The church whisper

Church on Sunday mornings has a unique way of putting your parental influence to the test.  Not only is it a public place, but there also tends to be a need for many quiet moments during the sermon and prayers.  The presence of other people and silence on cue – two elements that are enemies to parents of young children, particularly of the toddler variety. 

On a recent Sunday morning, my almost two-year-old daughter ended up back in the sanctuary with me after refusing drop-off at the church nursery.  I knew I wasn’t exactly setting myself up for success by including a toddler in the sermon portion of the church service, but I decided not to pick the battle.  After sitting contentedly on my lap for a few nanoseconds, she decided it was time to assert her independence and pop a squat beside me.  Fine.  I quickly wrestled away the markers she had found in the children’s worship bag and offered her crayons as an alternative.  When she expressed a desire for her art to stray from the paper, I began to look for other options that wouldn’t involve personalizing the newly upholstered pews. 

Somewhere in the midst of me pulling books, a sippy cup, and a baby doll out of her bag in a frantic attempt at entertainment, she removed her shoes and threw them to the floor.  I bent down to pick them up, and as I was slowing raising my head to avoid slamming it on the pew in front of us, I locked eyes with her.  I was crouched over and slightly below her eye level, and she had her hands on the toe of her right sock.  I froze.  She was looking down at me, an aura of confident superiority surrounding her.  In my best stern, church whisper I said slowly, “Do NOT take off your socks.”  She took a few seconds to consider her next move, or perhaps just to relish the action she had already decided upon.  She continued to look me in the eye, the expression on her face unchanging.  Then in one motion, she pulled off her sock and dropped it to the floor.  She quickly removed her left sock as well, smiling and wiggling her toes while I had no choice but to again retrieve her discarded footwear.

There’s an extra level of urgency and helplessness when you’re trying to entertain a child in church.  Essentially, you are trying everything possible to make them happy in an effort to avoid drawing attention to yourself.  (I will give you anything you want, just please don’t yell at me during the silent prayer!)  In this particular instance, my arsenal of tools was depleted.  We had burned through all the toys we brought, and my whisper had gotten as tense as I was comfortable with in church.  My methods had been ineffective, so I resigned myself to the fact that it would once again be a Sunday where she roams through the pews, barefoot and fancy free.  I’ll try to get the gist of the sermon, and mercifully we’ll soon get to a hymn.  Granted, she demands to be held during all standing and singing, but at least there is noise and movement involved.  I’ll take it.

I’m quite honestly at a point in my parenting journey where those moments don’t bother me that much.  It’s funny to sit back and reflect on the madness, but the one takeaway that does scare me is the realization that I have absolutely no control over my child.  I simply cannot MAKE her do much of anything, and regardless of the instruction I give, she can choose to disregard.  This concerns me as she nears two years of age, of course, but I can only assume the influence I have over her will diminish exponentially as she gets older. 

Sure, today I have a toddler flicking socks in my face at church, but will she become a teenager who decides I have nothing valuable to say, and makes choices for her life I don’t agree with?  Probably (sigh).  Those are different problems for another day.  I choose to trust that the big things will stick, that even if I can’t get her to keep her feet covered she will learn to be kind and to love, to be grateful and find the magic in simple moments.  She can run shoeless for the rest of her life for all I care if she is generous with her time and her abilities, and if she confidently becomes the person God intends for her to be.  Even if, or maybe especially if, that person is strong-willed and opinionated.

I could get caught up in thinking about what the future holds, but I was quickly snapped back to the present.  That little girl who looked at me in defiance just three minutes earlier, sweetly asked that I hold her as the sermon was reaching its end.  I propped her in the crook of my elbow like I have so many times before, and this time as she looked into my eyes it was not defiance, but pure joy and content.  She smiled at me, and I tickled her bare feet.  We giggled quietly together, and I decided it’s going to be just fine.  I don’t need to have control.