On Sundays I help oversee the children’s group, ages 3-11. We call this ‘Primary’ in my church, and most Sundays I love my job. I love how 55 kids call me “Teacher.” I love knowing their dramas and triumphs. Most of all, I love talking about the Lord in simple terms that children can understand. It feels the most real to me.
However, it is not always rainbows and roses.
Today, for example, we were told that we could not use the two sets of bathrooms closest to our children’s section. The sewer pipes were backed up so anyone wanting to use the facilities needed to trek across the church building to the far side where the only set of working toilets were located.
No big deal right?
Wrong, gentle reader, wrong. It was no big deal when the first kid needed to go to the bathroom and it wasn’t a big deal when the second kid need to go to the bathroom. However, by the time I was making what felt to be my 45th trip, it was beginning to feel like quite a big deal.
Whoever said Sundays are a day of rest obviously didn’t mean the Sundays when I am forced to sprint over a hundred yards carrying a four year old who has procrastinated going to the bathroom until it was almost everlastingly too late.
Gentle reader, I admit I don’t know everything but I do know that when you are sweating profusely you are NOT resting.
And now if you will excuse me I need to go and pray that the bathrooms are fixed before next Sunday; because another day like today might be too much for my mortal frame to bear.