Church on Sunday: A Reflection

I've been meaning to use a blog to chronicle my various adventures of working in the Church nursery during my time at home this summer. Since the summer is nigh over, however, I will have to forgo chronicling and simple write a reflection instead.

Every Sunday I go to church.

Every Sunday, beginning at 1pm, I sit in a pew for one hour and ten minutes and I sing, I pray, I listen, I learn, I think, and sometimes I cry. It's okay because I'm there with my biological family and my ward (congregation) family, and they don't mind if my eyes get watery once in a while.

Every Sunday I do some deep thinking during the first hour of our meetings. I try to calm myself, and do some soul searching. A lot of times I do more searching than finding, but that's okay too. It makes the finding times more special.

Every Sunday my adrenaline starts going between 2:10pm and 2:16pm.

Between 2:10 and 2:16, I have to get to the Nursery, which is where parents drop off their kids (ages 18 months-3 years) so that they can attend Sunday School and other classes.

Between 2:10 and 2:16, I have to beat the parents to the Nursery room (this in itself is an epic act, because I'm pretty sure some of those parents are all too ready to send their kid off to the Promised Land of toys and songs and animal crackers that we call Nursery).

Between 2:10 and 2:16 I have to get all the toys out and strategically place them around the room.

Between 2:10 and 2:16 I have to make sure I have enough other people to help me wrangle the herd of between 8 to 13 kids we have each week. This involves sometimes going up to vague acquaintances with a crazed look in my eye and saying "Hey, we'd love to have you come help in Nursery today!"

And if things don't get going in the right direction between 2:10 and 2:16, then I am in for a long 2 hours.

Every Sunday I walk the line.

I walk the line between organization and chaos.

I walk the line between "let them do whatever as long as they're not crying" and "as adults I think we have a moral responsibility to help these kids learn to not kill each other."

And I walk the line between bossy dictator and "Don't worry about it, I'll do it myself."

This has been a tricky thing for me, this walking of the line.

Every Sunday I go home feeling exhausted at 4 o'clock.

I'm exhausted from comforting, disciplining, teaching, feeding, and entertaining the kids.

I'm exhausted from cleaning up 7000 spilled Dixie cups with 2 gallons of water in each of them.

I'm exhausted from distracting kids from their parents so that their parents can leave and have a few hours of peace and spiritual reflection.

But it's worth it, because every Sunday I learn things.

I learn that the two biggest enemies when it comes to dealing with kids are:
           attention spans that are extremely short and
           not having enough activities so it feels like church is going on too long.

I learn that motor skills shouldn't be taken for granted, and that drinking from a cup, even a little one, takes some practice before it is learned.

I also relearn a lot of things that I had forgotten.

I relearn that fruit snacks are magical, and that having a gold fishy snack swim into my mouth is much funnier than just putting it there.

I relearn that knocking down towers is way more fun than building them (not in the metaphorical sense!) and that kicking something over brings pure pleasure.

I relearn the joy of bubbles, of bouncy balls, and coloring.

I relearn the need for routine.

And I relearn a need for simplicity.

And every Sunday, I gain an appreciation for the simple. In Nursery we say simple prayers, sing simple songs, eat simple foods, play simple games with simple toys, and we learn simple lessons. But the simplicity of the concepts that we learn in Nursery does not diminish the importance of those concepts. The theme of the 10 minute lesson that we teach the kids every Sunday is always something along the lines of:

Following Jesus and doing what He asks makes me, and Him, very happy.

Whether we talk about reading the scriptures, saying our prayers, saying please and thank you, or loving our families, in the end, it all boils down to the aforementioned moral. I love this. Sometimes I get so caught up in the complexity of life, when really all I need to worry about is just trying to be like the Savior. When I strive to serve Him, be like Him, and put Him first, everything else will work out in the end. And I have faith in that. Hopefully, amid the giggles, the tears, the carpet squares, the routine and the attention-grabbing tricks, the faith that is so precious to me will be passed on to those beautiful little kids that I got to spend time with every Sunday.