Monday on a Sunday

This week my Monday came on a Sunday.

I fully intended to go to church this morning, but everything imaginable conspired to get me frustrated and distracted from hearing and learning anything.

After bathing & dressing Nathan, loading him and his stuff - and my stuff - in the car (already running late), I couldn't find my keys. I dug through my purse two or three times, then dashed back in the house to ransack every place I thought they might be. No keys.

In an interesting juggle, I moved the dog from the garage to the house (to prevent him running away) and opened the garage door so I could get out my bike and hook the Burley to it. I got it hooked up, the garage door closed, all our stuff transferred from car to Burley, inhaled the rest of my coffee, and took off for church.

On the way there, the safety flag fell off the Burley. When I turned around and got off my bike to retrieve the flag, the wind blew my bike over. I reattached the flag, righted my bike and calmed Nathan down, and (finally) got to church. When I got there, I realized Nathan's diaper needing changing before I dropped him off at nursery. Once I got the diaper changed, Nathan deposited at nursery, and grabbed my stuff for the service, I needed to hurry and write out the check for the offering. I had finished the check and was putting the checkbook back in my purse when - lo and behold: my keys. In my purse. The whole time.

I still don't know what all the distractions were supposed to distract me from. Maybe it was a time for me to see how much I've grown spiritually - I felt frustrated and even tired, but there wasn't any anger in any of this morning's activities for me. There wasn't a time in there where I felt almost hysterical that so many things were going wrong. My peace was ruffled, but not ruined.

Maybe it was so I could listen to a vision of the church as the body of Christ, each member serving and building each other up. I know what my spiritual gifts are; I've focused quite a while on using them and being a wise steward of them. Maybe this morning it was that I needed to hear that they aren't "my" spiritual gifts, but "ours." Maybe I needed to hear that I don't have the option of withholding them from being used in my community. My role is to offer what I have, even if I don't know where or how it will be used, believing that it is better to start dancing in my own way, singing my heart's song to God instead of waiting for the event to be organized and tickets to be sold and rehearsals held so that my dance, my song, can have a definite impact.

I've thought so often that, "Lord, I'm trying..." So much of my life has been a wrestling to quit trying to please or pacify God and instead respond to him. I rarely "try" to respond - I just respond.