This year in Bible Study Fellowship we're studying the Life of Moses: Exodus through Deuteronomy. For the past two months or so, we've been learning about setting up the tabernacle and the sacrifices that took place within. Every week, it seems, there is some sort of question about how we prepare our own hearts for worship today, about being intentional and serious about coming into the Lord's presence.
And every week, it seems, I suffer a bit of frantic despair over the thought. There is no way I can adequately prepare for worship. Not even if all the clothes are laid out the night before (which they are). Not even if we get there early to drop the kids off at Sunday school (which we do). Not even if I get up early (which, with Toby up for 2-3 hours in the middle of most nights, I just. can. not. do) and spend time in prayer. Not even during the prayer of confession in the service, what with keeping an eye on the big kids' demeanor andtraining asking threatening begging the toddler to stay quiet.
Sundays so often feel pointless. At the very least, it's not the solemn and joyful (both!) confession and forgiveness of sin we see in the sacrificial system of the Old Testament.
On this particular stressful morning, I was sitting in the hallway with said toddler, attempting to get through just one more song quietly before releasing him into the nursery. A sweet older lady approached and asked hopefully, "So, now that the boys are a little bit older, is it getting easier?" I like her, and I trust her, so I told the truth: no, it's not. The baby isn't sleeping and the toddler is so. very. TWO and there is just so much personality in my house . . . no, it's not easier. I assured her, as I do everyone in this conversation, that I wasn't complaining, simply stating how it is.
"Oh, Christy, that's exactly how I'm hearing it," she promised. She offered two bits of advice: don't take it personally (which, she confessed, is more relevant with a house full of girls), and remember, always remember, that what you're seeing is not the finished product.
That reminder in itself was a breath of fresh air, but without missing a beat, she stretched her hand out towards mine and prayed, easily, just as much in conversation with me as with God, for energy, for patience, for wisdom (and lots of it).
All afternoon, and now on into the evening, I've been thinking about that short encounter. About being present in the worship service simply to be a part of the body of Christ. About encountering God through the blessings of faithful saints. About the work of just getting everyone to church that, while perhaps not the epitome of sacrificial living, might yet be a sacrifice that pleases the Lord.
His grace is sufficient. Even for this crowd. :)
And every week, it seems, I suffer a bit of frantic despair over the thought. There is no way I can adequately prepare for worship. Not even if all the clothes are laid out the night before (which they are). Not even if we get there early to drop the kids off at Sunday school (which we do). Not even if I get up early (which, with Toby up for 2-3 hours in the middle of most nights, I just. can. not. do) and spend time in prayer. Not even during the prayer of confession in the service, what with keeping an eye on the big kids' demeanor and
Sundays so often feel pointless. At the very least, it's not the solemn and joyful (both!) confession and forgiveness of sin we see in the sacrificial system of the Old Testament.
On this particular stressful morning, I was sitting in the hallway with said toddler, attempting to get through just one more song quietly before releasing him into the nursery. A sweet older lady approached and asked hopefully, "So, now that the boys are a little bit older, is it getting easier?" I like her, and I trust her, so I told the truth: no, it's not. The baby isn't sleeping and the toddler is so. very. TWO and there is just so much personality in my house . . . no, it's not easier. I assured her, as I do everyone in this conversation, that I wasn't complaining, simply stating how it is.
"Oh, Christy, that's exactly how I'm hearing it," she promised. She offered two bits of advice: don't take it personally (which, she confessed, is more relevant with a house full of girls), and remember, always remember, that what you're seeing is not the finished product.
That reminder in itself was a breath of fresh air, but without missing a beat, she stretched her hand out towards mine and prayed, easily, just as much in conversation with me as with God, for energy, for patience, for wisdom (and lots of it).
All afternoon, and now on into the evening, I've been thinking about that short encounter. About being present in the worship service simply to be a part of the body of Christ. About encountering God through the blessings of faithful saints. About the work of just getting everyone to church that, while perhaps not the epitome of sacrificial living, might yet be a sacrifice that pleases the Lord.
His grace is sufficient. Even for this crowd. :)
Boys at church back in September.
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