Going to church with children is like a chore. When they’re tiny, they usually sleep the whole time, but the new parent is so worried about neglecting the little narcoleptic that he/she spends the entire time looking at the baby, or rearranging the blankets on the baby, or adjusting the cute little outfit so that baby looks perfect for all the after-service gawkers. Then baby gets bigger and Mom spends the entire time feeding the baby in the nursery, and once the kid can last through the morning without eating, he’s usually discovered that he has a voice which is really fun to use. So then the parent either spends the entire time shushing and entertaining the baby, while trying to ignore all the heads that keep turning around (really? It’s a baby. Did you really have to turn around to confirm that?), or spends the time walking around the foyer, pointing out the sparkles in the bulletin board for the hundred-millionth time. One can be left wondering, Why do I bother?

In case you hadn’t caught on, this is all from first-hand experience. We’ve reached the stage where I can be present for the singing because III is either entertained, or can’t be heard beyond the people immediately around us, but as soon as things quiet down and I want him to sit on my lap, he starts wiggling, or grunting (he is quite the grunter; it’s his only form of communication), and then eventually crying. So I get up and play with him for a while in the “Crying Room,” which really needs to be wired for sound because all I hear is a muffled sermon, and that’s only when III takes a breath to wind up for more grunting. When he gets mad there I move on out by the front doors and just walk around with him until church is over. We get to visit with all the men heading to and from the bathroom (seriously, it’s the same ones every week, and it’s never women—what’s up with that?), and by the end he’s getting really cranky and screams loud enough to be heard in the auditorium anyway.

So I wonder some days why we go. It’s not like we’re getting much enrichment out of the lessons (well, maybe Lloyd is), and we don’t get much fellowshipping in because we leave so we can get crabby-pants fed and in bed. But we also recently started sending Emma to the children’s church during the sermon, and she really enjoys it. This is another topic I’m not so sure about. I like the idea of children learning to sit quietly, and Emma does pretty well, so I don’t think it’s asking too much. But there is also one less child to pay attention to when she goes to children’s church, which is an incentive from the parent-perspective. And I guess it depends what they’re doing. Emma comes back telling Bible stories and singing songs that I remember singing as a kid, so I feel comfortable that she’s still learning joy in the Lord. If it was just play time, I would definitely keep Emma with us. That’s just me.

Anyway, Emma getting the experience is a large part of why I decide to still get us out the door Sunday mornings. When I say experience I don’t mean just the chance to be entertained, but the idea that we put aside a day that is for worship, even if it ends up being obnoxious babysitting. The experience of meeting together with people, and seeing that we sit still and respect what is going on around us. Seeing other people pray, and instilling a level of comfort in communicating with God. Honestly, some days it is only the desire to teach my daughter that makes me want to go. When there is a little baby involved, it is difficult to feel driven by faith. It stresses me out. Not that faith is about feeling (I’m getting all muddled up here, and I don’t want to be writing forever, so please forgive me, but I don’t have time to hit a ton of theological points), but I mean that showing up to walk around with my kid does not feel like worship, and does not fill me with desire to return.

And then I think maybe I’ll just skip once. Just one little time. And it’s not so much that I feel guilty about that (I don’t think we should go to church out of guilt), but a bit of sadness, or fear. I know I could just sleep in and skip all the drama, and Emma might not know the difference since she really doesn’t understand days of the week yet, but I think it’s a slippery slope. I already make so many concessions that I’m not proud of, and I would like to change, and I know if I open that door to absence, then there will truly be an absence in my life. It’s hard some Sundays. Really hard. A bit depressing. Some days I don’t get to talk to anyone except the “Oh, my, his hair just keeps getting redder” conversation (really, I think I understand why redheads have a temper). But I’m not going to give up, and if you have kids, or have some other form of the Sunday blues, then please don’t give up either. If our biggest obstacle in worship is cranky kids, or we still don’t feel entirely plugged in to a new church family (I’m learning this bit is hard, too), then I think we’re still pretty blessed, and we shouldn’t take that for granted.

“It’s just not worth it” is totally a lie. It may not feel worth it, but it’s not all about feelings. And I’m sorry to get all preach-y here, but this is part of my life, too. Part of what I’m figuring out—part of the crazy balance of motherhood. I don’t always get it right day-to-day. I’m not really that good at showing Jesus in the daily grind, but I can keep showing up, and not giving up, because lifestyles are formed by habits, and habits are formed by actions. This is an action I can take. Even when mixed with the blues.

Tweet This Post