It happens almost every Sunday morning.
The kids get up and we hit the ground running. I guzzle my coffee as we work through the list: food, clothes, teeth, hair, socks, left shoe, right shoe –all of this times six—church bags, diaper bag, bottle, sippy, blanket, stroller, offering. Forget the beds this morning kids, and we will take care of the dog later. Out the door! It is time for church!
I walk with my fed and dressed kids, pushing the double stroller, smiling to myself as I imagine us as a waddling family of ducks walking down the road.
Then suddenly: the moment. I smile at the first friendly churchgoer I see, I suddenly realize we are out in public, and I panic. Oh no, please tell me I remembered to change out of my pajamas! I find to my surprise I actually did remember; I simply forgot that I remembered.
It was one of those Sundays, when we made it to the pew and I was mentally congratulating myself for another successful Sunday morning marathon completed, and all children in their places, and not a one missing their pants.
My crew and I lined up in front of the church for communion. I placed the wiggliest child directly in front of me, folded his hands, and folded mine on top of his. That is when I saw it: blue fingers. Mine, not his. Bright blue fingers stained with yesterday’s Kool-Aid. Oh great. There’s another piece of evidence for the world to see that I do not really have it all together; another obvious thing on my list that I have completely overlooked.
I reached my blue hand out to receive, and I couldn’t help but notice the hands that gave me Jesus: they were also stained. Not Kool-Aid, but earth stained the elder’s fingers. And there was my God: held by cracked and callused fingers, and placed gently in my hands. Body and Blood, given for me, humbled to die on a cross, humbled to be held by fingers stained with work and sin.
Here in this work with lists unfinished, my Lord comes. Here in my hands; these hands that find a hundred other things to do rather than fold in prayer; hands that feed children and over-feed myself; here in these hands He comes. Here on this heart stained with vanity and distracted with the world’s temptations, right here, He pours out His blood and takes away my sins.
I remember my Lord. I do merely remember, but I taste and see Him once more. He is gracious, and He is good. My blue fingers fold in prayer and I receive the blessing.
“May this true body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ strengthen and preserve you in the true faith to life everlasting. Depart in peace.”
Yes, thank you, I think I will. Amen.