The Marathon of Parenting

Three o'clock yesterday and it was all hands on deck.  Four kids who needed extra large snacks, then showers.  Wet, squirmy little bundles of excitement because Santa is coming, tumbled out of the bath and into new clothes, only added to the excitement.  But we manage, we all get cleaned up, bundled up, and in the car to go to Christmas Eve church service.  We went to a Moravian church that we'd never been to before.  Nothing has felt 'right' lately but the kids were so cute and it was snowing as we drove up to the church.  Why not give it one more go, right?

We walked in as the orchestra (yep, orchestra) was setting up in the balcony.  The church is historic-old and was stunningly decorated.  We found enough seats near the back for all of us.  Even getting to the church 15 minutes early for the service, we barely managed to get seats.  The couple next to us, and the lady in front of us, were so forgiving of the kids' loudly whispered questions and excited "Oh look!" comments.  The chandeliers, the orchestra, the pipe organ, the two trees, the massive Moravian star, all of it was so overwhelming for the kids.

Then the music started and Zora was done.  She was done being held.  Done sitting down, done being quiet.  She was done with not being able to see and done with having no one new to play with.  And still, the strangers graciously forgave, entertained with buttons on sweaters and toggles on purses.  They played silent peek-a-boo with their paper programs and didn't grumble when Todd had to take Harper to the bathroom... again.  And then I had to take Cooper, with Em and Zora and diaper bag to the toilet because a four year old unsupervised with foaming hand soap is dangerous. They kindly smiled and chuckled as questions flew about the music and the festivities and questions about the pastor's seat and trying to see the advent wreath by standing on the bench.  When the Lovefeast food was passed, they helped me struggle with three kids by myself (Todd was in the bathroom with a kid, again, because American food and South African-fed babes don't go well together).  When the candles were passed out, each child, down to Baby Z, were given a candle to hold, but only Em's was lit.  I'm so thankful for people who embrace the marathon of parenting.  Who sat and gave grace, made space, and helped when they could see a slightly frazzled mom of four juggle holiday newness in a formal setting.  I never got one look of judgement for letting my baby suck on the beeswax candles.  No one audibly sighed (but there was some chuckling) when the third child of the night loudly whispered (in the middle of a prayer), "I have to make a poo!"  And no one stared disapprovingly and whispered when my child got upset, pouted, or threw her dress over her head... again.

We started at three o'clock getting ready.  We only finished the celebrations just before seven.  Four hours.  Four hours of being on, being patient.  Four hours of pretending I wasn't hungry or thirsty or mentally exhausted from answering the relentless barrage of questions.  Four hours of counting kids and coats and herding the zoo from house to car, car to coat closet, coat closet to seats, seats to toilets, toilets to chairs, chairs to coat closet, closet to car, car to house.  Four hours of non-stop.  And in the middle of the familiar family shepherding and the carols of my childhood, I stumbled onto something new.  The Lovefeast.  It's apparently a Moravian sacrament, much like Communion but instead of celebrating Christ's love and actions on the cross, it celebrates the love and actions of His believers within the community.  The bread, which was fluffy, sweet, was perfect.  It's purpose was to represent the community and all I could think was how sweet it is when you are surrounded by friends, by family, and by family-by-choice to celebrate.  Celebrate a birthday or anniversary, a graduation or wedding.  As part of this sacrament we also had coffee, and again, I felt it was perfect.  Here I am, running my parenting marathon of don't-mess-up-your-new-clothes-or-else and keeping kids happy and quiet in an effort to not look as disheveled, as rumpled, and as wrinkled as I feel right now.  What else do you need when you're coming together, after the monumental task of coming together (the preparing of kids, hair, food, clothes, and all the trappings) than coffee?  Coffee to warm the hands, liven the heart, drink in preparation for the future or sip while talking over the day's events.

We may never set foot in the church again, but I'll still remember the sweetness of that bread, and those dear people who didn't make me feel unwelcome with my noisy zoo, my crew of stable-dwellers if you will.  I loved the formality and pomp of an orchestra in a historic building and the warmth and familiarity of drinking coffee in the "living room" of the church, the very hearth and home of the church body.  And while I still feel wrinkled and rumpled, a few of my crumpled edges were ironed out in that simple act of welcome....  Welcome to my zoo.  Welcome to our noise.  Welcome to our here-and-now and in the end, that's what this time of year is about, right?  A noisy barn with smells and animals and a babe that inconvenience the whole thing but somehow, manages to iron out the hurts, the rumples, the stiff and wrinkled places.