Posted by Sarah in Family on August 15, 2010
We are still stuck at home the chorus of phlegmy choughs preventing us from going near real people. And because my constant command of “no more coughing” is going totally unheeded (by myself included) we are missing out on church. This makes me sad, I love going to church, I love the opportunity to sing on the top of my lungs to a God who loves me in a room full of people who don’t care if I sing out of key. I love that caring arms are more than willing to carry my baby or at least caring eyes are more than willing to watch her hoon around like a disastrous whirlwind upending all crèche toys and wobbly legged children in her path. I love that I can sit uninterrupted with Glenn listening to someone who has dedicated their live to furthering their knowledge of the being who created us all. Someone who after all of that studying and soul searching is willing to stand alone, stripped of all earthly safeguards to share with me what they have learnt. I love that in this time of singing, learning and being with other people God is there, a felt force, a prompting thought, a loving guide. I love that my children love church, that they feel that church is theirs that they somehow own the building and the people in it. I love that they pine for them when sickness prevents us from going but mostly I love that they learn about God there. Something I think we might need a little more of after this morning’s conversation.
As soon as I enter the kitchen I can tell I have stepped into the middle of something. Glenn looks a little frazzled and Lilly is visibly upset. This threw me, I had been expecting happy faces as I knew they had gone into the kitchen to give five Tiny Teddies a bath in a jam Tartlet (their current morning tea obsession).
“You can’t take anything to Heaven with you, not even MORNING TEA!” exploded Lilly tears making her round eyes glisten.
I was immediately moved both with compassion for her as she dealt with such an massive concept and with the humour of the situation. I firmly told the twitching corners of my lips that I would remain their master and not allow then to spill the merciless laughter that was dying to be let out and took the path of compassion.
“sweetie” I started gently “I’m sure heaven has their own morning tea.”
“yes” interjected Eli with a hint of disgust “I know, It’s FISH”