As we stumbled in out of the cold, clomping in like noisy snow-covered Clydesdales, the bells ringing in disapproval of our tardiness, I felt tense. I hadn’t wanted to attend mass this morning, let alone get out of bed before noon. My belly feels tighter and heavier today, my back is burning, and quite honestly, I didn’t want to expend the energy it takes to get a shower these days .
Great reasons to ignore God, right?
Some pregnant days are better than others, and after three straight nights of very little sleep and mucho discomfort, the last thing I felt was holy.
Yet in we trudged, my daughter’s unbrushed, mangled hair and my bad, bad attitude leading the way. The second we sat down, I could feel all eyes upon us. Not because we were late, but because of the kids. Our congregation consists of mostly older folks who genuinely enjoy seeing little ones at mass. They never bat an eye when a baby cries or a small voice speaks out of turn: “Why is Jesus sleeping up there?”
They don’t even mind when my toddler announces, loudly, “I just tooted! Did you hear it?!”
Good people.
Unfortunately, I don’t see what the other church-goers see. I see a brother poised and waiting to snatch his sister’s blankie the second she is vulnerable. I see temper tantrums of epic proportions on the horizon. I see a little boy who refuses to stand for the opening hymn. I see my feet swell beneath me. I see my patient husband’s jaw tighten as he runs interference between an energetic child and the kneeler.
And then I see them.
A very young couple with a newborn baby girl slides in a few pews away. Even after our late arrival! I make note of the…unorthodox outfit the mother is wearing: skin-tight pink jeggings, a see-through polka dot blouse, and what appears to be a sweater vest made from the kind of silver and white tinsel normally reserved for Christmas trees. The vest is a smidge too short, and her tattoo and I have a stare-off.
Not that I have any business judging a tramp stamp.
This new mom’s kinky hair, still wet from the shower, is piled haphazardly on top of her head, and while she wears no make-up, her nose ring glistens when she tilts her head just so. Her boyfriend (there are no signs of wedding bands; I’ve checked) doesn’t take his eyes off of their baby girl who, for now, is content in the warm cocoon of her car seat.
As I’m wondering why I’m so intrigued with the couple, I realize our priest is telling a story. It’s about a student who doesn’t have much money, but is consistent in attending religious services in his college town. He goes to different churches, celebrates different faiths, and one day, chooses to hit up a super conservative church despite wearing raggedy clothes and no shoes. As the boy enters the doors of the church, it is quickly apparent that there isn’t an empty seat in the place. No biggie; he saunters up to the very front and takes a seat right on the floor in front of the pulpit.
People see him. But they don’t see him.
Murmurs of disapproval and “Ohmygod, Becky, do you believe THIS?” fill the air, and the pastor stops preaching when he sees one of the oldest and most respected members of the congregation, a Deacon, coming toward the pulpit.
The old man’s cane clickity-clacks on the bare floor, and parishioners hold their breath, bracing for what they believe will be a stern but necessary request for the college boy to please exit the church.
Instead, the elderly Deacon gently places his cane on the floor and lowers himself to sit beside the boy everyone assumed would be asked to leave.
The Deacon saw the boy.
“You will never remember what I was going to preach about today, but you will never forget this,” the pastor gestured to the young and old duo seated together on the hard, cold floor.
My priest ended with a prayer and I was left sitting there in disbelief.
He didn’t see me, but He saw me.
I was ashamed for noticing the young mother’s outfit before giving her mad props for coming to church at all. It was snowing at a pretty good clip and endlessly cold, but she and her wet hair and her bundled baby came to serve the Lord and I was judging her pink pants. I, who didn’t want to get out of bed an hour ago, who incessantly preaches tolerance and acceptance, and who forbids an unkind word to pass my children’s lips, let an aching back and a bad night’s sleep impact my character. My behavior. I was the person I never wanted to become all because I was in a bad mood.
Karma. God. Mother Mary.
I get it. Thank you. Receive my prayers for forgiveness and of gratitude, as the shot to the crotch you rightfully delivered was warranted and, though it stung, made me a better person today.
DUDE. The message I heard at mass this morning was that people should know I’m Christian because of the way I live. Because of the way I AM. I thought to myself, I hardly ever talk about God on my blog. I wonder if people know how important He is to me?
And then you wrote this. Today. I swear, I love you. You’re good people, Jankowski. Catching yourself judging at church is eye-opening. Taking that realization outside and weaving it into everyday life is where the work begins. I’m working on that, too.
I love when words on a page/screen resonate with people the way this has for you, the way SO MUCH of what you’ve written has for me.
I love the story of the college boy who sat on the floor. But I wondered about one thing. How come he wasn’t wearing any shoes? Did he go barefoot to his college classes?
Hahahahaha!!! I wondered the same thing; my husband says our priest prefaced the story with the fact that the college student didn’t have much money and what he did have, spent on his education. Orrrrrr the no shoes thing was just to make a symbolic point…says the dorky English teacher 😉
This happens to me all the time. I get all Judgy McJudgy and then something slaps me in the face.. Or maybe it’s someone, I don’t know. God and I haven’t been on very good terms since 2009. But I do know that there are signs and messages everywhere. We just have to be open to them. Thanks for sharing this.
Kathy, you know I thought of Mamas like you when I wrote this post and I think that’s why I added “Karma” at the end. Getting to know you and your story (as well as others’) has really made me more aware of other people’s feelings and faith. For that, I thank you!
