We loaded up and headed to a small-town church this morning. The Pastor was away for the holiday and asked Matt to fill-in preaching. There were ten people total in the congregation. Matt, I and the girls made up four. Then there was a 7 or 8 year old grandson. So once the children were dismissed and I got settled back down after changing baby’s diaper, there were a whoppin’ five in the service, including me.
The service began at 10:30a. Matt and I got delayed in our commute due to me forgetting my guitar in the shovel out the door, but ended up being the first people there at 10:20a. At 10:27a, a local attendee arrived, followed by the music leader and his grandson at 10:28a, who was able to let us into the building. At 10:32a, there were still us seven. Matt asked if we should start, smiling at the fact that our family outnumbered the attendees. We were informed to wait for more. Two more came in together, one of which was the Sunday School teacher. After introducing my girls to the nursery toy stash (praise the Lord!) the final congregation member arrived.
No one minded the toddler “praise” occurring in our row as the first 6 (seriously, SIX) hymns were sung (at least 3-4 verses a piece). And pacing in the side row with a baby on your hip didn’t even bat an eye. I was still grateful to have remembered to put away the walking toy Abi had found so amusing before the start of church. All we needed to complete the service was a melt-down over who would push the walking toy back to the nursery before the sermon. I’m not even sure if anyone would have noticed a good ole fashioned toddler fall-out tantrum. Graciousness poured from the small bunch.
No one payed any mind to the “Jesus loves me” chorus from the nearby Sunday school room amid Matt’s sermon. Rachael’s voice sailing in competition of the microphone. Giggles and running feet from the other room were merely a part of Matt’s sermon.
We ate at a local diner after church, slightly annoyed by the girls’ sugar high post snack cookies. Rachael explained how she learned about Tangled at Sunday School and that Jesus healed someone at a hospital and “another guy was forgived by Jesus because he was a bad guy”. I still have no idea what the lesson was, but the butter-rolls were a hit. The grilled-cheese sandwich partial-crusts proved their toddler success.
The drive home included one passed-out baby with head tilted toward the ceiling and a toddler zoning through slit-eyes until her body gave in. Matt chuckled as he heard snoring from the backseat. I pondered the romance of the rural country with a background of AM Radio Sunday afternoon football playing and a husband immersed. Rain fell as thoughts of the romance in working the land with your hands, keeping up with the house chores, and raising the kids consumed me. I remembered the short conversation Matt and I had as we waited outside the church, after walking the small block and looking in all the storefront windows with the girls. “What if a small store-front church called you and asked you to be the Pastor and live above the church, what would you say?” “I’d say yes,” he smiled, “As long as the apartment fit our family.” We both smiled, remembering our family motto to serve the Lord wherever He may call.
And I was reminded again that it is not the place, but the enjoyment of the romance of the place that brings such joy. Seeing the joy and delight in the everyday normals. Finding the bliss in the here and nows, even if the here and nows are drastically different from one day to the next. It’s the reminiscing on the present as if it is told in the future to a circle of grandkids. Enjoying life as it is given to you as a gift from our Father in Heaven.
I wonder if God delights in my delights.
And I know He does.
Enjoy your rainy Sunday, friends.
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