Every once and a while, I forget all the naughty things my kids have done and I smugly think or say or mention that my kids are excellent/great/so well behaved. And every time I make the mistake of thinking of perfection, I am instantly reminded otherwise.
We have spent years trying to teach Emmy to behave herself in church. She isn’t necessarily out of control, but she loves to sing and talk and clap and climb under the pews and chat with the church goers around us.
This past Sunday, she was being pretty good at the beginning of the service. She was quietly perched in my lap, looking at the pretty windows. At the exact same moment I thought, “Gosh, finally after all the work of teaching her how to act like a big girl, she’s finally getting it!” Emmy got wiggly.
Instead of having the wiggles act as a reminder that thinking like that causes nothing but trouble, I pushed forward with my annoying thoughts. “You know, she’s moving around but she is still being good. We are definitely doing something right.”
Right then, there was a quiet pause in church activity. Emmy noticed the silence, stood up on the kneeler, raised her face to the sky and, in her happiest singsong voice, shouted:
My kids are always embarrassing us in church, for further proof: