Footloose in Church

Tap...tap...giggle...

Tap...twist...giggle...

That was the soundtrack to today's 10:45am Mass at my church.  A little boy in the row ahead of me, probably age 4, was playing footsie with me under his chair.  He was face down on the floor, coloring quietly, and tapping his foot into mine.  

His poor young mother, probably 33, with firm Michelle Obama arms and sculpted cheekbones, tried fervently to get him to pay attention to the service, but his feet would have none of it.

Tap...slide...giggle...

I smiled inwardly, thinking about how stressed I was at that woman's age...with 2 young children, a busy career, a traveling husband.   I, like her, desperately wanted people to think my kids were well-behaved.   I didn't invent it, but I elevated the "mom church whisper" to Oscar-winning drama heights.  My older daughter felt the threat of a lightning strike everytime she crossed into a sanctuary!  But did the kids behave?  Ah, well...occasionally.

Tap...stomp...giggle...

The priest was talking about Nicodemus, the questioning prophet, and my mind wandered to the questions my kids would ask in church:  "How big is God?"..."Will the Communion wine make me drunk?"..."Did someone just do GAS?!"  

The young mom was still trying to settle her silly son, but he was having too much fun with his secret game to obey for very long.

Tap...wiggle...giggle...

The priest started talking about Psalm 137:  "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion".  He reminded us that we all get a little misty when we think of the "good old days".  The days when our children were young and silly and impetuous and questioning and full of wonder.  I thought about my older son, still trying to decide what he wants to study in college.  My older daughter, about to leave high school and start a whole new college adventure in Florida, also crossed my mind.  I prayed for them.   My younger daughter, well-mannered and sitting beside me in church, sang from her hymnal.  I squeezed her hand.  And I chuckled, thinking about my rowdy baby-dude at home with his dad, tearing up the playroom yet again and sneaking cookies when no one's looking.  I thanked God for them all.

Tap...press...smile...

Only that time it was me, signaling to my little crayon buddy that his "good old days" are still ahead...as long as he keeps remembering to play footsie.