That was phase 1: the pre-phase. It was a stage of anxiety and worry. It was a time of wondering and waiting to see
what would happen. Phase 2 was the phase. It was us showing up, in pajamas from
Saturday night because she didn’t want to wear a church dress and I didn’t want
to force her when her whole world had flipped upside down. Phase 2 was getting acclimated to 300 people
who wanted to say hello to my cute little blonde girl who had no desire to say
hello to them. Phase 2 was preaching my
first sermon on my second Sunday without my husband there to watch her and
packing a play pack and snack pack to keep her occupied. It was allowing her to
sit with me in worship because she refused to do the nursery or Sunday school
and I was not going to force her. It was watching her dance during the anthem
and hear her plead to stay the second service.
Then hearing her plead to leave during the opening song of second
service and looking around trying to find someone, anyone who could take her
for me. After all, I was the pastor, this was worship, at my new church, my
first “time” for many to see me “in action” and I didn’t think walking out in
the middle of the music would be a hit. So I found one of a handful of women
whose name I actually knew and asked her to take my daughter to the nursery and
then chased her down with the backpack of goodies. Phase 2 was dealing with the
complaint following that dance during the anthem hearing that she was “too
distracting”—my joy-filled, talkative, very active child, who behaved
beautifully in worship and did just what she was told, was too distracting.
Phase 2 was having my greatest fear (rejection of my child) actualized in that
complaint. And it was moving forward
despite the critiques. Phase 2 was attending a 7:00pm leadership
meeting with child in tow because my husband had to work and then having her
melt down because she was dog tired. It was pleading with her to be quiet and
not whine. It was bribing her with food, toys, and drink. And finally, it was stepping
out of the meeting, scrounging around in the nursery, and finding a stroller
and pushing her until she fell asleep in said meeting.
Admittedly, phase 2 was a little rough. It wasn’t
unbearable. We survived it. All 3 of us.
But it was hard. It was hard to struggle
with who to trust and who to turn to with our little one. It was tough to find
a new “normal”. It /was tough to see my daughter struggle, and have her not
know what was behind her anxiety, stress, or fear. And it was hard to know when to “let go” and
let her work it out (even if that meant she was screaming and in tears) and
when to hold her close and let her know that despite all the things that had
changed in her world, our love and support had not.
I also have to say that on the positive side, Phase 2
showed me a lot of grace. The grace of
phase 2 came in the form of that woman in the middle of worship who was willing
to take my child without question or hesitation. The grace of phase 2 came in the compassion
and care of the lay leaders who were tasked with sharing the complaint but
still showed deep concern for both of us.
The grace of phase 2 came when a woman on the leadership team helped me
push my daughter home after that late night so I could juggle her and all of
our belongings beside. The grace of
phase 2 came from all the people who sought to greet her and say hello despite
her reticence at so many new faces. And the
grace of phase 2 came with my parents who helped with the day shift in my first
week so my husband and I could both report to work without worrying about Ruth.
There were struggles as we acclimated to our
#leap. There was heartbreak and there
were tears. And, there was a whole lot
of grace shared with us too and for that I am eternally grateful.
