We are trying to transition Rhema to Children’s Church. It has not been so easy.
The husband and I have been taking turns being in Children’s Church with her until we’re confident she can handle being there with a volunteer.
The children are excused from the sanctuary to go to Children’s Church midway though the regular service. In the main service, our challenge has been to keep Rhema:
1) seated (she prefers to hurdle the pews)
2) quiet (she prefers to “wail” during prayer time and Scripture reading)
3) still (she prefers to color in all the hymnals… and then rip the pages)
This past Sunday, all attempts to keep her in the regular service were aborted after oh, say, two minutes. It was nowhere near time for Children’s Church (which has its own set of challenges), so I led her up a staircase that is just off the side of the sanctuary.
Upstairs we found an empty classroom, and Rhema busied herself with sitting in each chair one at a time. After a while, she noticed a cupboard and discovered crayons and paper. She enjoyed coloring, and I enjoyed watching her. At one point, she crumbled her paper and ran over to a small trash can. “Throwawayyyy. Throwaway.” She mimicked in the voice of one of her therapists. I was thrilled!
I was having such a good time just being with her that I decided we would skip Children’s Church. Bad mama.
Next she discovered a basket of about 30 kid-sized scissors with multi-colored handles. She’s been working with scissors at school, and so she was all too happy to cut up paper with the scissors. Only, of course, she had to try out each pair of scissors.
Just when I was thinking, Wow, this worked out perfect! I’m getting some great alone time with Rhema!, she suddenly took off out of the classroom with a pair of scissors still in hers hand. Down the stairs she flew.
I knew I had to catch her, because communion was in progress. I could see her lighting into the sanctuary, sprinting down the aisle, making a bee-line for the pulpit. There she would gleefully jump up and down, up and down, in the pastor’s cushiony chair.
On her way down the stairs, the scissors fell mercifully from her hand and clattered on the floor. Just at the bottom of the stairs, I tackled her. The side doors to the sanctuary were wide open. Many people, in the midst of their communion wafers and grape juice, witnessed me sack my child like Mike Singletary. (Only I had a skirt on).
I scooped up my girl and carried her upstairs. Phew.
We played with the water in a sink in the bathroom until church was over.
Next week it’s the husband’s turn!
Oh yeah, any suggestions on how we can manage church better?