Crying Babies and Christ

I didn't get much out of the sermon this week.

We had a guest preacher here at Eastside, so I had the pleasure of doing two things I normally don't do in church:

1.  Listen to another preacher (besides Pastor Glen from Eastside).

2.  Sit with my wife and two little girls.

Unfortunately, only one of the two happened...

My 19-month old, Brooklyn, was reading a book in my lap during the start of the message.  Evening services are too close to her bedtime to expect too much, but so far things were going well.  But then my 19-month old starting acting like...well, a 19-month old.

With a whine that could make an '89 Geo Prism jealous, Brooklyn began to go into her escape plan.  Parents and babysitters might know the routine.  The child arches her back as if someone put an icecube down her shirt and relaxes every muscle so she can slip down to the floor like a piece of wet spaghetti through your fingers.

Unfortunately, Brooklyn succeeded.  That wasn't the worst thing until she decided to grab her "Pinkie" and army crawl under the pews.  "Not on my watch," daddy thought, as the preacher kept talking...about something.  I reached down and took hold of her ankle.  The Geo Prism-whine doubled in decibel-level.  And then, in a classic toddler move, Brook bonked her head on the hard, wooden hymnal holder.  (Darn hymnal holders!)

It got quiet...for a moment.  I actually think I heard something about Jesus from the guy up front.  But then I looked at Brooklyn.  Her face trembled and her mouth opened wide enough to swallow a cue ball.  And everyone knows that's the sign to make a break for the cryroom.

Whisking my baby, her blanket, and a pacifier into my hands, I rushed for the cryroom, that beautiful, sound-proof paradise.  Brooklyn whined and wailed and squirmed.  But at least the door was shut behind me and others could worship in peace. 

I soon found out, however, that the cryroom isn't completely sound-proof.  As Brooklyn's tantrum continued, heads turned and looked at the "pastor disaster" occurring right in the middle of the sermon.  They shot glances at me from over their shoulders.  I don't blame them--it was a debacle.  Stage 4 meltdown.  It's like a car accident.  Sometimes you can't help but look.

Within a few minutes, my wife joined me.  Our infant daughter was trying to act like a big girl, which meant crying her head off like her big sister.  It's a good thing no one tells you about these moments beforehand.  No one would have any kids and the human race would go extinct.

But it turned out to be a beautiful moment for my faith. 

You might call what happened next a coincidence, but I don't.  The previous week I had encouraged everyone during my sermon to write a Bible passage on  a notecard and stick it in their pocket.  Then they could recite the verse every time they reached for their keys or their cell phone.  I chose to take part in the project.  And do you know which passage I had chosen three days prior?

"Everyone should be...slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires." (James 1:19-20)

And so, there in the cryroom, as my daughters did their best to speed up my need for a hearing aid, I pulled out my crumpled-up index card and showed my wife.  I smiled.  She did, too.  "Slow to become angry."

As I've thought about that faith-testing moment, I've reflected on another passage from that same chapter of the Bible.  "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:2-4)

Mature.  Complete.  Not lacking.  Those are things I want to be.  And God tells me that those adjectives will describe me after I've faced "trials of many kinds."  Like trying to be loving and patient in the cryroom of Eastside Lutheran Church.

Nothing against the preacher, but I think I grew more that night through my daughter's screams than his well-crafted message.

I guess the old-saying is true.  God works in mysterious ways.

Blessings as you face your "maturing trials of many kinds",

Pastor Mike