One of my greatest delights is standing between my children in church and hearing their sweet voices join mine in worship. Now before you get the wrong idea, my two little ones are experts at disturbing these idyllic moments.
The truth is, it’s not unusual for me to lose a child during the worship time. Eventually, I notice one is missing and start glancing around; someone behind me usually catches my searching eye and points under a seat somewhere down the row. I smile my thanks and bend over to remove my child from under the seat and return to singing only to get tapped on the arm by the seven year old asking what does that or this word mean, you know, weird words like “hosanna” and “worthy.” It’s delightful that she wants to know, but this is like the seventh time she’s asked. I once again return to singing and soon realize the five year old is now lying in the middle of the aisle, I whisper loudly to her, “someone’s going to step on your head.” I silently blame myself for forgetting to bring a coloring page and crayon packet once again. At last I hand the little one the pen and “welcome card” from the pocket in the seat in front of her to entertain her.
I wouldn’t change it.
No, mine are most definitely not the perfectly dressed in their Sunday best little girls with white tights and bows in their hair. Mine are the children who look like they dressed themselves (they did) and I am the mom licking my thumb to remove dried icing from the little one’s cheek before she exits for Sunday School – and yes she got it on there by clandestinely licking the icing off her big sister’s cinnamon roll before church. This child seriously needs Jesus.
But it is those brief moments of unified voices in praise with my girls beside me that I cherish. A combined 120 seconds of that? I’ll take it. Joyfully.
Three years ago my daughters and I stepped onto a plane with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We flew across oceans and continents from one country to another. The first six months in the US are still a blur. The girls were not yet in school. The younger two children did not even speak English and the older two were barely bi-lingual. They could not read. They could not write.
But they could listen.
Almost from our first day in the US we listened to a Christian radio station and we learned every song. I consider it the number one most healing influence in our life at that time. Even today, it is all we listen to in the car.
The other day I borrowed my dad’s car to drive my daughter to the dentist. His car’s dial is set to Sports Radio. That, of course, was unacceptable. As I was driving I scanned through the channels, trying to find something a ten year old might like. After about ten minutes of skipping from song to song she said, “Mom, can we put on our regular station?” Gladly.
We might not have a wide variety of songs in our repertoire but there are few things in this life that give me as much pleasure as listening to the sound of my children singing worship songs in the car and hearing them say,
“Turn it up, Mom, this is my favorite one.”
Copyright © Rebecca Onkar, Moms of Faith®, All Rights Reserved
This post was originally written for Moms of Faith®.
5 thoughts on “Turn It Up!”
It’s not what you look like or what you have, it’s where you are and who you’re with. Everything else are insignificant details.
I can admit to there being times when I’ve wanted to crawl under the chairs at church too! (I’d probably get stuck if I did though 🙂 )
Just today I was thanking my grown son of 23 for standing with me in church every week. It’s a gift we can’t take for granted! Thank you for sharing!
It is a beautiful thing.
I so loved reading this Rebecca.
I have four girls as well and worship is interesting.
I am always by myself because my husband is on the worship team.
I like to think that after 13 years I have somehow managed to worship The Lord and give “the look” to my daughters at the same time. Un-combed hair,atrocious outfits, and my missing kindergartener for 3 minutes and all.
Present with The Lord
Present with your children-
even imperfectly, is what matters, and it’s obvious that you are doing that.