Two Consecutive Sundays

Last Sunday at church, I was helping in the toddler side of the nursery.  There were seventeen angry children in there (at least it felt like there was nary a happy one).  I was substituting for some lucky soul, who was unable to do her duties for that day.  The toddler side of the nursery is maybe my least favorite place already.  The kids are still in diapers, unable to communicate, and almost never joyful because of the long Sundays without their parents.  But, I went into it with a heart seeking to serve the Lord, knowing that it didn't matter where I wanted to be.  It only mattered that I work for His glory.

That intention got lost in the chaos.  The first child I welcomed came to me in screams, ripped away from his mom's arms and then, in a fit of rage, slapped me on the face, simultaneously yelling "NO!"  That almost perfectly encapsulates my morning in the toddler side.  To offer reprieve to the children and harried fellow workers, I took four of the kids on a ride around church in the four-person stroller for about 45 minutes.  That helped tremendously.

As I did this, I had the opportunity to pray for these kids.  I was none-too-thrilled at the injuries I had sustained at the hands of the Lord-of-the-Flies toddlers.  But I tried to put it out of my mind and replace it with a heart seeking their good for His glory.  And I was mildly successful at it.  Although, I must say, I was pretty distracted in the following service, as it was truly a tough morning.  Strange that there needs to be a recovery period from the toddlers!

But that experience PALED in comparison to the one I experienced at the hands of my own toddler yesterday morning at church.  She has always struggled, keeping her emotions in check going into her twos class.  She is terrified of the wonderful old man who greets her at the door with a bear puppet propped on his hand.  And so before church yesterday, I could see the tension building in her, as her face tightened and she reminded me in near-whimpers: I don't wanna go to church.  Trying to be as understanding as possible, I reassured her that she could do this-- reminding her of what our day held (hoping to put into perspective that there was an end and that soon this too would pass).  I prayed with her, I held her, I talked her through what she would encounter and how she should respond.  But it seemed like no amount of perfect parenting (guffaw) could allay her fears.  And when we walked into the twos, she began screaming-- no, not crying-- SCREAMING.  I'm talking top-of-your-lungs-full-throttle-ear-drum-damaging shrieking.  Not only that, she began wriggling her way out of my arms and the arms of the sweet toddler workers, flailing, and kicking at the air to get free.  I felt the sweat break out on my forehead as I contemplated what to do.  My two sons were standing, serenely waiting for me to drop them off at their respective classes.  But this mother-of-all-tantrums simply could not be ignored.  Taking her into the bathroom, and certainly within earshot of many, we walked through a series of discipline procedures.  We did this three times, before I realized that it simply wasn't stopping.  In that moment, any control that I THOUGHT I had over the situation vanished.  And I was THAT mom.  But, collecting myself, I forced her onto a toddler worker, still flailing arms and legs, and letting everyone within earshot know of her discontent, and I turned and walked toward church.

It took every shred of self-control I had to even half-listen at church.  I was so grieved over my daughter.  In days of yore, I think I would've cared what all of the folks around me thought- the fact that I might be the object of judgment as the bad mom.  But I think I've now had such a superfluous amount of child-embarrassement that I've grown accustomed to the rising tide of nerves from fear-of-man.  And I'm able to put those to death, for the most part.  Because PUH-lease, I've had my oldest throw himself on the ground in the middle of the t-ball field, my younger son frantically yell "Ow! Ow! Ow!" in a Costco line when I've been trying to calmly remind him of the discipline he'll receive at home, my oldest (again) sustaining a crazed tantrum for 2.7 excruciating walking miles shouting "NO! NO! NO!" the whole way, my sweetest little one, only recently screeching through another trip to Costco, desperately clawing at the safety buckles, my Haddie-bear in front of many of my peers, bawling loudly while clutching her bum and explaining through her sobs that "I only went a little bit of poopy in my underwear."  All of these things have happened while I have put on my brave face, smiling at passersby as if I'm even a little bit touched by insanity.  More than once, I have wanted to return my children's screams volleying them from here to eternity filled with terror at their mom's reaction.  But I have resisted the urge...SO FAR.

So, while my darling daughter, whom I love, grieved me with her fit yesterday, I had the opportunity to pray for several things in church:

*The heart to remember that it's not about me-- no matter who saw or heard the histrionics that were occurring, I must not succumb to the temptation to over-explain or justify what was going on, even if those factors were true and real-- (i.e. I promise this never happens- she's just tired- it's been a long weekend- you would scream too if your hair looked like that, etc.).  I must remember that the Lord cares about how I handled it- and it doesn't matter what others think.

*That I must remember never to judge others when their children have public flare-ups.  No, it is not ALWAYS a matter of poor home-training.  In fact, we're about as disciplined as I can think, but at that moment yesterday, the stars were perfectly aligned (tee hee) for a massive blow-up.

*For the compassion to walk my terror-filled child through her problems with more care, with much prayer, and to be patient with her problems.

*That I would remember that even if I were the perfect parent, it doesn't mean that God isn't the one who changes heart.  In fact, so sweetly when I was disciplining her for her response when we returned home, I asked her: Haddie, who can change your heart and help you to control your body when you're afraid?  And she answered, "the Holy Spirit alone."  Lest you be impressed and think that was her own answer, it wasn't!  It's part of the catechism we've been going through- though I was surprised to hear her apply it in real time!

*Above all, for wisdom in rearing her.  I have learned through much experience how the others respond, and have been able to quell their fears and preempt quite a few potential emotional ruptures.  But, this is new territory.  My daughter has a different temperament, so I am asking the Lord for wisdom in what will help her- how to best convey His truths in her little heart in times before and after trouble.

So, this morning, I am reminded that it seems like desperation as a parent, as a Christian, is the best place for us all.  It is the mark of humility when my SOUL pants for Him and a reminder of my weaknesses and His strength as the only solace for my weariness.  Human strategies are nice, but unless they're subject to His wisdom, they fall woefully short.