The Way
My son sat next to me during church the other night, and I couldn’t resist observing him from the corner of my eye. I noticed when it was time to sing and the rest of us dutifully scooped up hymnals that my teenager kept perfectly still. I noticed as he sat idly—shoulders slumped and expression bored—while the rest of us worshipped together. I felt like snatching up a songbook and shoving it between my son’s hands. But I didn’t. I immersed myself in the chorus instead.
When it was time for the message, I noticed my son didn’t budge. As the rest of us picked up our Bibles, my teen couldn’t have cared any less. Blankly eyeing the pew ahead, he was probably thinking about football practice or that package of cookies in the pantry back home he planned to rip into. I felt like elbowing his ribs and hissing at him to snap out of it. But I didn’t. Instead, I let my Bible fall open on my flap as I flipped to the specified passage.
As the lesson was taught, I noticed my son wasn’t paying attention. As he silently picked at his clothes and played with his hands and squirmed uninterestedly, I felt like thrusting a Bible toward him and demanding he follow along—like he used to so faithfully when he was little. But I didn’t. I refocused my attention instead.
