids about bugs, rocks, and cars, I am quietly whispering things like "sit up," "shhhh," "don't color in your hymnal," "shhhhh," "you can't go to the bathroom right now," "shhhh."
Every Sunday morning I get a glimpse into the life of a single parent. And, every Sunday morning I think "Wow, I don't ever want to have to do this parenting thing alone."
Sundays are indeed rough, but they are also amazingly humbling. Each Sunday morning I am humbled by the kindness of our congregation. Each Sunday I am blessed with the knowledge that I am in a room full of people that pray for my family daily, that love to watch my children grow, that don't care that Sophie's hair isn't brushed, and that Connor has oatmeal all over his shirt. They will gladly help watch my kids for me or give me an encouraging smile when my kids are being especially ornery.
Sundays are rough, but they are also full of joy. Each Sunday morning I get to see my husband do the one thing that he has worked for over the past four years. The one thing he is called to do. He loves these people and has been called to be their shepherd. It is amazing to see and truly does bring me so much joy.
I look forward to the time when my kids are old enough that Sunday mornings become a bit easier. And yet, I think I might miss the chaos some day. It is a constant reminder of how blessed we are to have these four little monsters in our life and how blessed we are to have been placed in a church where they kind of like our monsters too.
