The sacred ordinary

This morning in church, three year old Isabel was on my lap talking when she was supposed to be quiet, pulling on my necklace, and asking me where mommy was. The bread and the wine came to me and I realized I was not paying attention to what the pastor was saying. I was focusing more on keeping them away from her little hands and asking her to be quiet than on the body and blood of Jesus Christ. I had just a few seconds to pray before it was interrupted by her hand trying to grab the little plastic cup of wine.

And it struck me - this is so much of motherhood. The days are full of correcting little ones, making peanut butter and jellies, talking about Dora the Explorer and why they cannot watch another movie, doing five loads of laundry, cleaning up toys, and going to bed each night more exhausted than the last.

And this is much of life. In times when each minute overwhelms us, He is still giving Himself to us. Even when we have only a few seconds between the childrens’ whispers to meditate on His body, He is still present and renewing Himself in us. The bread and the wine remind us of Him. In the midst of busyness, even as other things are clamoring for our attention, He is there, sanctifying and redeeming.

Just two seconds after I finished the wine, Isabel was off trying to steal everyone’s cups. I barely had a chance to swallow, let alone dwell upon our dying Lord. But perhaps that’s where faith comes in. I take the cup in faith, knowing that God gives Himself to those who seek Him. And He does not give Himself in proportion to my seeking, or according to how many minutes I could spend in church dwelling on His sacrifice. He gives Himself above and beyond my needs, more than I could ever ask or imagine. He meets me in the everyday moments, and dwells there. His body and blood is present minutely, refreshing and renewing amidst the daily craziness.

Someday, when I have children talking my ear off in church-and even tonight-I want to remember this. I want to remember that He is here, providing and forgiving, reminding me of an eternal hope kept in heaven for me.