I’ve come to a decision – Sunday morning is no time for me to be worshiping the Lord.

Sunday has too many distractions. Get me to a Saturday night Third Day concert, that’s what I need for heaven-on-earth worship.

Sunday is crazy. We are a family of six, you know. Waking on time, eating breakfast, a shower and dressing in nice clothes. Pantyhose may be involved. And you don’t just put on pantyhose easily. It takes time. A little make-up. Hurry.

I’ve four children, ages 8, 6, 4 and 18 months old, to get presentable. Two may be wearing tights. More time. Hurry up, guys. Then there is the unforeseen crisis involving tears or a tantrum. Hurry or we’ll be late.

Then once we are in the pew, the work really begins. Crowd control. Stop kicking the seat. Sit up. Your sister is not a pillow. Give me that; it’s not a toy. And so it goes. I’m sure everyone behind us is amused. Or maybe not.

Why can I worship at a Christian rock concert easier than I can at church on Sunday morning? My kids aren’t there to distract me, for one. Worship is easier in the dark. No one cares what you are doing because everyone is looking at the stage. Hopefully they are worshiping the Lord along with you.

I can dance, lift my hands and focus on the lyrics without inhibition. It’s normal at a Third Day concert. Encouraged. And it feels good to be free. I like being free and open and lost in the Lord.

That was me Saturday night.

I know sin gets in the way of my ability to focus on Sunday morning. My own shortcomings, my children’s sins. Doc. My thoughts wandering off in different directions. Wow, check out the gal in the tight knit black pants. What was she thinking? I’m hungry. What will we have for lunch? Hey, I need to turn off my cell phone in case it rings during the sermon.

And I worry what people are thinking about me, my children and my inability to control my gang in the pew.

I guess that is what it really comes down to, when I look hard at it, it’s my own pride, yet again, getting in the way.

For when the little ones are finally dismissed to go downstairs for Children’s Church, and the toddler is tucked in the nursery, I’m still falling short of the mark. My little excuses are down in the underbelly of the building, and I’m upstairs, I can at last shut my eyes.

But I still don’t enter in where others have gone. Saturday night is over, it’s bright in the sanctuary, and it’s not the same.

Submitted to Christian Carnival Week CXLVI