Whose Kids Are Those?
What better way to enjoy a relaxing Sunday morning than trying to control your crazy kids through two hours of service? Our church has long, contemplative worship, where you just want to get lost in the moment. Just closing your eyes, sing-"Honey, STOP it, shhhh!" and reflecting on all God has -"I STOP SPITTING!" - you get the point. To me, the misgivings of toddlers and boyish antics seem extra flagrant around church brethren, who apparently all have perfect children-never hitting each other with Bibles, pulling at their mother’s skirt or barking like a dog during that thirty seconds of silent prayer.
During one particularly nightmarish experience, my son noticed the sweet old ladies behind us, apparently smiling too much for his liking. And with that, he yelled "I'm going to kick your butts!" at the top of his lungs, during a time of complete silence. I made it outta the aisle in five seconds flat. This of course pales in comparison to reclaiming my one-year-old at the nursery, only to discover he bit another child, whose parents had clearly not grasped the concept of New Testament forgiveness. They wouldn’t talk to me for weeks. Other cheek, people.