I sit here this morning thinking back two years ago, then we would be up, running around getting dressed, brushing hair, eating a quick breakfast and out the door to church, the whole family. Now like all Sunday mornings, it is quiet, Adam may or may not take the older boys, and I will be at home caring for Alex.
I wonder how many other parents are at home today, who used to go to church, or would really like to start. However, your child's needs are much too great for the church to handle. Or maybe you simply fear your child would be too much of a distraction for the class, or maybe you are just plain scared of what people would think or say about your precious differently abled child. So here we all sit.
The Sunday machine roars on without us, people shuffling around, in a hurry, sometimes angry because things aren't flowing, somebody spilled on their Sunday best. The stress level is high in the car, but pull into that parking lot at church, the smiles are pasted on.
The Hallelujahs, and God bless yous are said, and the stress of the morning melts among the songs.
A few amens are shouted out when the message is about reaching out to those in need, who are hurting, however, those who are alone go unreached, and midway through the smiles, that hungry stomach growls, and eyes look at the clock, minds start wondering about what food will fill their bellies just as soon as that guy is done talking.
He is finally done, and the race to get the kids begins, not forgetting to say God bless you, as one fights through the crowd of people. Out the door, and off to the favorite restaurant of the week. So is the Sunday Machine.
I used to be a part of it, I grew up in church and I believed that if people really wanted to go to church then they would be there, and I judged them, and made my own opinions on why they weren't there, and I thought that if someone couldn't get there, or had a need, the church would not let it slip by. The church however, lets lots of people slip by, and people continue to form opinions on why they arent at church.
This morning I think of you mommas whose children need so much medical attention you couldn't leave them in a room with 10 other kids and one teacher, and feel safe. Your children who are so delayed the other babies in the room would trample yours, whose children are loud, rock, and at home its like a rhythmic song, but in public you just want to hide.
In a perfect world every church would have special teachers, or volunteers to be an aid to special children, or rooms for differently abled kids, and parents would feel safe leaving their babies. The church would find a way to get you to church. The phone would ring, visits would be made. In a perfect world parents wouldn't feel they needed to protect their children from the blank looks down on their child in a place so filled with love.
The world isn't perfect though, and so here we sit. Sunday morning again.