When Obedience is Love
The complaining starts early around my house on Saturday night as we begin laying out clothes. Little voices start chiming in with their opinions as they bring me small cotton shirts that need pressing for the next day’s services. “Mooommmm do I hafta go?” “Can’t I just staaaay home?” “Church is sooooo boring.” I have heard all the versions of these complaints before. It is my third child’s turn at the variations, and bless his blue eyes, he is no innovator of phrases. I turn him toward the shower and give him the same response I gave his older sisters,…
