Sunday Morning Torture and Conviction…

Tick, Tock! Tick, Tock! Why is it not 12 O’Clock?

My clothes are worn and wrinkled. My hair is frazzled and fried. I have been hit, slapped, and bit. I have been choked and strangled. I have been pinched and punched.

Tension surges thru my veins. Frustration constricts my airways. Irritation causes me to SNAP! I could explode at any minute, putting Mount St. Helen’s to utter shame.

I feel like a prisoner of war, chained and confined to a torture chamber, but I am not. I am merely a church member, trying to occupy her pew, against the devil and her children’s wishes.

I knew church would be bad. I just knew it. My husband is out-of-town leaving me to fend for myself. My children know they have me out numbered, and they play on my weaknesses. They feed off my insecurities. I was defeated and depleted, long before I ever backed my car out of the garage, and headed for church.

It crossed my mind a time or two, just to sit this one out. “Give in and give up,” I told myself. “You are wasting your time, you know your children will act awful.” I couldn’t wave my white flag of surrender before the battle even begun, could I?

Twenty minutes into church, if I would have had a white flag, I would have scaled the sanctuary, and hung it from the steeple. I wanted to stand up during worship service, pat my hair down, and straighten my skirt. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “I am sorry, so sorry that I played the lottery this week. I feel like I sold my soul for three measly dollars and the worst part is, I didn’t even win. Lord, forgive me. I am sorry, so sorry that I can not control my children. They are wild, wilder than screaming banshees that can not be caged. And, I am so very sorry that we have turned your worship service into a three-ring circus. If you will excuse us now, we are leaving.” Tick, Tock! Tick, Tock! It’s twelve O’clock! Luckily, the clock saved the congregation from the ravings of a Mad Mother Church Goer!

We gather our things and head for the door. A real live police officer from the church helps me secure my son in his car seat. He just laughs, Officer Ryan has had a lot of training in dealing with unruly boys, but me not so much. I buckle my Lauryn’s seatbelt and then I buckle my own. I put the car in drive and pull out so fast I almost leave black marks. When I can see the church in my rear view mirror, I feel myself relax. I let out a huge sigh of relief, and I Thank God for letting me make it thru one more service. I could have let the Devil win and stayed at home, but I did not. I went. I fought. I won! Amen!