Summer time is the perfect time for me to get a few moments in here and there because of VBS. Oh yes, I love me some Vacation Bible School. Oh no, I don't attend. I just send the kids. I have become one of those parents. I deliver my kids then drive off to cavort wildly, wreak havoc on mankind and sometimes take a nap.
Usually they make three VBS sessions during the course of the summer, but this year they missed out on going to the one at Mrs. Coach's church, so up until this week they had only gone to one. Mom teasingly commented several times on my lack of effort in finding VBS respite this year. She said I had become a slacker on the VBS circuit and people were talking. She's so funny sometimes.
Most VBS's are in the evenings these days because most parents who volunteer also work, but there is one church in town that still does morning VBS. My kids have gone there for four years and it is a church we actually were members of years ago. I really do like this church; it's not too bad for a Baptist church. And above all, they are friendly people. I know a lot of the members and walking through the doors is like coming home.
So if there was a Baptist church I would consider attending again at this point in my life, it would be this church. I'm working on it. The fear that lightning would strike me if I were to walk through the doors on a Sunday is holding me back. I was there last night and there wasn't even a slight electrical surge, so I'm thinking things might be okay.
Wednesday Mom picked them up after VBS and brought them home to me because I had indulged in over 24 hours of mommy time thanks to my angelic mother. I fixed the kids lunch and then in an attempt to re-introduce Kady to this theory called "nap," I made the kids lie down for awhile. Of course, Kady wailed and gnashed her teeth and pouted and whined and there were many tears before she completely passed out mere seconds after I left her room. Sam was pouting because he is so eight and in the third grade and how DARE I make him take a nap like a baby. How dare I, indeed. I told him he didn't have to sleep, he could just read a book and rest and be quiet, but then he got angrier because I suggested he actually read. A book. Did you get that? I suggested that my child READ A BOOK. Next thing you know I'll be forcing him to mainline cocaine because I am just that kind of mother.
I went into Ab's room to turn on her fan and kiss her on the forehead like I always do because she has already informed me that if there is sleeping involved for the rest of her life, I am required to tuck her in. Her husband is going to love me for that one. She looked up from her Beverly Cleary book as I kissed her, then I turned to leave. She quietly said, "Mom?" I turned and said, "What, angel?" She got this shy little grin on her face as she said, "I, uh, have something to tell you." I said, "Alright. Shoot."
"Today.....I took Jesus into my heart. Mom, I got saved!"
And instantly I, the meanest, cold-heartedest, naptime-forcing dang Baptist mother in the universe began crying. And squealing. And hugging. And I was utterly overjoyed that my daughter had invited Christ into her heart. All the squealing drew curious Sam from his pouting fit to find out why there was joy somewhere in the house and he wasn't involved. I said, "Bubby! Your sister took Jesus into her heart! Isn't that great?" And because Sam is the middle child and will forever have issues because of the spot he got stuck with, sandwiched between two sisters, he got angry again because "Well, I want to be saved, too. Why can't I be saved? If Abby got saved then I want to be saved because that is only fair."
Do you see why I need some me time every now and then? Sibling rivalry will be the death of me yet. My headstone will say,
"Here lies our darling mother, who loved me best.
No she didn't, she loved me best.
Nuh uh, everyone knows I was her favorite."
So I explained to him that salvation wasn't something you just do because you want to keep up with the Joneses and he crossed his arms and asked what the Joneses had to do with his sister getting to do something that he didn't get to do. Many, many words and sighs later, he had the concept down. Sort of. It resurfaces every now and then still, though. And when it resurfaces, I bang my head on hard things.
Last night was the VBS program. I invited Mom and Tater to come out here afterwards for dinner. At the church, Tater asked what we were having. I listed everything I had made and at the end of the list was "chocolate cake." She said, "Ooh, chocolate cake? What did we do to deserve a homemade chocolate cake?" I said, "It's for Abby." And with a grin I added, "It's her 'Come to Jesus cake.'" Mom was listening and when I said "Come to Jesus cake" she leaned over and quietly said, "You do know where you are, right? You're in a church and Jesus can hear you!" I said, "Mom, He can hear me when I'm not in a church, too, and frankly, I like to think that He's happy I made a cake in His honor." Then Mom mumbled something about not sitting close to me because she didn't to get hit by the impending lightning bolt.
After dinner, when we cut the cake, Sam got mad because I hadn't made him a Come to Jesus cake and that's when I called the Baptist Children's Home because I think they need three more little Baptists to come stay with them.