If you ever see a sister out and about with her children and you notice that she might be struggling a bit or maybe even a tad stressed out from, say, trying to keep up with her 5 year old that talks incessantly and therefore cannot hear instructions and therefore cannot obey said instructions, AND trying to focus on the task at hand while the 2 year old repeats his request a THOUSAND times, AND running after the 1 year old who loves the freedom that his ability to walk gives him and takes off any chance his toes hit the ground...I beg you to consider compassion instead of judgement.
Compassion. Judgement.
Which would your rather receive?
Let me back up a tad.
This morning was...eventful. It started out calmly enough. One by one, the children woke up. I started the day with Mason snuggles and a soft rendition of "Happy Birthday" to which he watched my mouth form every word--completely entranced.
Next Andy woke up. For a boy who typically awakes grumpy and needs at least an hour to snap out of it, today was pretty good for him. It only took a few minutes of whining before he was ready for his breakfast and playtime.
I read a chapter of my book (and it was an awesome chapter) while the boys played and had snacks. Emily woke and went straight for her new birthday toys. She and I tattooed some barbie hair before it was time to get ready for her last day at VBS at a church we have visited twice.
I gathered everyones socks, shorts, shirts, undies, shoes, and hair-fixing necessities. Then I threw on a pair of jeans and my hair up into some sort of a bun to make myself appear to be a semi-civilized adult. FYI, I have decided that when I put on a clean t-shirt before bed, it is entirely acceptable to wear the same t-shirt for at least half of the next day.
Jonathan took the van this morning and put the 3 carseats in the back of the Volvo. I was supposed to take the Volvo to get the oil changed. Well, the Volvo doesn't have a fancy schmancy DVD player like the van does. Because of this, the very second I strapped Mason into the car, he started screaming. And he didn't stop until we got home 30 minutes later.
After squeezing Emily into the middle and spending at least 10 minutes trying to reach the bottom part of the seat belt buckle and sweating profusely by the end of it, I strapped Andy in and we were ready to go.
But wait, my wallet is in the van.
All of this suffering and screaming and sweating in this darn tiny car for nothing.
But hey, whatever. I can get past that.
"Oh...I left Emily's one pair of tennis shoes in the van yesterday. There might be a pair in the garage. Let me go check."
After digging through partially unpacked boxes, more sweating, and a few spiders later, I found some shoes. I grabbed the shoes and realized I was starving and hadn't eaten anything substantial since yesterday at lunch so I ran inside and found a couple dollar bills. That would suffice for a sausage biscuit from McDonald's. Hey...food is food.
I jumped in the car, and we're off.
We get to the church, I go to put Emily's shoes on but wait...they aren't in the car. They are nowhere to be found. Going back home is not an option since we are already late and the bounce houses are inflated in plain view in the parking lot. Telling the kids we are going home before even getting out of the car would have most definitely incited rage and panic. My only option is to squeeze her sweet chubby feet into Anderson's 2-sizes-too-small shoes. Oh, and I should mention that Mason never made it into his shorts before we left the house--just a diaper and a t-shirt because, well, I don't even know why.
So here we go. We are late of course and the first group gathering of VBS has already started. I have no idea where Emily's class is. Neither does she.
We stand and we wait. Anderson is talking--more like repeating (because that's what he does). Mason is wiggling and wriggling his way out my arms because SPACE--so much SPACE to run around. Emily is distressed because every other day this week, her class was waiting outside. Why is this day different??
Emily thinks she spots someone she knows and of course...on the front row. So, Emily in her boy shoes walking like a kangaroo in high heels because they are tiny and Anderson in his bare feet and Mason in his diaper walk to the very front of the gymnasium in front of everyone to find her class.
I can deal with all that. Whatever. Here's where I have the issue.
As we were walking out, a group of very put-together moms who were volunteering as workers for the VBS were standing by the exit. I cannot even begin to describe to you the up and down motion of their eyes. It was so painfully obvious. First they started with Anderson's feet. Then it went to Mason's diaper. Then it went to my over sized t-shirt and messy hair and non-made-up face. I mean...I know we look a bit a mess but do you really have to stare like that? Have you ever seen someone check someone else out from head to toe and from toe to head all over again in disbelief?
Exactly.
This is church. You are volunteering. You are a member here. You've never seen me or my children before. Logically, we must be visitors.
You never know what a person has been through. You never know someone else's story unless you take time to ask. You never know how someone's morning has been. You never know what someone is struggling with. You never know someone's stress level.
Be the hands of Jesus. Have the eyes of Jesus.
Not the eyes of judgement.
Let's build one another up--lend a helping hand to a mom in need.
Let's be compassionate.
Love. Love above all.
P.S.- I never found the shoes.
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