Earlier this summer, I told you about a little problem we were having at my house: Silas, my three-year-old, wanted to be naked. All. the. time. Which was problematic, because there are many places we go in our day-to-day lives where it is not okay to be naked.
I told you about our situation; you gave me some (much appreciated) suggestions.
I didn’t exactly tell you about the gut-level soul-angst this problem was causing me.
I’m a writer, so I wrote about it, but I don’t get real churchy here on this blog, so I sent it to somebody who does.
Today, please visit my friend Sarah Bessey’s place to read about that time (not so long ago) when my kid was naked on the church steps, when we were on the wrong side of the sanctuary door, when I was reminded once again how poorly my family has merged with the family of God.
I was the one who insisted on going to church. We’d been traveling a ton this summer, and missed week upon week of services. This particular Sunday morning, I wanted to be there. I needed to be there.
But the actual going is never easy.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and this morning it was my naked three-year-old. Silas started screaming the moment we told him to get dressed. My husband finally, painfully wrangled him into some khakis; we buckled him into his carseat shirtless–and still screaming. I stuffed his shirt into my purse, and we drove off, frazzled.
Three miles later when we pull into the parking lot, Silas is still screaming and is once again naked, despite his snug five-point harness.
We were already late, so my older three slipped through the sanctuary’s back door with my husband. He went one round with Silas this morning; I thought I could win round two.
I was wrong.
I’m feeling pretty vulnerable with this one. I’d love to hear your thoughts and struggles and ideas for moving forward.