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Ten o’clock
Sunday morning, and we were ready to head out the door. We were on schedule to
arrive 15 minutes early to church—unusual for us, on its own, and even more
unusual considering I had singlehandedly gotten four children and myself ready
for church. Not just “average-day” ready but looking nice!
My husband
was playing guitar on the praise team for the first time at our church, and I
was looking forward to hearing him play.
“Let’s go,”
I announced. “Where are the keys? Who
took the keys?”
No answer. Repeated
a little more loudly and frantically this time, and the next, and the next… Finally,
the culprit confessed (or his brothers confessed for him).
“Where did
you go with the keys?” I asked, with increasing inflation in my voice (obviously
not as calmly as I would have liked, if I could do it over).
“Outside, in
the garage, and downstairs,” he responded.
Lots of
ground to cover there.
Out I went
to search, while urging the troops to come search with me. I wish I could say I
acted like a loving coach motivating them to action, but it was more like a
stressed-out mom on a rant about why we have rules that kids do not take keys,
why we don’t lose keys, how we won’t be going anywhere until we find the keys,
how we’ll probably be missing church and hearing Dad play guitar, and how we
spent all that time getting ready and it was all a waste, since someone decided
to run off with the keys and lose them.
We looked
through the garage. Under and over things and in the minivan. We searched
outside, around the house, the patio furniture, in the grass, in the window
wells for the basement, and around again (I think I even checked in the
mailbox). We searched downstairs. I searched the main floor and upstairs for
good measure. No luck anywhere.
We spent the
better part of 45 minutes looking. (The “better part” is an interesting phrase,
since no part of those 45 minutes were in no way “better” than how I could
otherwise be spending them.) I encouraged my son to pray and ask Jesus to help
us find the keys. Crying, he said, “I did pray, but He’s not helping me,
because I can’t…[out-of-control crying] find…the…keeeeyyyyyys [more
out-of-control crying].”
My son was
crying so hard that he summoned the attention of a neighbor, who came out to
look at why this boy was wailing uncontrollably. Partly it was because he felt
sad for losing the keys, but mainly it was because his sensitive spirit couldn’t
stand that his mom was upset at what he thought was him, but was really the
situation (good luck explaining that to a five-year old).
Finally, I gave
up and sent everyone to their room. “If we aren’t going to church,” I said, “you
aren’t playing” (in case it was a con to get out of going).
I went
outside to read my Bible, reflect, and pray.
Here’s what
I was thinking about:
- Just because I wasn’t spending those hours in church on Sunday morning didn’t mean I couldn’t worship God
- When you don’t get to use your time the way you thought you were going to use your time, how do you respond?
- What was God trying to show me through this?
- If I was upset that we were dressed up and looking nice but with nowhere to go (and no way to get there), is this not pride?
- If I was upset that I had spent my time getting everyone ready, which seemed to be a waste of time, was this not a trivial thing to stew about?
I’m glad that even in my frustration and
anger, God gave me the grace to hold my tongue. I wanted to go into a tirade
about why they are never, ever to take my keys. The accusation--“because you’re
not responsible”--was wanting to leave my lips. But God’s mercy and grace
helped me to picture what that would do to my child’s spirit. I remember what
it felt like to receive stinging comments as a child. Luckily, I refrained.
The Lord
brought to mind the parable of the woman who searches her house for her lost
silver coin. It’s in Luke chapter 15, along with a parable of the shepherd who
loses one sheep out of a 100 and searches for it, as well as the parable of the
prodigal son.
My sons came
up from their time-out, and I read them these parables. We discussed how, even
though we had lost our keys, it is more important that our souls are not “lost”,
that we find Jesus, and help others find Him, too, and that even someday, if we
get “lost” from Him, that we—like the prodigal son—find our way back.
Right at
that very moment, my son exclaimed, “Mom! The keys!”
They were
sitting on top of the barbecue grill right next to me. I can’t tell you how
many times I had looked on and around the grill. It was as though the Lord had
blinded my eyes to the keys the whole morning, up until that moment.
Why? I don’t
know. Perhaps there would have been an accident on the way to church. Perhaps
there was a lesson I needed to learn. Perhaps it was a lesson one of my children
needed to learn. Perhaps the story is something someone needs to be encouraged
by. I don’t know.
I just know
it was ok with God that we weren’t in church that Sunday morning, because He
kept us home.
Sharing with:
Women Living Well
Raising Homemakers
Heavenly Homemakers
Sharing with:
Women Living Well
Raising Homemakers
Heavenly Homemakers
I found a helpful perspective. You can focus on the SCHOOL part of homeschooling, or you can focus on the HOME part of it. Essentially what the Davis' were saying is--if you believe God has called you to keep your children home as opposed to sending them away to school for the majority of the day, then relationships--learning to live together as a family--becomes a higher priority than academics.
