March of Shame

It was another one of those Sundays. They seem to sneak up on us. We'll be having a pretty good (for us) run of church-services-without-incidents, and then we'll be taken by surprise.

Today as Andrew and Josh (who came to church with us) were somewhat quietly working on their children's bulletins, Adam was gearing up in small ways for his big show. Shouting questions to Steve about the bulletin (I've really got to get this kid's hearing checked), breaking his pencil lead and crying about it, accidentally marking on Steve's shirt with his replacement pen, making his usual periodic announcement "Let's get out of here" at the top of his lungs... Of course we were sitting down front so we could distract as many other churchgoers as possible.

When the children were dismissed for children's church, Adam lost it big-time. Crying, kicking, screaming -- a real showstopper. And naturally the dismissal went like this: "Children are dismissed to children's church. Let's bow our heads and pray." So I had to cart Adam out of there screaming all the way up the aisle during prayer. Quiet, quiet prayer. Talk about a march of shame. Just to give you an idea, our friend Blair, who was escorting his (well-behaved) child to children's church, likened the scene to the Bataan Death March of World War II. I was actually reminded of more recent history wherein my parents used to wish aloud that I would get a child just like me. Wish granted, Keith and Betsy. Here is my comeuppance for the Howard Johnson's Fried Clam Incident, circa 1977.

After depositing my screaming progeny with the heroic children's church workers, I did get back to hear the sermon. Part of it focused on the parable of the mustard seed, which starts small ("tee-niny," as they say around these parts) and grows into something big and beautiful and useful -- a 25-foot tree that provides shade and shelter for nesting birds. The speaker also pointed out our tendency toward anything that promises "shortcut spirituality" while reminding us that the mustard seed doesn't become the tree overnight. Much of God's kingdom is found in the way he works over time, teaching us through long, slow processes. And -- I may be extrapolating too much here -- but I look at my feisty little Adam and see a mustard seed. I want my son to be useful and beautiful in his life. I see my own desire for the shortcut and want him to turn into that "perfect tree" now. Because, honestly? The watering and staking and pruning, as it were, is mundane. Tiring. Not always fun. Today wasn't our first "March of Shame." It probably won't be our last -- we do still have another one who hasn't even hit her Terrible Two's. But, as I was reminded today, Adam's still just a little seed. (A loud little seed.)