I'd wake up and work my hair until it was as pretty as could be. I'd carefully apply my waterproof mascara, knowing some tears would probably be shed. (I'm a definitely a cryer.) I'd pick out my best and cutest outfit, grab some breakfast and before I headed out the door, I'd be sure to grab my little brown leather scripture bag. In which contained complimenting & uplifting notes from friends from years past in Seminary, a worn copy of my favorite talk, Good Things To Come by Elder Holland, and my scriptures which were marked up, written in, and drawn in to kingdom come. Along with my scripture bag, I'd grab My Book. A plain notebook where I'd doodle and write down notes from what would be taught in church that day.
Church meetings were always serene and peaceful for me. I loved to sing hymns in my best choir voice. I loved sitting and listening to testimonies, talks and lessons that were carefully prepared. I loved carefully jotting down every sentence that touched my heart. The part I loved most about my Sundays were that I always left church feeling inspired, loved by my Father in Heaven, clean, beautiful, peaceful, and refreshed.
Then I became a mother.
We lucked out (sarcasm) and got the 9AM ward block. Most Sundays, I hit snooze until like 8:15. Actually let's be real. I turn my alarm off when it goes off. Because I know what I'm about to go through.
Grant sleeps until 7am, eats, and then likes to go back to sleep around 8:30am until about 10am. Church starting at 9am is an absolute nightmare for us. Because I know right when we get there, he wants to take a nap. So during sacrament meeting Jaron and I take turn juggling, distracting and trying to entertain Grant. In hopes that he'll forget it's his morning nap time. You can forget about listening to talks and testimonies. I couldn't tell you what in the world went on in sacrament meeting for the past 4 months. The past few Sundays, rather than sit there in the halls or burning up outside in the 100+ degree weather with a screaming, I'm not kidding, Screaming. baby... Jaron takes Grant home to nap.
Why don't I go with him you ask?
No, not because I stick around to enjoy the rest of my Sunday in peace... no.
Because I get to teach CTR 6.
I can't even.
When sat in during that first sharing time in Primary, I had made up in my mind that I was going to march right into Bishop's office at the end of church and tell him no. That I had changed my mind. That there was no circus director patient enough to handle that.
I had never. ever. in my days.. seen a Primary like that.
Kids were EVERYWHERE. During sharing time! Running around, screaming, clapping, CLIMBING, hitting, talking... you name it. Kids would even run up and tug and tap and interrupt the teacher. It looked like recess. No respect, no reverence. I was appalled.
The teachers stood up there trying their hardest, and just muscling through.
I knew this was not what I had agreed to. But I learned to never say no to a calling, so I decided I would teach these kids some discipline. In my mind I had decided that my primary class would make out to be the best one there. That they'd finally be good once I had gotten to them.
Oh no. No, no. Despite all my efforts, the sunbeams behave better than my 6 year olds.
That is why Church isn't fun anymore.
And that is why I turn off my alarm and stay in bed when it goes off on Sundays. Yesterday was especially the hardest, and knowing the fight it's going to be with Grant, and my primary kids... and knowing that once Grant is grumpy that it frustrates Jaron and makes him grumpy and irritated as well...
I seriously think to myself,
"What is the point?"
What's the point in going to church if I'm not feeling the spirit? If it's an uphill battle to get there and once I get there all I do is wrangle kids and babies? What's the point if I don't even feel uplifted when I leave? All I feel is the frustration and irritation and anger that I had been holding in during those three hours.
And then I think...
"I know I am going to have more children... that'll make it even harder.."
What is the point then?? What is the point if you have to fight to get all of your children there? What is the point if nobody even wants to go?
A still small voice whispers to me and assures me...
There is a point.
There is a reason behind all of this.
The Lord knows your heart, He knows your intentions... your desires.
He knows how badly I want "my sundays" back. He knows I wanted to get up and bear my testimony yesterday. He knows how hard it is for me to get my family to church, and He is proud and smiles down when I do it.
He knows I don't always hear the lesson, or the talks. He knows I struggle when I try to teach children.
And that is the point.
My mother did it for me.
She made me come to church when I didn't want to. She made me go to Primary when I wanted to stay home. She fought with me to go to church when I was a teenager, and once my dad even poured ice cold water on me while I was asleep. Even though it was a fight... even though she probably wondered herself... "What is the point?" I look back and I can never thank her enough. I can never show her enough gratitude for her doing that for me. I look back and I admire her strength in pushing forward and enduring.. even though it was a fight to get us there. There was a point, the point was that when I got older... I had a few years of "my Sundays". Where I loved. going to church. Where I developed a strong, firm testimony of this gospel.
And now here I am. It is not fun going to church right now. And "my Sundays" are long gone.. but the point is, someday... Grant will have "His Sundays". and my primary kids will have "Their Sundays". And my future children will have theirs, and so on and so on.
It is a cycle. . . but a difficult one.
But if we don't break it, the blessings to our posterity and future generations are inconceivable.
So Moms... don't forget..
There really is a point.