The Devil Went Down to Georgia {on Sunday}

I used to think Mondays were the hardest days of the week.  Until we had a child.  Then I realized the wool had been pulled over my eyes all those years.  Such a façade.  Monday is no longer as dreaded because let’s face it, some days it feels like freedom as a mom.  The little minions are back in school and you feel like skipping back home in your yoga pants.  Not that you don’t love them.  You do.  But man can they suck the life right out of you.  Bless their hearts. (Caveat – if you are a work-outside-the-home-mom like I once was, Mondays do indeed still come with the dread that equals having toenails pulled right out.  Because then you have to face the real children at work).

I’ve recently realized that Sunday is the hardest day around our house.  Why?  Because clearly the devil went down to Georgia (and every other state in this great nation).  He packs up his convertible (obviously because he thinks he’s cool like that), puts on his Sunday best and loads his trunk with fun things like tantrums, whining (for the love, ALL THE WHINING), “I don’t want to go’s”, and “why do I have to wear that’s”…and he sets off with the wind in his hair laughing all the way to our homes.  He shows up like long lost cousin Eddie – uninvited and unwanted – but much more dapper.  He sneaks up on you and before you know it, he’s emptying his sewer in your front yard.  Everything ignites and you feel like dear old Aunt Bethany singing the Star Spangled Banner, clearly losing your mind (with your family). If you don't know these references or this movie, you are dead to me. 

Whether you have one child or ten, it really doesn’t matter.  We have one with multiple personalities at four years old.  I feel like within any five given minutes I have ten children.  It all comes out in the wash.  It’s God’s way of leveling the playing field for us moms.  That would also make a good word problem for math, but I don’t understand “new math” so clearly I’m at a loss for how you would formulate that.  Whoa! I don’t even know where I was going with all that.  Oh yeah…my child has multiple personalities (in a normal sort of four year old way).  And when do those personalities tend to rear their ugly heads most?  SUNDAY!  We moms struggle to get our kids in their sweet church clothes out the door without losing our ever loving minds in the process.  

This past Sunday was no different at our house.  The wailing and gnashing of teeth prevailed.  I don’t know why I’m shocked each week.  I mean it’s the one day a week I try hard not to wear leggings as pants, actually wear makeup and not wear my hair in a pony tail.  I know Jesus doesn’t really care what we look like, but I try show Him I’m making an effort here so I don’t scare someone.  I’m mostly dressed and then it’s time for the three ring circus to start.  Satan, the ringmaster, has come down to Georgia and arrived at our house.  Our child threw himself on the floor because clearly cartoon watching trumps going to church and he lost his mind when the TV was turned off. And then, I dared to ask him to change out of his pajamas (I get that part, its comfy).  We finally make our way downstairs, me sweating all the way because I feel like I’ve wrestled an alligator, and there sits the husband wondering what’s taking us so long.  He’s like a deer in the headlights, and I’m driving the car.  I want my leggings and ponytail back.  My make up is already sweated half off. 

I get in the car, and it’s a good 85 degrees because in the husband’s defense I did ask him to crank it to warm it up.  (That must be the exact moment Satan slipped in the house door).  Can I just say thank you Jesus for dual climate control (praise hands).  I sit down, take a deep breath, turn my side down to about 60 and roll down the window.  I might have told the husband I felt like I was choking and suffocating (because when you’re premenopausal those fun things start to happen).  I wanted to stick my head out the window like our 45 pound boxer mix but clearly I didn’t want to mess up my hair I had worked so hard on.  I likely had moments of Fire Breathing DragonMommy/Wife.  Actually I know I did.  I stopped sweating, grabbed my husband’s hand, and apologized.  

I think this is the norm for most of us each Sunday morning, especially families.  There is nothing Satan loves more than to distract us, and kill our spirit before we enter the house of God.  And if he can keep us from even getting there, bonus points for him.  Don’t get me wrong, church isn’t a necessity for being saved or being a Christian.  I don’t think God even expects us to be there each time the doors are open.  But what we are to crave is fellowship and time with Him.  And when Satan shows up like cousin Eddie each Sunday full of surprises that just keeps our hearts from being ready to receive the word that God has for us.  

We can all count on most weeks being like that.  I would even venture to say that the struggle will become even greater the closer our walk with the Lord is, and the more in tact our families are.  If Satan can wedge his way into the family unit, then his mission is accomplished.  We have to be on offense and put on the armor of God.  I admit I’m most off guard on Sundays and many mornings forget that armor is still necessary just as much as it is when we enter the world every other day of the week. Then I wind up like Batman did at our house – losing my head to the destroyer (in his case, our boxer mix).