Because I have kids, I never stop thinking about them. It’s something that happens when they’re born—this switch that gets flipped—so that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I have London and Eve on my mind. This is good when I’m in the parking lot at Target and I’m putting groceries in the trunk and almost forget to put the baby in the car. But it’s not ideal when I’m trying to worship God.
On Sundays, the girls have my attention—not just because I’m a mom and moms think about their kids. They have my attention because they demand it. London mostly. Loudly. She needs snacks and milk and wants to touch my face and wants to get down and wants to get up. She puts stickers everywhere and then pulls them off and then feeds them to Eve while I’m not looking. She writes on every attendance card and on Bible pages and in the song book. “I draw a horse.”
This is fine. I understand how hard it must be for her to be good and still and quiet for an hour. I do not hold a grudge.
But I’m not worshiping. I’m distracted.
Last night, while London was doing something—who can remember what—and I was cleaning up the wreckage, a voice behind me sang this:
"Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future, as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.”
Call me charismatic, but it felt like God touched me in that moment. Like he knew I needed direct, personal attention. Like He knew the distractions were too much. And so he put his hand on my shoulder, waited until my eyes were looking right into His, and said, “Hi.”
And that was it. Two songs later I was lost in the diaper bag searching for fruit snacks.
But that moment was enough.
Worship isn’t going to be what it was before I had kids—not for a while. So, I’m clinging to moments—phrases, stories, pieces. And I’m finding that, while not ideal, they’re enough.