I thought I posted this yesterday. But I was attempting it from my phone while in the car rider line. Happy Passover anyway.
Me to kids (while running apple after apple through the food processor...in the process of making charoset...which I do every year): "Do y'all know what today is?"
Jamal: (looks at his phone) "April 14th. My Gotcha Day?"
me: "No."
Jamal: "My Adoption Day!"
me: "No, Jamal, those are both in October. It's a religious day."
(blank stares)
me: "Easter's on Sunday..."
Kia: "Today's Monday...oh! Better Monday!"
Kia missed most of school today. Let's hope she got there in time for Bible.
Happy Passover, everyone.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Sunday, April 06, 2014
I went to church this morning.
I went to church this morning.
But I was having one of those days. I was there for both services and somehow never even made it into the worship center. I got stuck in the nursery during early service and then ended up helping people with various things throughout all of class and late service. I left without hearing any of the sermon, ever reading a scripture, bowing my head, or singing even one song.
Our life groups weren't meeting tonight, so Dad and I decided to visit my grandmother's church. As I walked into the church building, it crossed my mind how fitting it was that I was there, since my trip to church this morning didn't really "count". As I sat in that worship service (which was great, even if I did plan this blog post in the midst of it), I began to think about my experience at church this morning . . .
I was late getting to church (as usual). I went and talked with some friends in the nursery, tidied things up a bit at my orphan ministry table in the lobby, and then headed toward worship. I walked back by the nursery to see one adult trying to manage three screaming toddlers.
"Do you need help?" I asked.
"Well...maybe."
In I went to scoop up a crying baby. I spent the next hour holding a sad-turned-smiley baby girl who loved to cuddle.
Once early service ended, I went to hang out at our orphan ministry table in case anyone came by with questions (we're highlighting local ministries this month, and Handprints, our orphan ministry, is one of them). A few people did. I loved telling them about the foster youth we've gotten to serve and love over the past two years. I showed them pictures of the parties we throw each summer for the teens who are starting college. I told them how desperately those teens need Christian mentors as they age out of the system. They shared stories of how they serve our city and of their own personal connections to foster care.
When it seemed most everyone had gone to their Sunday school classes, I began to think about heading that way, too. Then I was approached by a man named B. He looked to be in his 50s, and I could tell within just a few minutes that his life had been far from easy. It was his first time at our church, and he was looking for the woman who'd invited him, though he could not remember her name. I sat down in lobby with him as I tried to figure out who his friend was. We never figured out who he was looking for, but we did talk about other things. We talked about church and how his only experience with a church of Christ was during his childhood, when a different church would host the kids from his children's home every Sunday morning. All he could remember was that there were no instruments. ;) He told me how he grew up in a home for children in Georgia and how he'd lived in Memphis for 30 years. He worked hard to remember how to spell and pronounce my name and, about fifteen minutes into our conversation, asked me if I still remembered his (I did). We talked about our family histories . . . how his name has a Jewish spelling but he's actually of Irish descent . . . how my ancestors were from Belgium. He taught me that Georgia was named after King George, because many English immigrants settled there (am I the only one who didn't know that?). I introduced him to random people who came through the lobby while we were sitting there. We talked until class let out and it was time for late service.
Even though I still hadn't actually "done" church, I wasn't planning on staying for late service because I wanted lunch and a nap (can I get an amen?). I stopped to talk to some friends on my way out the door, and while I was talking to them, another friend (and one of our shepherds) asked to speak with me. He told me he wanted to connect me with someone . . . a lady named R who recently learned she has a tumor near her pancreas and is facing Whipple surgery soon. He actually went and got her out of service to introduce us. As soon as he told her who my mother was, she began to cry, hugged me, and whispered, "I know what I'm in for." We sat down in the lobby and spent the remainder of the worship service sharing experiences, fears, grief, hope, and miracles. We talked about everything from digestive enzymes to the colors in her daughter's upcoming wedding. We cried, laughed, and hugged more times than is normal for two people who'd just met. And in the middle of it all we took communion together.
