Sunday Routine

We are slowly but surely figuring out our new Sunday routine.  You'd think growing up in a church, daughter of a minister, and now married to a minister that this would be a little more natural. However, a lot has shifted and changed in the expectations and roles of church-going folks in the last 30 years, so I feel like I'm on the edge of redefinition and exciting change.

Henry and Svea don't really jive on concepts like "redefinition and exciting change." They prefer terms such as "special treats and what's-in-it-for-me."

The first week we lived here was Vacation Bible School which we thought strategic in terms of the kids making new friends quickly and introducing them to things like "The Bible." By Wednesday Svea was telling me that she REALLY did not want to learn about Moses anymore. (By the end of the week she LOVED it and now whenever we drive past the church she screams, "It's my school!")



Henry still looked like a deer in headlights, though he was getting the hand motions to the songs down really well. In fact, it's the only music they will listen to in the car now and Henry points to all his new friends in church and tells me stories from VBS.

The next Sunday, Svea decided that children's church was not in her plan and that she would sit with me for the duration. I went with it, hoping to hear just some of Brian's sermon "Snoring in a Bridesmaid's Dress"...and I got more than I bargained for. Luckily, I had read it the day before and I was able to weather Svea's relentless questions:

"Jesus? What Jesus?"

"Gas? Run out of gas? THAT'S not appropriate..."

"Feast? Where?"

"What lamps at night? What doors are shut?"

"Where's Henry? What's he doing in Children's Church?"

"This is my jellyfish and crab. But it's not ready yet." (We may have to make a donation to the Registration Pad Fund.)

Before Henry left for Children's Church, he asked me, "God? Where's God? I want to see God."

Dude. 

I didn't have time to embrace him and his universal cry before he was off and running to see what kind of cookies they may have in the Sunday School room.

Maybe they'll realize the profundity of their innocent questions someday. Maybe they won't. Maybe they'll grow up to marry someone religious and then just blog about it. Or maybe they'll just eat a lot of cookies. 

Regardless, I choose to experience Church with them any day.