Church.

Church.

In our house, it happens weekly, like clock-work.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of the time between 7:30 a.m. and 9:21 a.m.

Enjoy:

7:30 a.m.- Completely jerked out of whatever dream I was having. Allowing my eyes to adjust. I'm blind, because I have terrible vision, and my contacts aren't in. I can hear banging, and proceed to have an inner dialogue with myself, deciphering each noise my home makes.

Banging: The boys are playing at the train table, in the living room.

Gentle whir: My beloved box fan. Oh how I love thee.

Soft snoring: Husband. Good grief he is beautiful. 

Creaking door: Someone throws open our bedroom door. 

Then I feel the give and take of the mattress, as little bodies start piling onto their Daddy.

"Good morning, boys!"

"Good morning, Momma! Can we eat breakfast? Can you help me button my pants? Can you help me put this train track together?"

A symphony of requests. 

"Good morning, honey."

"Good morning!"

A brief, "I missed you." smile exchange.

Then the wrestling match begins between 3 boys and their Dad. I'm completely rolled over on the other side of the bed, eyes closed, still adjusting to morning. I know it happens daily, but it genuinely shocks my body every single day. Finding the "Joy that comes in the morning" has been my mission for the past 6 months. I used to wake up, and not talk. Mainly, for fear of biting someones head off, before my body had adjusted. Then I felt like maybe it wasn't my right to act like I wasn't excited about the day. All of my children wake up FULL OF LIFE. And my husband wakes up singing! SINGING.

So, I laid it at God's feet.

Lord, let me be joy in the morning. 

And you know what? It has worked. It's a flawed process, because I'm flawed. But submitting my frustration about how hard mornings are to God, has literally given me a fresh perspective.

I do not wake up singing. I am not Mary Poppins. But I wake up, listening to my boys chatter about whatever toys they're playing with, and it warms my heart that they play, fight, and love each other. Iron sharpening iron.  I wake up, and look at the strong man next to me, knowing I don't deserve him, at all. And yet? Every morning, there he is still. I wake up, and feel the life kicking in me. Our FIFTH beautiful blessing waking up, kicking me, reminding me to eat some breakfast.

"Okay, boys, head to the table, for some breakfast!"

"YEAH! WHOO HOO BREAKFAST!!! I'LL RACE YOU, PAPA!"

The door slams shut.

I breathe in deep.

"Good morning, God."

7:54 a.m.- I'm completely dressed. My hair is whatever is leftover from the day before. If it was curled yesterday, the curls are given a good shake, and we go with the "beach look". I think. No makeup is applied, because I utilize the 20 minute drive to church to put makeup on, while Mark drives. I shut the fan off, put shoes on, and head to the kitchen. I'm greeted by a smile, a kiss, and a plate of 2 cinnamon rolls, from my husband. I kick on a cup of coffee from my Keurig, and wait for it to finish brewing. I sit across from my 3 shirtless children, and listen to the chatter that hasn't stopped since 7:30.

"Momma, I really need a shirt!"

"I know sweetheart, we don't want cinnamon roll icing to get on it!"

"Hey Momma! Did you know I don't really care for scrumbled eggs? But Papa says they're good for me!"

"Good for you for staying joyful about your scrumbled eggs, Daylon!" (A small giggle rises in my throat at the word "scrumbled".)

"Hey, umm Momma, I yike mine aigs! Days yummy!"

"You like your eggs, Benji? I'm so glad!"

"Okay boys, no more talking, until we have happy bowls! Let's eat quick, because we need to get a bath before church!"

Then 3 brothers look over my shoulder, and with as much excitement as humanly possible, yell Good morning praises to their little sister, who is nestled in her Daddy's arms, who just woke her up.

"HI BATOOKIE!!!!!"

"GOOD MORNING ELLY JO JO!!!"

"HI MY BATOOTIE!!! I DID MISSDED YOU!!!"

And she looks at them with an adoration I didn't realize children could have for each other, until our family unit was introduced to a little sister.

She's placed in the high chair, given bites, and now the oldest has finished his meal.

"Head to the shower, buddy!"

I head there with him, to get the shower started, and make sure he knows where the soap is, etc.

"Daylon, eat your eggs, buddy. We're setting the timer for 10 minutes. We need to get ready for church!"

The 3rd born has finished his "aigs", and is put in the other bathroom, for a bath.