Oh my God Becky look at her butt
I was totally saying that line when I wrote it 🙂
You Know…every Sunday I listen for the message that is just for me. After a fight with Jim and silent treatment this morning, I got my earful today at mass.
There is a reason you made it there today. I love when stuff like this happens. Salt and Light. Thanks for sharing it, Lady!
Salt and Light is right, lady!! Thank YOU for commenting xo
Steph, I have a HUGE lump in my throat. And I know it’s not the hormones, it’s Godly conviction. I missed church today and was feeling down about it. Reading your post before bed was NO accident. Thanks for preaching it sister.
I miss you lovely lady.
OHMYGOODNESS!
I KNOW YOU!!!!!!
You’ve no idea how often I think of you and then just never get around to hunting you down. I feel soooo bad about it, too 🙁 But here you are! And HOW are you?! Okay, ignore the questions–I’m comin’ to you to find ya 😉
And all the people said…AMEN.
Girrrrrrl, this was powerful stuff. We go to a big church where people like the woman you described are not uncommon. At first, my reaction was not unlike yours. Now I see those people and realize what a beautiful thing is that they can come as they are…just like Jesus tell us to.
“Just like Jesus tells us to do.”
Exactly.
🙂
Beautiful story, and I’m glad I read it because I DID miss church yesterday! We were visiting family and it was just “too much work” to get the kids ready at someone else’s house, etc. What excuses! Thanks for sharing this lesson with all of us today!
Hey, Shay! I miss church more times than I’d like to admit, so don’t feel alone in that fact. But if reading this warmed your heart or made you want to be a better person, like the story I heard at Mass did, then I say it’s a win all around! xo
There have been so many times I’ve done something similar–judged the exterior and then felt the sting from the slap in the face … Karma’s got a good right hook, I tell ya!
I feel like those moments are just right for us. We’re where we were supposed to be, seeing and hearing the “message.”
Loved this!
I totally agree, Jen. That message was meant for me. Something pulled me outta bed and put me in that church pew for a reason.
Thanks for reading and sharing 🙂
I was so judged at all the churches I tried to attend that I go to the Church of the Forest or Ocean now. I teach my loved one about the Painting God makes just for us every morning as we watch the sky change colors. In my outside of church life I too try very hard to not judge and make snide remarks and we as women need constant reminders that we have no right to judge, but we should love and accept and look for the whole story. (just a side i misspelled church and the auto correct replaced it with eunuch huh?)
J, I’m really sorry to hear that the “organized” part of religion was so difficult for you, but it seems like you’ve found a way to find beauty and grace outside of the church walls and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.
Eunuch, eh?! Hahahaha!
Oh, woman, you have me in tears. Actual crying, here. That was one of my favorite things you’ve ever written. Props to you for finding the words to make that beautiful story come alive. xo
Awww, thanks, lady! I mean, hate to make you cry, but you know the writer in me is like YESSSSSSSSSSSSS! 🙂
It is inherent in us to judge others, we make errors in judgement and those of us that see the error of our ways can and do something about it. Sometimes it needs a little push to remind us. As beautiful as this story is you forgot to mention (and maybe have not realised yet) that you should be applauded for going to church when you were so tired.
You still put God first in your life, albeit it reluctantly at first and you felt refreshed afterwards.
Many would not have gone to church in such a circumstance and yet you did.
Hey, thanks, lady! I was too busy feeling guilty to realize I did do the right thing despite not wanting to. Good lesson for the little ones in my house, I guess. THANK YOU! xo
I just found your blog from Motherhoodwtf.com and I have to say I am so glad. I loved this post, I have been feeling very icky lately due feeling icky pre-hysterectomy surgery and my mood has been really bad. Now I see how God really gets things done. He gives us messages in ways we can’t imagine. Thank you.
I’m honored to be referenced by the great MotherhoodWTF 🙂 Thanks for reading, too; this was a pretty heavy post for me, and I’m so happy to see it has been well-received! Come back, won’t you?! 🙂
Okay, so I stumbled on this a little late 😉
I just want to say I can’t tell you how many times I have brought my DD to church (unfortunately out of obligation and not faith, as the church I have not been friends in a long time) and I have seen people in cut-off shorts, flip flops, baseball caps (still on) and have wondered why they came so rudely “as they are”.
I know it’s wrong to judge. I tell my kid not to judge. When she does say something judging out loud, I immediately turn the tables on her so she can see how wrong it is. For example, one morning a woman dropped off her daughter to kindergarten in her pajamas and slippers. My daughter immediately saw her and said “Wow, who would come out like that? How embarrassing!” I said to her, “What if I overslept this morning – would you want me to get dressed and make you late for school, or just get in the car? What if I had a sick belly and I was on the potty all morning and that was the only way I was getting out of the house to ensure you got to school?” Make note, my daughter hates lateness and absences, for any reason. So I have the ability to be mindful and to teach respect, but when I hit church it’s like the devil himself has jumped into my head. EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT IS WRONG. I still can’t help thinking to myself “Why couldn’t they at least make themselves presentable?” I think it comes down to a few things: I was raised that you go to church in your Sunday best. I also am no longer friends with the church, so I think what happens is I end up feeling like “if I could show respect in a place that I don’t want to be, then you should be able to show respect in a place that you DO want to be in.”
I know it’s wrong. The moment the thought comes into my head, I immediately yell at myself to stop, but it’s too late. The thought is already there and I can’t take it back. It seems to be the only place that this happens is church. I am so very tolerant everywhere else. It’s unfortunate and it adds to the reasons I don’t like being there. 🙁