Church is a Battlefield
I love Sundays. It's that one day of the week that I really look forward to. I especially love going to Church, and I do my best to get everything ready on Saturday night so that we're all set to go in the morning.
Toys and books ✓
Paper and pens ✓
Wipes and extra diaper ✓
Water and snacks ✓
If you'd see the amount of stuff we bring to Church every week, you'd probably think we're going away for the weekend. That's just how our life is right now. We have an active two-year-old and we need to come prepared.
There are weeks when we manage to keep Rei on our pew throughout sacrament meeting. She plays with her toys, looks through the pictures in her book, colors, and sometimes sneaks in a bite of her favorite snack. If we're lucky, we get to listen to the speakers as she busily builds a "house" using the extra hymnbooks lying around. Those are our moments of victory.
And then there are other weeks when our daughter puts all of our efforts to shame.
We just had one of those.
Sacrament meeting just started, and Gian and Rei were browsing through one of her favorite books as the congregation sang the opening hymn. It felt good to be at Church. Then everything went downhill from there.
Was it during the second speaker or after the emblems were passed? I cannot even recall. All I remember was asking Gian to take her to the back because she was getting too antsy in her seat. I thought giving her a few minutes to calm down would do the trick. I turned my attention back to the speaker as Gian walked away with a defiant toddler.
Five? ten? or maybe 15 minutes passed, then I heard tiny footsteps making its way to my direction. I looked back and saw my daughter grinning from ear to ear with a tiny flower in her hand. I looked around for her Papa, but I couldn't see him anywhere. Where was he? I motioned for her to come to me, but instead she turned around and walked the other way.
I was beginning to get irritated. My face was doing all sorts of expressions as I shot death stares at my daughter, hoping she would see that Mama was upset and that she needed to return to her seat. No reaction. She had obviously decided that it was time to take a stroll. She walked up and down the aisle while I sank deeper and deeper into my seat. She finally got close enough for me to grab her hand. I held her firmly as I whispered in her ear that she needs to stay with me. She started to squirm and make a lot noise. I knew I had lost the battle. I exhaled in defeat as I carried her out to the hall.
Why does Church have to be a battle all the time?
I miss quiet Sundays. I miss listening to the speakers without having to constantly check beside me to make sure that my daughter hasn't run away. I miss singing with the choir. I can't even remember the last time I sang a hymn uninterrupted. I miss holding Gian's hand as we sit quietly next to each other. I miss all of it, but those days are gone.
Instead of quiet Sundays, we have to continually remind our toddler to use her quiet voice so she doesn't disturb the people sitting close to us.
Instead of attentively listening to speakers, we have to stop our daughter from crawling under the pew or from throwing her coloring pens on the floor.
Instead of singing hymns, we have to pick the hymnbook she keeps on dropping over and over again.
Instead of sitting quietly holding hands, Gian and I have to use all our faculties to keep Rei from running away and wandering down the aisles of the sacrament hall.
Church can be very exhausting, but it's never been a reason not to go. We may only hear 50% of the talks because we have to tend to our daughter half of the time, but we feel the Spirit as each testimony is shared at the pulpit. We may only get to sing a few verses of the hymns, but each note is a reminder that worship comes in different forms. We may not remember all the things that were shared in class, but our heart swells with joy when Rei happily reports "Have fun. See friends."
Sundays have never been the same ever since our daughter started to walk. It's exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and often feels like a battlefield. But it's still that one day of the week that I really look forward to.
Toys and books ✓
Paper and pens ✓
Wipes and extra diaper ✓
Water and snacks ✓
If you'd see the amount of stuff we bring to Church every week, you'd probably think we're going away for the weekend. That's just how our life is right now. We have an active two-year-old and we need to come prepared.
There are weeks when we manage to keep Rei on our pew throughout sacrament meeting. She plays with her toys, looks through the pictures in her book, colors, and sometimes sneaks in a bite of her favorite snack. If we're lucky, we get to listen to the speakers as she busily builds a "house" using the extra hymnbooks lying around. Those are our moments of victory.
And then there are other weeks when our daughter puts all of our efforts to shame.
We just had one of those.
Sacrament meeting just started, and Gian and Rei were browsing through one of her favorite books as the congregation sang the opening hymn. It felt good to be at Church. Then everything went downhill from there.
Was it during the second speaker or after the emblems were passed? I cannot even recall. All I remember was asking Gian to take her to the back because she was getting too antsy in her seat. I thought giving her a few minutes to calm down would do the trick. I turned my attention back to the speaker as Gian walked away with a defiant toddler.
Five? ten? or maybe 15 minutes passed, then I heard tiny footsteps making its way to my direction. I looked back and saw my daughter grinning from ear to ear with a tiny flower in her hand. I looked around for her Papa, but I couldn't see him anywhere. Where was he? I motioned for her to come to me, but instead she turned around and walked the other way.
I was beginning to get irritated. My face was doing all sorts of expressions as I shot death stares at my daughter, hoping she would see that Mama was upset and that she needed to return to her seat. No reaction. She had obviously decided that it was time to take a stroll. She walked up and down the aisle while I sank deeper and deeper into my seat. She finally got close enough for me to grab her hand. I held her firmly as I whispered in her ear that she needs to stay with me. She started to squirm and make a lot noise. I knew I had lost the battle. I exhaled in defeat as I carried her out to the hall.
Why does Church have to be a battle all the time?
I miss quiet Sundays. I miss listening to the speakers without having to constantly check beside me to make sure that my daughter hasn't run away. I miss singing with the choir. I can't even remember the last time I sang a hymn uninterrupted. I miss holding Gian's hand as we sit quietly next to each other. I miss all of it, but those days are gone.
Instead of quiet Sundays, we have to continually remind our toddler to use her quiet voice so she doesn't disturb the people sitting close to us.
Instead of attentively listening to speakers, we have to stop our daughter from crawling under the pew or from throwing her coloring pens on the floor.
Instead of singing hymns, we have to pick the hymnbook she keeps on dropping over and over again.
Instead of sitting quietly holding hands, Gian and I have to use all our faculties to keep Rei from running away and wandering down the aisles of the sacrament hall.
Church can be very exhausting, but it's never been a reason not to go. We may only hear 50% of the talks because we have to tend to our daughter half of the time, but we feel the Spirit as each testimony is shared at the pulpit. We may only get to sing a few verses of the hymns, but each note is a reminder that worship comes in different forms. We may not remember all the things that were shared in class, but our heart swells with joy when Rei happily reports "Have fun. See friends."
Sundays have never been the same ever since our daughter started to walk. It's exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and often feels like a battlefield. But it's still that one day of the week that I really look forward to.
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