Part Of Your Family

​We’d gone to the evening service at church that night.  It was always a smaller, shorter service than the regular morning ones.  The kids liked it, partially because they knew they could wear whatever they had on–almost.  They could just go as they were.

​During the service, Geoff and I, and our two oldest kids—Kathryn and Anna, then 15 and 12, listened to the message.  The other three drew pictures, and whispered back and forth, somewhat quietly.  

I had been aware of Emma, age 8, messing around more than the other two.  She sat in the pew behind us for a while, and then a few minutes later she was two pews behind us.  I had motioned for her to return, and she had complied but wasn’t pleased.

​Kathryn turned to whisper to me, “You know, it’s really pretty quiet in here except for our family.”  

​I had smiled back at her.  It was true. There needed to be more than just a few people to really muffle the sounds of the seven of us.

​Our family.  Our family, which has been a source of both pride and embarrassment, depending on your age and perspective.  To the older girls our family was often embarrassing and loud.  We heard the frequent complaint,“Why is everybody always staring at us?”

​To the younger kids our family was a source of pride.  “They don’t defend each other like our family does,” they’d proclaim.

​I found myself smiling at Kathryn’s observation during the rest of that service.  Even though all of our kids were being relatively quiet, our pew was still the loudest.By far.  Our family being quiet was still always louder than everyone else.

​Back at home after the service Geoff started barbequing dinner.  And I was folding a load of laundrywhen Emma came slowly up the steps.

​“Mom,” she said plaintively, “I left somethin’ at church.”

​I asked what she had left, while I folded another shirt.

​“Somethin’ I wrote,” she answered, clearly uncertain about something.

​I stopped for a moment and looked at her.  I wasn’t sure what her concern was.  It didn’t seem like her to write anything that would be hurtful or embarrassing, or in any way problematic, if it were found.  I watched her for just a moment.

​“What was it, Em?”

​“Somethin’ I wrote to God while we were in church.”

​I nodded.  “Was it private?” 

​“Yeah, kinda.”

​“Can you tell me what you wrote?”

​She put her head down again, and said in a quiet little voice which I could barely hear, “I just said, ‘Dear God, thank You for lettin’ me be part of Your family.  Love, Emma.’”

​I nodded, wishing that she’d remembered to bring that note home.  Those are the things I try to save.

​“Do you think anyone’ll read it?” she asked.

​I asked where she had left it, was it just lying in the pew?

​“Yeah.  It was back behind where we sat.  Do you think anyone’ll read it?” she asked again, clearly worried.

​I said that someone would probably find it if it was just sitting on the pew.  And the person would probably read it to see what it was.  I asked if she thought that would be okay.  

“You wrote it to God.” I added, “So do you think Godsaw it?”

​She nodded.

​“Then do you mind if anyone else reads it, too?” 

​“I guess not.  It was just kinda private,” she said.

​“Just between you and God.”

​She looked at me and nodded.

​I told her that I thought it was a very thoughtful note to write to God.  I said that I was sure it had meant a lot to God.  And I said that if anyone else read it, it would probably mean a lot to that person, too.

​She hesitated, and then smiled just slightly.  She thought about it for another minute or so, and then slowly said, “Okay.”

​She headed back downstairs, and I returned to folding the last of the clothes.  

I thought about family then.  Our family.  And how our family is often either a source of pride or embarrassment.  Depending on your perspective, and what’s currently going on.  But that either way, it’s our family and we belong here.  

Then I thought about God’s family.    And how God’s family is also often a source of pride or embarrassment.  Depending on perspective, and on what’s currently happening.  But that’s our family, too, and we belong there, too.

Throughout dinner and the rest of the evening my thoughts kept returning to Emma’s little note to God.  Which was accidentally left on a pew in the church.  And which, I suspect, was received the very moment it was written.  Received, and accepted as a cherished gift.  

Just a little note.  To God.  From Emma.  A member of the family.  

Postscript: Thanks, Em. Your little note was a life lesson for me. Always remember who you are. Love, Mom