It is well

Today is Sunday. Church day. Always been church day. From my little to my kids' little. So we went to church. This is what we do.

We grouse about the collared shirt rule, the dress shoes, the time. We argue about which snacks are in the bag and which books we need and why everyone is rushing (it was all that grousing and arguing, by the way). We manage to sometimes make it on time, but usual not, slip into a side pew, and spend the time half-singing and half-wrangling children who are trying to rip pages from hymnals and color all the offering envelopes they can get their hands on. When it comes time to shake hands, I pretend to be fixing a child's hair or retrieving something from my bag so that my shy self avoids that awkward direct contact. We sing more, we wrangle more, we wait until we can bear it no more before shuffling off to the cry room or the lobby (Why not the nursery or the children's classes? Why, that would be too easy to have small children who wanted to play or learn, or to have parents who were okay listening to all that screaming and crying and messy, terrified protest). In the cry room, which is about the size of a sardine can, we attempt to keep the kids from hitting the walls or fighting over the small supply of books, gradually become more intolerant of climbing/sprawling/whining/etc. before abandoning ship in exasperation, slinking out like heathen to car where we wonder why we ever thought, again, that this would be a good idea.

But there's usually one moment during that singing part when the kids are distracted and the congregation is in harmony and I'm singing to my Lord with my eyes closed and my heart bathed in the Holy Spirit. For that one moment, I am at peace. I am worshipping. I am renewed. I am connecting to God, who is, despite my distraction, always connected to me.

I go for that moment.