I started my day by going berzerk trying to get the kids out the door for church. Noah had no clean pants. The ones he had on were covered with grass stains and mud. I started yelling and madly flinging clean laundry everywhere trying to come up with something for him to put on. I vowed that from now on I will put out clothes for them on Saturday nights so that Sunday morning doesn't get so ugly.
I was grateful that we had confession as part of the mass today. Yes, Father, I have sinned and am heartily sorry. I told Fr. Rich about it before the service started and he kindly suggested I not to be too hard on myself, and allowed as how he had been pretty messy as a boy, too, and that is just the nature of being a kid. Later, at the communion rail, as Fr. Rich placed the host in Noah's hand, I noticed, with a combination of horror and amusement, that Noah's palms were filthy and covered with blood from a scab he had picked. Fr. Rich looked up at me and caught my eye and we just about laughed out loud right there at the rail. (Note to self: have kids wash their hands on Sunday mornings...)
I know Jesus probably couldn't care less what my kids are wearing, but for me, being in church, especially with the Eucharist, is the equivalent of being in the presence of God in the flesh, so I feel it appropriate to show my respect by dressing a little more formally than I would for, say, a soccer game. But it is hard to explain that to my kids.
Other than my meltdown in the laundry basket, the morning was lovely... and in fact, the rest of the day was too. We had dinner at my mom's, with some friends, and the meal was just equisite: stuffed pork loin chops with mashed potatoes and sweet and sour red cabbage, a lovely bordeaux and apple rhubarb crisp for dessert. And the joy of an easy evening with people I love.
Thank you, Beloved, for the abundance of your love, the gifts of your spirit and redemption of our souls. Your generosity knows no bounds.