I head to their room to pick out three outfits, 3 pairs of church shoes, 2 pairs of underwear, and a fresh diaper. I stop by the girls room to pick out little sisters outfit and grab her a fresh diaper.

Mark is washing the one in the bathtub, I'm refilling little sister's sippy cup, and encouraging Daylon to finish his eggs.

Mark brings Asher out, wrapped in a towel, and I take over from here. Diaper, socks, pants, shirt, sweater vest, shoes.

DONE!

(This looks very similar to 2 cowboys trying to rope a baby cow, and get him tied up, at a roping competition.)

"Eat your eggs please!"

Mark comes out of our bathroom, looking a little disheveled.

"Khai can't take showers anymore. He was sitting on the drain, instead of letting the water drain, it filled up the shower, and leaked on the floor!"

And, SWITCH!

"Okay, I'll get him ready, you go check on Daylon."

I scoop up the 5 year old, and help him get dressed. Underwear, socks, pants, shirt, shoes.

DONE!

"Buddy, did you make a mess in the bathroom."

"Yeah, I wanted to make my toys be like boats in the shower."

"Okay, maybe next time we should just take a bath, instead."

"Yeah, probably."

"Okay, go play trains, until it's time to go to church."

Check the time.

"8:15!!! We have to leave in 20 minutes!" I yell across the house.

"Okay! Thanks, babe!"

I go to the kitchen, eggs are still in the bowl.

"Alright buddy. Time's up! Go jump in the shower!"

Shirtless boy #3 runs to my bathroom.

Handsome husband trails after to get the shower started.

I pass the shirtless one's clothes and shoes to him.

"You ready for a bath, Elly?"

"Yeah!"

I pick up my beautiful 1 year old who is covered in orange juice and cinnamon roll goodness.

Take her to the bathroom, do a quick bath, because she doesn't care for baths, wrap her up in a towel, and head to her designated pile of clothes.

Diaper, socks, leggings, dress, sweater.

DONE!

Where's her shoes? Where's her bow? I gotta grab a ponytail! What time is it?

8:27 a.m.

Run out to the car, grab a matching pair of shoes, dig under a pile of toys, wrappers, shoes, to find a cream colored bow!

Run back inside, scoop her up, from the train table, with a train clutched in her pudgy fingers. Scoop the mop of hair on her head into a ponytail, clip the bow on! Success!

"Asher? Where are your shoes?"

"Right here, Momma!"

"Okay, let's put them on, bud! And this time leave them on, please!"

"Otay, Momma, I will!"

"Momma, I don't like these shoes. I want to wear my running shoes."

"Khai Khai, we're wearing church shoes. Please be grateful that you have these shoes to wear, okay?"

"But.."

"Khai, remember, you show God how much you love Him, by obeying Momma and Papa."

"Okay. Can I have a drink of your coffee?"

(As I'm wrangling the baby calf, I mean Asher, to get his shoes put back on.)

"What? Uhh... no thank you buddy! You don't need coffee."

DONE!

"Okay, Asher, go play, and please do not take your shoes off!"

"Look how fancy I am, Momma!"

"Wow, Daylon!!! You look great! Papa did a great job helping you get dressed! Tell him thank you!"

"Thank you Papa!"

"Welcome, bud," Mark says through a mouth full of toothpaste and toothbrush.

"Okay, honey! I'm loading the kids up!" I say.

"Okay, I'm going to get a shower!"

A shower? Do we have time for that?

Hesitantly, "Okay!"

8:43 a.m.

"Hey! Momma wants to get a picture of y'all real quick!"

(Time. Haha.)

Shift the chair and a half away from the wall. Line up kids in birth order.

"But I want to be in da meedle!"

"Benji, you need to stand by Elly! You're her big buddy!"

Elly sits, gets ready to crawl away.

"Wait! Elly! Here! Here's a train! Here! Look look look! Boys, look at the camera!"

I'm crawling on the floor, 32 weeks pregnant, trying to get Elly to hold still.

"Boys look at the camera! Elly! Sit! Sit still! Boys! Look!"

Snap, snap snappity snap.

(Praise God for Iphones, and the ability to take multiple shots.)

"Okay, everybody load up in the car!"

I scoop up Elly, and the boys storm out the door. Someones finger gets squished in the door. Crying, consoling, and rushing to the car.

I grab my water bottle, fill it up, fill up Elly's sippy cup, and head to the door. I cross paths with a freshly showered man. Who smells fantastic.

