Every Sunday morning, as Brock and I sit in the living room, drinking our coffee and trying to wake up, we discuss the up and coming events of the day. This morning was no different. After we stall to see which one of us will break down and make breakfast, it is always the same question: Do you want to go to church?
This is code for: Do we have time to go to church and still get all those lingering projects finished? Also it is code for: How much do you need to be reminded that you need to be a better person?; or alternately: Yo a$$hole, you need some perspective.
Today, when we posed the church question, Thing 1 piped up, "Yes! We should go pray to Jesus!"
Admittedly, Brock and I were both shocked by this little announcement. Up until this point, we both believed that Thing 1 thought that "church" meant going to play in the nursery with awesome new-to-him toys. Just like when I asked him about the meaning of Christmas the other day and he replied, "Santa?", even though we go over the whole "It's Jesus' birthday" thing every freaking year (then Santa delivers all the sweet new toys that the children want... what?)
Thing 2 brought us back to Earth when he responded with, "I want to go Trick-or-Treating and get some CANDY!"
That's more like it....
I said, in an all-knowing fashion, "Oh sorry little buddy, no more trick or treating until next year!"
So this morning we dedicated ourselves to putting on our Sunday best (mine included a pair of demonic tights that kept sliding down my legs) and we went to church. We committed ourselves to an hour of God- an hour of filling up our loving cups so that we could go forth into the week and smear our goodness all over society. It was there, at our church, that I listened to the sermon and was reminded about the importance of giving. It was there, at our church, that I sang until my heart felt peaceful (and the poor people's ears in front of me bled). It was there, at our church, that I cried for my friend, who lost her daughter. It was there, at our church, that I smiled at the precious baby in the pew in front of us. It was there, at our church, that I felt a little lighter as I mentally shed the baggage of my week. It was there, at our church, that I gave thanks for all the gifts of this beautiful life. It was also there, at our wonderful church, that our pastor made a liar out of me. He produced a big yellow bag full of goodies and handed out treats to the kids who participated in the children's sermon, specifically... my children.
Later, in true Wagner fashion, Thing 2 had a meltdown and Thing 1 attempted to chug the entire cup of the "Blood of Christ" juice.
Listen, at least I'm trying.
Tomorrow I am taking the boys on an educational field trip to the racetrack. My offspring apparently possess some strong intuitive powers about the future and Mrs. Claus needs a little spending money to make this Christmas merry, bright and an economic stimulus. Ho ho ho. Please pass the juice....
Peace, Love, and Jesus Candy,