A Higher Perspective                  

Several Sundays ago, I pulled our van into the parking lot of our towering church at approximately 9:50. There, I waited in the chaotic midst of my four rowdy children and

took a minute, as I do every Sunday, to pray for the strength to make it through the next hour.  

Please, Lord, give me the strength to endure the stares and raised eyebrows of my fellow parishioners.  

Sunday services have not been an easy task since my husband has been overseas. I thought it might be better if I spared everyone the grief and simply mailed in my

weekly contribution for the next six months. I suppose the love of a good challenge keeps me driving on through the complaining, the tired whining, and the inevitable

restlessness. Besides, this is an important time for our family.

I heard the church bells chiming their hymns and began herding my four little ones through the big doors. I had always kept my head down out of nervous

embarrassment as the five of us struggled in rather awkwardly to find our usual seats near the back, where we could make a quick exit if necessary. 

“How is everyone doing today?” our priest asked us all in a sweeping glance. Six year old George and five year old Carolyn nodded and smiled shyly, but nearly-three

Sean wrinkled up his nose and hid behind my skirt.

“Good morning, Father”, I said quietly.   

Baby Sophie was already tired when we got there, and she began shrieking wildly as I tried to pull off her coat, the noise bouncing off the walls of our cavernous

sanctuary.   As the service began, inevitably, someone needed to use the bathroom. It was Sean, the one somebody who couldn’t go by himself.

Great! I either leave the other kids and take him myself, or trust my 6 year old to go with him. I took a small leap of faith.

“George, will you please take Sean to the bathroom?”

When George returned with Sean, they became immediately bored.  “Mom, I need a ‘nack!” Sean announced a little too loudly. I obliged with a handful of Cheerios to

keep him quiet. Instead, he pulled a small dump truck out of his coat pocket and began filling it with Cheerios and careening it loudly across our pew.

“Sean, you need to be quiet, or I will take your truck.” I stated matter-of-fact.

He wrinkled up his nose at me and kept playing.  I was then obligated to follow through on my threat and I took his dump truck away. 

“AGGGHHHHHH!!” He screamed loudly, flailing and kicking his feet.

I thrust the truck back into his hand, and moved away as if the other parishioners would believe he wasn’t mine.  I was feeling queasy now and noticed that George was

humming loudly, absently playing with his tie and Carolyn was lifting up her dress, checking out her new Spongebob underwear. My face was flushing red with

embarrassment as I hissed, “There will be no doughnuts today if you do not behave!”

Just then, the crowd rose and began to sing. Singing is my favorite part of the service because it is the only part my children cannot drown out. I enjoyed the few minutes

of peace. Sophie started to fidget and whine as we sat down. Then she began to scream very loudly and make gargling noises as she flung her head back, kicking her

legs. She sounded very much like Chewbaca. I handed her to George so I could go after Sean, who had bolted down the aisle towards the altar. I snatched him up and

tried to hold my head up as I marched back to our pew with Sean tucked under my arm, kicking and making obvious gestures of discontent.

                  That’s it!!!! Mortified, I thrust my children back into their coats, and we flew out the door of the church. We had only been there for 20 minutes.             

When I walked them into church the next Sunday, George asked me if we could sit up in the balcony. I reluctantly agreed. We filed up the steps and sat down next to the

railing. Throughout the service, I noticed some surprising changes in my children. They were actually paying attention!! When Sean got bored, no one could see him

playing on the carpeted floor. Even the baby could crawl around in relative freedom. George and Carolyn could see everything that happened from up there. And so could

I. From this vantage point, I was able to observe the other children in the church. As the service continued, I noticed screaming babies, willful toddlers, and

rambunctious preschoolers all over the place. But no one else did. Not a single person stared disgustedly at those parents and no one seemed to mind in the least that

those babies were tired and crying. I realized that maybe people weren’t staring at me either. As we left church that day, an elderly woman came up to me. “Honey, you

have such a beautiful family!! How do you keep them so well behaved?” “It must be the higher perspective,” I said. Beaming with my head held high, I proudly marched

my children out the door. Skipping towards the car, the children shouted, “Yea! It’s doughnut time!”