"Ready, babe?"

"Yep!" I say, exasperated.

"Here, let me take Elly."

I grab the door, slam it shut, and head to the car.

"Guys get buckled!"

"Do you know where my blue train is?"

"No buddy, I don't."

"Asher, where's your shoe?"

"Right here, Momma!"

"Okay, let's put it on!"

The whir of my automatic Momma Rocket door shutting, as I hop into the front passenger seat.

We back out, head down the road, get on the highway, and head to church.

Church starts at 9:00 a.m.

It's 8:59.

I take a deep breath to calm my Type A personality anxiety about being late to church.

It's okay. It's okay. We're safe. We're clothed. We're headed there. 

Meanwhile, my very chill husband grabs my hand, intertwines his fingers into mine, and kisses the back of my hand.

9:15 a.m.

We get to church. My make up is done. Asher's shoes and socks are off.

Let's do this.

Shoes and socks are put on, again, and we have the boys hold hands, and walk to their class.

I settle comfortably next to my best friend. I take another big deep breath.

We made it.

                                        ___________________________________________



This dialogue is every. single. Sunday.

Some Sundays, we're more prepared, others we're less prepared.

I've heard it been said "I don't want to go to church. They're all judgmental there."

Take it from this growing family. We won't judge you. Look at the morning we have, before church! Good grief, people would just laugh themselves into hysterics if they were a fly on our wall! We don't go to church because we need to say "Look! Look how awesome we are!" Are you kidding me? Most Sundays, Dry Shampoo is my best friend, because I do not look anywhere near awesome without it! And I sure don't have time to shower! I've heard others say "It's not worth all the work." And you know what? Sometimes I battle that, in my heart! Why do we have to feel like a hamster running in a wheel, the 2 hours leading up to church? Can we just stay home, in our pjs, and watch movies? We could. And some days, we have a more relaxed Sunday. But I always miss the music. Not the music leader. The sound of 200 people singing Amazing Grace together. I miss the pastor, challenging me, calling a warrior out of this rebel heart.

"They're all fake."

"If I walked into a church, I'd immediately catch on fire."

"I hate how happy everyone is."

All of these are points that I've heard people try and make. You want to hear my heart?

I'm so broken, it's not even funny. I may seem like I have it all together. My "all together" is only by the grace of God. 

If you knew my sins, my past, my selfishness, my pride, my anger, you wouldn't feel so dirty. 

I am only walking into church with a smile, because I get to learn more about the Father that created me. 

I've also heard it been said "Expectations ruin relationships."

If you expect people to judge you, you'll ruin any potential relationship with those people.

Church is a sticky subject.

Because adults want to adult.

"I'm an adult. I don't have to go to church."

Yeah, that sounds real mature. 

I used to do that. Cross my arms, pout my lip, turn my nose up.

But I need church.

I need to know that there are others struggling. I need to hear the guest pastors testimony about battling pornography for years. My eyes burn with hot tears when I look over at his wife, as she looks at him, with a love and adoration that only a woman who has walked through hell, and back, can. I need to feel my husband's hand, on the small of my back, as my hands are lifted up, eyes closed, singing Amazing Grace. I need to know that this Church, this Bride, this calling that we have all heard is together.

Step outside the doors. The world offers division. Inside? Just a bunch of divided, selfish people gathering to say "We believe."

We believe in God, the Father. We believe in Jesus Christ. We believe in the Holy Spirit, and that He's given us new life. We believe.


I'm broken. At times, I'm fake. I struggle with anger, pride, and selfishness. I'm not a good wife, at all times. I'm not a good Mom, at times.

I'm a mess.

And He still says, "I want you."

Can you imagine if we treated our marriage, like our relationship to church? Don't we want to go on dates every week? Feel a smile from our spouse?

That's what that building represents. Our commitment to Him.

I will go worship you, with other sinners, BECAUSE we are all broken. I will go smile at them, BECAUSE I'm grateful that He loves me, and all my mess.

Grace.

That's the sweet aroma of grace. 

So, that picture at the top of this post? You know, the one of all 4 kids looking absolutely adorable?

Now, you know the rest of the story.

And yes, I'll do it a million more times, in my lifetime.

I'm so grateful for those children, and that man, and His grace. 





                                            ___________________________________________

Team Dojo BLOOPERS:

                 

(This is my knee. I'm assuming from when I was crawling all over the floor.)

See? Even in our world, there's beauty in the mess.