God Doesn't Care What You Wear

So most of you have received the pictures of Jonathon and Noah standing by the altar after making their First Communion. Attached to that email was my explanation that Noah did not wear the shorts that I had picked out for him. I am catching some major flack from the Catholic faction that my kids weren't in suits for their First Communion. First, a note to one of my major flack givers: GO TO CHURCH and then call me...we'll discuss what Brandon wears for his First Communion. Second, and as I will explain in the blog: "God doesn't care what you wear...God doesn't care what you wear..."

At our church the parents make the decision when their children are ready to make their First Communion and then let the pastor know they feel their child is ready to receive communion. So, there is no preset age, grade, or year of preparing for First Communion; therefore no formal dress code. Our pastor (Pastor Kurt), our children, and myself, along with another family, had a meeting at which our pastor decided the kids understood the concept of coming to the Lord's Table so we set a date for them to receive communion.

Now, considering Jon and Noah were screaming that: "You can't make me learn about God!" at the end of August, and when I plopped my butt down in church at the beginning of September, I was so spiritually drained I could hardly stand up to say the 'Our Father', it was AMAZING and POWERFUL to sit next to my husband, in our church, with our friends and family as witnesses, to watch our two eldest children make their First Holy Communion. However, arriving at that point between the middle of May and the first of June was a little nerve racking.

After looking at all those dates on the June calendar and realizing that one of them was the closing date on our house, two of them are soccer tournament weekends, one is Noah's birthday, one is moving day, and one is the day I am walking in a half-marathon, I was ready to reschedule the communion until July. After all, we would be in our new house and then the boys could have a really great party in a really great house. Not only would I get to show off the house, we would have more room to accommodate people, and it would considerably ease the scheduling stress.

Just then a little voice whispered to me: "God doesn't care where the boys live when they make their First Communion." And my first thought was, 'Great, now on top of being insane, I am insane and hearing voices.' I closed my eyes, rubbed my hands over my face, and tried again, so I could reach for the phone and reschedule everything for July, but when I opened my eyes to look at the calendar the voice was still there, louder: "God doesn't care what your house looks like, He cares that the boys understand WHY they are doing this."

CRAP. June 1, 2008, the day was set, cause hey, even as crazy as I am, I am not one to argue with voices unless they are coming from my children, husband, or siblings. (I am open-minded like that.) The good thing about having some of your life in boxes is it means less stuff to hide or clean when you have people coming over to house. The downside to having people coming over when you are trying to pack up your house is you need to make a war zone look like a reasonably safe place to raise children. So, this past Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, at 6:00 a.m., found myself, and later Rich, cleaning the house and preparing food. I just kept repeating to myself, "God doesn't care, God doesn't care..."

However, come Sunday morning, we finally get four children into church. We are sitting in the front row, Rich and I are proud, somewhat exhausted, the adrenaline is starting to die down, and I can actually hear some of the words Pastor Kurt is saying from the lectern. I let out a sigh of relief and glance at my children, only to notice Noah's shorts. His Wal-mart shorts. His non-matching his shirt, non-perfectly, non-what-we-told-him-to-wear-uncoordinated shorts.

I start trying to get Rich's attention by staring at him. Okay, by shooting him evil, poisonous daggers with my eyes, which is completely inappropriate in church, I admit, but I did it. Then I started pointing to Noah's shorts. Rich looked at me, shocked, irritated, but like, 'What can I do about it?' Honestly, my first thought was, 'Well, go home and get the right pair, you were on clothes duty!' So, I quietly asked Noah, "Why didn't you put on your other shorts like Dad told you too?" and Noah's reply was: "Because these make me look more handsome and are more comfortable and you know I don't like button shorts!"

And that's the point where I turned forward in my chair, gritted my teeth, smiled and started repeating, over and over and over, in my head:

"God doesn't care what Noah is wearing....God doesn't care what Noah is wearing.....God doesn't care what Noah is wearing...."

and then proceeded to focus on church and watch my two young men make their First Communion with a joyful heart. Because in my heart of hearts I know God didn't care one bit what Noah was wearing....but I will tell you....Noah's mom sure did.