... Why do we go to church again?
I groped for an answer to this question, while driving endlessly in a four-mile square. My family was in church. My sobbing 11 month old was in the backseat, flinging toys and wrestling her seatbelt. I was fighting tears, and feeling like a failure.
I'd done it all right. Gotten up early, drank tea, hopped in clothes, did my hair and make up, woke Baby right on schedule. Packed up bags, and snacks, and toys and got on the road only 5 minutes late.
(Aside: I HATE being 5 minutes late. It's psychologically easier for me to be 20 minutes late. And I've been exactly 5 minutes late everywhere for the last six weeks. HATE.)
But, I took deep breaths, squeaked through a few yellow lights, and -faking gracious calm- slipped into the back row as the initial singing ended and the sermon began.
We lasted slightly over than four minutes, before Little One's darling social antics escalated from shy waving at the ushers to shrill shrieks about that really amazingly giant man talking on the huge screen! I grabbed our epic bag of toys/snacks, and ducked back into the lobby, where there are couches and TV screens. It seemed like a logical retreat point for parents of young ones.
But no. It was a library environment. Every couch dweller was silent, attentively listening to the TV sermon, with Bibles open in laps and pens poised for note-taking.
Then there was me, my huge bag, and my SUPER-friendly daughter, insistently greeting everyone: "Hi? Hi! Hiiii! Hi! Hiiii?!"
I grabbed one of the church's Bibles; I'd forgotten mine. I sat down in the far corner, balancing Bible, bag, and baby on my lap - and tried to look pious. I whispered urgently to Little One, and she was confused but obedient. She sat quietly for several minutes, playing with toys and helping me turn pages in the Bible, while I murmured about "Jesus" and "truth" in her ear.
Then, the pastor made a joke and the TV audience laughed. Excited, she tried to clap gleefully. Such an amiable little girl; she's an eager mimic and was only trying to follow social cues. But, two things went wrong: First, she was a tad delayed in her enthusiasm, and started clapping after the audience's laughter had faded. Second, she was still gripping a tiny portion of the Bible page when she clapped and so, in the brief silence after the punchline, that crunchy sound of tearing paper was startlingly unignorable.
The entire lobby of couch-people whirled to stare at us. Even Little One froze, then shrunk back again me, under their disapproval. I quietly, calmly, tucked the torn pieces of Scripture into the Bible, inserting it into my massively overstuffed bag, stood, and walked out the back door.
Utter hopelessness descended on my heart. This was our fourth week in a row, attempting to attend church like normal people. I had good reasons for not putting her in the nursery for any of those weeks, but the judgers in the lobby didn't know that.
I suddenly remembered that I had a food donation in my car. Well, we could deliver that during our little exile/break. Hoorah.
But, by the time we walked around all three sides of the large building, and crossed the parking lot back to our car, Baby was rubbing her eyes and fussing. She was tired. Dangit, WHY DO ALL CHURCH SERVICES OVERLAP WITH NAPTIME? I loaded her into the car, and drove back to the food-donation-drop-point, and unloaded our bag of groceries while she screamed. She needed a nap; I resignedly accepted that fact. I would just... listen to a sermon... on the radio... or something.
She often naps in the car. But, not today.
Maybe if we drive for a while...
Nope.
Maybe if I play her lullaby music...
Nope.
And there were no radio sermons. Evidently Sunday morning programming isn't what it used to be.
Also, annoyingly impressive runners and bikers were everywhere. They hadn't bothered to attempt church. Why did I? We would have been better off not even trying! Now, Baby was way off schedule and my whole day was wrecked. The sweaty, panting, out-of-shape, crash-dieting joggers were scads happier than we were.
I would have driven home at this point, but family members had ridden with me; they needed rides back home. So we circled, and she cried, and I wrestled with God, life, and my own control issues.
I'm very "If A, Then B" in my head. I get unbelievably frustrated when my very-best actions don't solicit the response I thought they would. And I keep running into this lately. (I do something especially kind, but no one seems to notice or benefit. I plan carefully, but still can't get anywhere on time. I lie down several times per day, but can't sleep. I make lists, but am amazingly thwarted in my productivity. I try harder than ever to relax and stay calm, and end up screaming like a lunatic. When I predict Baby will wake at 6:00, she sleeps until 8:00. And vice versa. Every single time.)
After a faint, half-cry (mostly involving steering-wheel pounding and whiny mumbling) and several million more angry thoughts, I decided to go park the car and nurse Little One in the backseat. At least then, she won't get hungry on the drive home and can take a proper nap. I'll head back to the church.
As we pulled into the parking lot, I glanced back at her. She was asleep. Not sure how I felt about that. I decided to let her be.
Unfortunately, she woke up a mere twenty minutes later, precisely as people were streaming out the front doors, and past my car, and it was time for my family to head home. Our chance was gone. So much for breastfeeding.
She cried the whole drive home, partly tired, partly hungry, partly just furious at life for being so incredibly un-fun.
I hear you, Little One.
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