from the mouths of third graders

I actually made it to my Sunday school class yesterday. I told the third graders that they had to be extra nice to me because I was very tired from traveling home from New Zealand and that I had been in an earthquake.

"An earthquake!" was their initial response, but then they were more interested in sharing their own stories of calamity:

"You know, a tree fell down in my neighbor's yard and there is police tape everywhere."

"The McDonalds near my cousin's house caught on fire!"

I found it quite refreshing.

They could tell that I was not well-prepared for class, and peppered me with questions like a bunch of hungry sharks circling a lifeboat:

"If Jesus rose from the dead, was he then, like, a zombie?"

"If Jesus had Joseph as his father on earth and God as his father in heaven, then who was his other mother?"

"If God made the world, then who made God?"

"Joseph was a carpenter? We have a carpenter who comes to our house and when he bends over, you can see his . . ."

(I ended that story right quick.)

Silence

It is the extraordinarily late hour of 9:30 pm on a Saturday night. Both of the girls are asleep and I am sneaking a small glass of port wine--and hoping that Babycakes does not want to wake up and nurse in the next 30 minutes. (If she does, I guess we will both sleep well tonight!)

Today was an ordinary Saturday, which meant coffee cake for breakfast, buying fruits and vegetables at the market, foodstuffs at the grocery store, lunch, naptime for the wee ones as well as my husband, Starbucks, getting ready to go to church, church, and recovering from church.

Church. I suppose you could say that going to church is my current cross to bear (that is, if you like really terrible puns). We are attending to the English language mass now because it is marginally more child friendly. But oh is it at a really special time. 6 pm. Right when Bee would be contemplating her dinner and then bedtime. So we are feeding her a hearty snack beforehand and bracing for meltdown when we get home.

I have unfortunately discovered that I am more likely to melt down than Bee. I don't know what was more stressful: listening to my baby daughter howling over the first and second readings while having her diaper changed in the drafty church entryway (fortunately my husband has nerves of steel and can handle this type of drama) or Bee going off to Sunday school for the first time by herself. She nonchalantly took the teacher's hand and marched out of the building, deserting her quavering Momma without a backward glance.

Church progressed in its usual fashion. More shrieks from Baby, nursing in public (I hope God didn't mind), Bee returned from Sunday school unscathed. We made it all the way to the end of the service and then it was time for Adoration of the Eucharist.

Extra adoration would never fly in an American church. Parishioners want their service to last no longer than one hour, and are many are already filtering quietly out the back door after receiving communion. As part of Lent, our priest has decided that it would be a good idea for the whole congregation to take a few minutes to pray and reflect at the end of the service.

You know, it was a surprisingly good idea. Staring up at the gold monstrance with its humble piece of bread, I found my sliver of peace in the momentary silence. It was my chance to "Be still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46). I was still. I focused on God.

I think I need to do that more often.