We woke up this morning and Noah was complaining of tummy issues. This is a normal, ongoing complaint, so being the caring, compassionate mom that I am - gave him 2 tums and told him to get ready for church.
Noah didn't feel up to going to 5th grade class, again not out of the ordinary. A couple glances at him during the sermon told me maybe he really wasn't feeling good. Then they served communion. Noah leans over and starts making wild gestures. I realized this wasn't gonna turn out too good. Of course we sat on the far side of the exit doors. We made it through the double doors leading to the foyer where Noah vomited all over the beautiful tile floors. A few more steps and he vomited right in front of the main hall and then for good measure right outside the mens restroom.
2 fancy ladies squealed and ran. I ran for the women's bathroom followed by a mom in torn jeans and tshirt. As she is peeling papertowels from the rack she is trying to explain why she isn't dressed up. She doesn't go to church but brings her boys every Sunday. She said she felt bad for me- while the church ladies ran. She "might not know how to do church, but she know how to clean up vomit". I returned to the scene to be greeted by the nicest usher who was scooping up piles of my childs vomit into a trashcan. He apologized for his English- he is hispanic and has been attending for a few years hoping to get a hispanic service started. He faithfully scooped, cleaned, mopped and then went into the mens bathroom to check on Noah for me.
It dawned on me... this is church. Not fancy church ladies, but true mucking up vomit servants. Language, dress, or even "doing" or "not doing" church. That's where I think God is... I hope I don't run. Please let me be the one to help muck up.
On a side note, as we were cleaning I realized I had worn open toed heels. Yeah, he managed to hit my feet too. Now, how do I clean vomit out of my new red heels...