As I sat in church tonight, where we sang one of the songs we'd sung over Mom as she went to heaven, I thought about her and how good she was at living out Matthew 25:40, one of her favorite verses. She was always putting her day on hold to stop and serve whomever God put in her path, because she looked into the face of that person and saw Jesus.
Like I said before, I left church this morning without hearing any of the sermon, ever reading a scripture, bowing my head, or singing even one song.
But I saw Jesus.
I went to church this morning.
But I was having one of those days. I was there for both services and somehow never even made it into the worship center. I got stuck in the nursery during early service and then ended up helping people with various things throughout all of class and late service. I left without hearing any of the sermon, ever reading a scripture, bowing my head, or singing even one song.
Our life groups weren't meeting tonight, so Dad and I decided to visit my grandmother's church. As I walked into the church building, it crossed my mind how fitting it was that I was there, since my trip to church this morning didn't really "count". As I sat in that worship service (which was great, even if I did plan this blog post in the midst of it), I began to think about my experience at church this morning . . .
------------------------------
I was late getting to church (as usual). I went and talked with some friends in the nursery, tidied things up a bit at my orphan ministry table in the lobby, and then headed toward worship. I walked back by the nursery to see one adult trying to manage three screaming toddlers.
"Do you need help?" I asked.
"Well...maybe."
In I went to scoop up a crying baby. I spent the next hour holding a sad-turned-smiley baby girl who loved to cuddle.
Once early service ended, I went to hang out at our orphan ministry table in case anyone came by with questions (we're highlighting local ministries this month, and Handprints, our orphan ministry, is one of them). A few people did. I loved telling them about the foster youth we've gotten to serve and love over the past two years. I showed them pictures of the parties we throw each summer for the teens who are starting college. I told them how desperately those teens need Christian mentors as they age out of the system. They shared stories of how they serve our city and of their own personal connections to foster care.
When it seemed most everyone had gone to their Sunday school classes, I began to think about heading that way, too. Then I was approached by a man named B. He looked to be in his 50s, and I could tell within just a few minutes that his life had been far from easy. It was his first time at our church, and he was looking for the woman who'd invited him, though he could not remember her name. I sat down in lobby with him as I tried to figure out who his friend was. We never figured out who he was looking for, but we did talk about other things. We talked about church and how his only experience with a church of Christ was during his childhood, when a different church would host the kids from his children's home every Sunday morning. All he could remember was that there were no instruments. ;) He told me how he grew up in a home for children in Georgia and how he'd lived in Memphis for 30 years. He worked hard to remember how to spell and pronounce my name and, about fifteen minutes into our conversation, asked me if I still remembered his (I did). We talked about our family histories . . . how his name has a Jewish spelling but he's actually of Irish descent . . . how my ancestors were from Belgium. He taught me that Georgia was named after King George, because many English immigrants settled there (am I the only one who didn't know that?). I introduced him to random people who came through the lobby while we were sitting there. We talked until class let out and it was time for late service.
Even though I still hadn't actually "done" church, I wasn't planning on staying for late service because I wanted lunch and a nap (can I get an amen?). I stopped to talk to some friends on my way out the door, and while I was talking to them, another friend (and one of our shepherds) asked to speak with me. He told me he wanted to connect me with someone . . . a lady named R who recently learned she has a tumor near her pancreas and is facing Whipple surgery soon. He actually went and got her out of service to introduce us. As soon as he told her who my mother was, she began to cry, hugged me, and whispered, "I know what I'm in for." We sat down in the lobby and spent the remainder of the worship service sharing experiences, fears, grief, hope, and miracles. We talked about everything from digestive enzymes to the colors in her daughter's upcoming wedding. We cried, laughed, and hugged more times than is normal for two people who'd just met. And in the middle of it all we took communion together.
------------------------------
As I sat in church tonight, where we sang one of the songs we'd sung over Mom as she went to heaven, I thought about her and how good she was at living out Matthew 25:40, one of her favorite verses. She was always putting her day on hold to stop and serve whomever God put in her path, because she looked into the face of that person and saw Jesus.
Like I said before, I left church this morning without hearing any of the sermon, ever reading a scripture, bowing my head, or singing even one song.
But I saw Jesus.
I went to church this morning.
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