Sunday morning

I don't think I have been able to sit through a whole sermon since Molly was born. Were it not for Paul's admonition not give up meeting together, I'd be staying home. If Dean isn't working on Sunday, then he is playing in the worship band, and either way my Sundays are spent wrangling slippery bodies in the bathtub and force-feeding waffles while trying to blow-dry my hair. I'll admit, while rounding up stray hairbows and spare diapers, that often the last thing on my mind is worship.

This morning was no different. The children were bathed, fed, dressed and dropped off at Sunday school and the nursery. I took a deep breath and settled in to the pew, trying to join in singing about the deep, deep love of Jesus with some focus and sincerity. But then I heard the crying. Above the electric guitar. Above the pipe organ. Above my intentions to turn my thoughts toward my loving Savior.

But a funny thing happened when I sat back down with a sniffling, hiccuping baby curled tightly into my neck. Awash in deep love for my little needy daughter, suddenly the deep, deep love of Jesus for His own needy daughter pricked my heart. Wholly undeserved, securely mine, and so much greater than the paltry offerings of my human heart. So I worshiped.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean
In its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me,
Is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward
To Thy glorious rest above!