Like I think I’ve mentioned, Sunday was a rough day for our family. Not only for M and me, but also for the kids. Right down to Nate, I’m afraid.
M was scheduled to serve Communion at the last church service, something I was looking forward to. Other times he’s done this, Sam asks if he can ALSO serve communion. So this time, we told him that he could stand with M at his station and hold the tray of bread.
But when M went to the front to get the consecrated bread and wine from the pastor, Sam lost it. I’m still not sure why. Before I knew it, he was in full meltdown mode. Which, combined with watching his beloved Goggy walk away, sent Nate into full meltdown mode.
The kind of meltdowns that meant I had to get them out of the worship as fast as possible before they choked on their own sobs and threw up.
In the hallway, the boys continued to scream while Communion continued inside. It didn’t take long for the girls to find us and ask their brothers, “Why are they doing this?”
And that’s when I lost it. I started to cry too.
In almost eight years of parenting, I’ve shed a few tears in front of the kids, but I’ve never lost my temper. In situations like this, I usually get very quiet. But I’ve never raised my voice at any of them. By the grace of God, I’m also managed to steer clear of saying anything I’d really regret.
I didn’t raise my voice now either, but I did look at Sam and say, “We are missing the last Communion with our church. And it’s YOUR FAULT.”
Of course, this made him scream and cry even more.
Elisabeth led us in prayer.
Catie asked God to make the boys stop crying so we could go back into Communion.
Which they did–eventually.
And Communion was still happening, so M was able to give us Lord’s Supper.
In the days following the incident Sam and I had lots of discussions about what happened. He understood the meltdown had been inappropriate. He seemed to understand (a little) about why celebrating the Lord’s Supper as a family and as a family of faith was important.
But I still felt guilty for being mean to him. I still wondered if he would become a hardened atheist at age ten because of his mother’s manipulative guilt trip. I envisioned him giving his testimony at a grief counselor in a couple years…telling him that his mother had ruined church for him.
But on Tuesday something crazy happened.
While I was tending to Nate–who has ANOTHER ear infection–the little kids were absorbed in some project upstairs. They kept running down for bread and cups and trays. They were at it for almost an hour–until the three of them (Elisabeth holding a baby that needed to be blessed) came downstairs.
To offer me Communion.
And to offer M, who happened to be working from home, Communion.
As Nate looked on, Sam said the Words of Institution and offered us the Body and the Blood. I know God recognized this was not sacrilegious, but a little boy trying to understand the grace and mystery and love of Holy Communion.
Sam LOVED the whole thing. He beamed as he watched M and I drink our water and eat our stale wheat bread. He wanted to keep playing church for hours.
And this time, there was no mommy crying in the hallway.
