Trouble In The Amen Corner

Our Pastor had just begun a prayer. All heads are bowed in reverence. All eyes closed. Except for one eye. Mine. I have perfected the ability to be able to sing, pray, and read the Bible all while keeping one eye on the blank LED sign at the front of the church. It’s a fairly new system for our congregation. When a child is checked into Sunday School and the Nursery, a parent receives a lovely orange or lime green plastic bracelet, that identifies the corresponding number of the child dropped off. So that when service has ended, we can reclaim our child. And more importantly, if a problem should arise, we can be notified during service. Quietly and unobtrusively. I wear three such bracelets. The LED system doesn’t get used very much. In fact, I believe that the few times it has been employed, has been to display the corresponding number belonging to my son.

He’s a rather reluctant Nursery attendee. I’ve instructed the ladies, to have me “paged” if he screams longer than 10 minutes straight. It’s not that I’m adverse to my angel of a boy screaming, because he does his share of it at home. And 10 minutes is just a warm up. But I see no need to subject the sweet underpaid and overworked staff to the ear shattering screeches of my young son. And besides, good nursery help is hard to find. I certainly don’t want us to be the reason the entire nursery staff quits en masse.

The last few weeks, the Sunday School building has been all abuzz at how well Jensen is adjusting. His teachers know all of his tricks. They have fashioned the restroom door so that he cannot drink from the toilet, or float the other children’s toys in his makeshift pond. They have also introduced him to the joys of fruity Cheerios, a delicacy that he cannot find in his own pantry at home. So I have actually been able to worship in service, sitting next to my husband. As opposed to say, the cry room, which I otherwise affectionately refer to as HELL.

Last Sunday, we left service, hand in hand, on our way to pick up all of our children from the Sunday School building. We were greeted at the entrance to the building by the Superintendent. Smiling and holding her trusty clip board, she approaches us. This can’t be good. Already I know which of my children is listed on that clip board. “Well,” she begins, “Jensen did really well today. Except…” she pauses to take a deep breath. Here it comes. Still smiling, she continues, “He spit on all of the children.” “All?” I respond trying to look shocked. “Yes, all 13 of them.” As she continued the story, I ascertained that my son got of hold of his drink cup, took a large swig, and spewed out the contents onto the children. Running from the nursery workers, he continued this behavior, thusly christening most of the classroom. Once his own cup was wrestled from his chubby clenched fingers, he went after everyone else’s sippy cups and made sure that all had a proper baptism.

Oh dear heavenly Father. I forgot to warn them to limit his sippy cup usage. I apologized profusely to the Superintendent, and pretty much anyone I passed in the hallway. When we got to his classroom, I saw my little serial spitter, with his chest puffed out, holding his Blues Clues blanket in one hand, strutting around like he owned the joint. The other children were taking great care to avoid him. We thanked the workers for all that they endure whenever we come to church, and offered our heartfelt apologies to any parent also picking up their own dampened children. As we began to carry Jensen away, he started screaming, pointing to his now empty sippy cup that had been imprisoned on a shelf way up high. Oh yes, we mustn’t forget the weapon of choice.

I guess the cry room won’t be so bad. It’s rather dark. At least no one will recognize us through the tinted glass.