Here I am to Worship

I have a very clear memory of a Sunday morning several years ago. I had two young daughters and an infant son at the time. My husband was associate pastor of a church, which meant that I flew solo during the Sunday Morning Scramble. I read all the books about laying clothes out the night before, being rested, being prepared, but I had children. Children that would smear syrup on clothes that had been waiting for Sunday, who would wake in the night or not fall asleep until midnight on Saturday, and I had a way of forgetting that I was scheduled for the children's sermon until I read it in the bulletin.

So, this particular Sunday morning I felt stressed more than usual, although I cannot remember why. I nursed the baby for the 53rd time since 3 a.m., stuck him in his car seat, convinced the 6 year old to get in the van while still eating her pancake. The four year old daughter was sitting on the front porch with her arms crossed and I was tempted to leave her little booty there, but I did the right thing and scooped her thrashing body up and buckled her into her carseat.  I'm telling you, that should be an Olympic event.

I was worked up into a good sweat by then, which is sad because it was March. The kids fussed and screamed the entire way to church, which caused the baby to scream.  I thought I would lose my mind before we made it there.

We lived 2 blocks from church.

I pulled into a spot in the back, grabbed the diaper bag, then opened the side door to get the baby out.  The girls were fussing with each other over something, my little one was crying, and I realized I forgot deodorant.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"  I shouted, "WE ARE HERE TO WORSHIP THE LORD, FOR PETE'S SAKE, AND I WANT YOU TWO TO PULL IT TOGETHER NOW!"

  I was panting from the effort it took to remind the kids what Sunday was all about. There was utter and complete silence from all of my children.  There was also silence from the handful of families spilling out of their minivans and walking into church.  I think a few people, mainly the mothers, smiled consolingly and knowingly.  I was mortified. I wanted to turn around and go back home, until one of my girls told me she was sorry, and the other offered to carry in the diaper bag, and I realized that God's grace has many messengers.

Sundays still aren't perfect around here, but we don't have too many incidents like that. My girls occasionally argue over borrowed clothes, earrings, and shoes. I don't argue with what my son will wear to church (unless it's paint splattered, torn, or bloodstained) so that's made for all kinds of peace.  Sometimes  Often we're late, either because the toddler needs to go potty, or I need to go potty, or I forgot my coffee, or I forgot to turn off the dryer...Well, you get the picture.

The difference these days is that I understand that worship isn't about me. It's about my God and my total adoration of Him. It doesn't matter what clothes I or my children wear, what songs we sing or don't sing, or how good the preacher is (although,I have to say at my church, the preacher is always outstanding!).

Worship is reveling in His Spirit, being filled with His love, and being grateful for any and every blessing.



Take a listen here if you'd like some excellent worship music from David Crowder

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