The Man Behind Us In Mass

You know when you leave church, how you are supposed to feel refreshed and at peace? I don't have that right now. I keep telling myself it is just the season that I am in. Some seasons of life are quiet, and some.... well, let's just say that if I was not already familiar with the Gospel this week, I would have no knowledge of what happened when Jesus met with Caesar. We got there late and had to sit in two different pews a bit apart from each other. This means dividing the kids up according to who was closest to you when you got to where you were sitting. To top it off, it was Palm Sunday... and each child got their very own personal wacking palm for the service. I got my oldest, his friend that was staying with us, and the youngest. Dad had the two middle ones. None of us had any peace...#4 didn't want to sit with mom, he wanted Dad. #3 didn't want dad, he wanted mom. #2 was mad because she couldn't hug Dad because he was holding #3 so he didn't run away, and the two older boys were trying to help with #4 while still attempting to be good. By the time we stood for the last hymn, #4 was crying from the swat on the butt, #3 was pouting because he had lost his computer time, #2 was crying because she had gotten kicked in the nose, the palms were on the floor and Mom and Dad were a wreak. As I mentally questioned, "Why even bother?" the gentleman behind me tapped me on the shoulder. "I sure loved this time in my kid's life, I miss having young ones with me in the pew. You have a wonderful family." Surely he couldn't have missed the circus that went on the entire mass just two feet ahead of him? Then I had a moment of clarity. I had a wonderful family. I am lucky enough to have a husband and children who we spend one hour each Sunday with, praising God and being what we are commanded to be. I am not the widow alone at the end of the pew, I am not the newlywed, sitting quietly across church, no noses to wipe or hands to hold, I am not the divorcee looking for peace or the single parent trying to do it alone. I am with my loving husband and precious children. I should have thanked him for the reminder.