What is it about Sunday Mornings? Yesterday I made a point to wash the outfit I wanted Clara to wear for church and lay it out on her dresser to make it easier this morning. But somehow between that moment and the one where I told her to go get dressed this morning, the skirt disappeared. Presumably while she was "cleaning" her room. I tore her room apart looking for it and never found it. (I did however find my missing reading glasses and a meat thermometer. No joke.)
And actually for a Sunday morning that was a pretty minor hiccup. Last week, my clock decided to make the time change on it's own a week early and I had 20 minutes to get us all 5 of us out the door. Nearly every week someone looses something, or spills something, or I'm running out to the car with my make-up in one hand in my shoes in another. One week The Man actually left me behind. I walked out the door to join the family in the van and saw it driving down the road. The Man said it was a miscommunication.
I'm still not convinced.
And nearly every Sunday a voice in my head whispers, we could just stay home. We could keep our pajamas on, snuggle up on the couch and watch it online. But we don't. We muddle through the wretched Sunday morning round-up week after week because I love my church.
I love worshiping in the choir next to Ally, even if they do insist on putting my face on that gigantic screen. (Seriously, camera-guy? Ally is way cuter.) I love seeing all the kids I've had in choir or preschool over the years. I love my little 1-year-old Sunday School Class. I love the passion my pastor has for reaching out to people in our community. I even love getting teary every single week during his message. My church isn't perfect. It's full of flawed people with messy lives just like me. But despite of that--or maybe because of it--it feels like home.
And today that's what I'm grateful for.