Diapers at the Altar

 There’s a storm comin’!  I tell you a storm!” Pastor yelled, pounding the pulpit.  “ARE YOU READY?”

The congregation shouted Amen, Praise the Lord…waking Emily from her nap on the pew.  

 

 

Mama was standing, being one of the Amen group.

Emily rolled and then planted her chubby little feet on the maple floor.  The walking thing was still iffy, but she had the crawl-ing down.  Distance to the pulpit wasn’t far at all, and at a fast crawl, Emily could cover it before Mama noticed.

And, off she took, under pews, between legs, around feet, past purses.  Oh, Emily knew she was fearless, and this would be another time she found freedom, with her white diaper bottom wagging behind.

“Can you make a joyous noise to the Lord??” Pastor roared. Cue the organist, who joined in with a chorus from different hymns.

Emily reached the pulpit and pulled herself up, pounding on the cross.

Source

  “Root out sin!  Let joy rise as a fragrance to the Lord!” He raised his arms, pointing to heaven.

Emily plopped down on her bottom, onto a loaded and ripe diaper.  You betcha!  Emily clapped and cooed as Mama came running.

Thank you, Elephant's Child  at its original form for providing the bold underlined italicized words!  She tossed 6 to 12 words out at writers to take up a challenge in their writing each week. 

 

For the month of April the words burst from the mind of messymimismeanderings Should be good!

This is a 2015 post. 

Wherever we go, there are some amazingly cute precious babies. I look at the parents with a smile, pat my chest                                                                                    and say "Grandma". They smile.

 

I remember a blogger writing about a child in her church doing something similar, but way more adventurous.

The Power of the Cross

     

 

 

 

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 Wikipedia

Have you ever entered a place, and felt an unease? I mean, like you needed or should leave. Something about it hung heavy.

 It was a moment in our trip with our granddaughters. Hard to describe, but it was definite.

We had just gone on a winding road drive from Sequoia to a small town on Lake Isabella. It was one of those roads where one curve swung onto the next, then the next, then more and more. We laughed at first, then we made jokes, and ended the trip with robust singing, and asking "Are we almost there yet?"

One gr-daughter arranged for an AirBnb, nice quiet place. The yard was filled with New Age art sculptures. It was amazing. Lots of stain glass had been formed into a garden that one doesn't forget.

When the owner came, he showed up the house, gave us tour, listed the places to eat. He was a young guy, and this was his house. I don't know why, but there was a heaviness around.

 I was wearing a white gold crucifix on a nice chain. The latch was coming loose, so I pulled it from under my shirt, and started to re-attach it. The young man's eyes opened wide, and he took two steps back. 

I still think of that few minutes when he took two steps backward. I wonder now: What would he have done if I had taken two steps forward.

He quickly left, we thanked him, and settled in. The darkness left.

Have you ever been in a place or situation where you felt this heaviness somewhere? And then you left?

 

He listens. Do we?

 

Uh huh. Yes. Oh really?

 

Perhaps one of the annoying habits and the hardest to break that people possess is not listening to what other people are saying.  Not just nodding politely, but is one actively listening with understanding in their eyes?

Guilty. I am so guilty of this. 

Over my lifetime, my mind has always been wandering, thinking about what I want to say in answer to their words. I want to tell my story! Let me interrupt you and tell my story. Their last sentence comes to a logical end, then I grab the reins before they reach the full stop.

Their eyes glaze over briefly before I hit my stride and then they relax. Oh, well, they think, politely smiling. Are they also mind-plumbing for their next reply?

It doesn't end with conversations. When our progeny were small, I would sit in church and the pastor would be preaching, sincerely presenting the Word of God. I fed my youngest progeny Cheerios and let the middle progeny play with his cars. The oldest one was quietly drawing.  

What was I doing? Hearing Pastor talk and nodding my head in agreement. What was I really doing?  

I was wondering if the crock pot chicken would be done. Would Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce) be on after I washed dishes? Did I move the wet clothes to the dryer?

Yes, inane random thoughts would invade my brain, while I nodded in response to God's message.

Perhaps the worst not-listening is when God is talking to me.

We have an on-going conversation throughout the day with me querying Him and then hearing His first four words, before I jump in: Yes, I am right.  Then my mind wonders off to laundry or dinner.

Let God Talk.  Then, wait. Don't cut Him off. He knows what you are going to say, but He wants you to hear Him. 

Let God Talk. He knows the answers to questions you are asking. He understands your fears, your worries. God is in charge.

Let God Talk. He has a plan for your life. Even though you groan and shout at Him, He is big enough to absorb your pain and your anger.

Don't interrupt God. Don't ignore God. Don't guess what He is going to say.


Be still and know that I am God. Psalms 46:10

Ask and it will be given to you;
seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened. Matt. 7:7

Let. God. Talk.

AND then LISTEN.

 

He listens. Do we?