Palm Sunday at Big Boy

I'd say this post is a confession except that Merriam-Webster defines confession as:

1. a written or spoken statement in which you say that you have done something wrong or committed a crime 
2. the act of telling people something that makes you embarrassed, ashamed, etc.
3. the act of telling your sins to God or to a priest

I committed no crime; I perhaps should be embarrassed and there is a slight tinge of it but not enough for the full definition, I don't believe I committed a sin even though I am a priest.  But here it is, our family didn't go to church today--we had Palm Sunday at Big Boy.

Truth is, we planned to go to church.  But this morning when I got up and started waking the children, it wasn't going well.  Caroline really couldn't go because of the stimulation (concussion regulations), Boss has been working so hard and late and has to work again today--he was beat, and William, well he's just tired from long days of lacrosse and late nights studying.  Perhaps those aren't good reasons.  They are certainly not reasons I ever thought I would allow to be used in our home, but I did.  

Chris has been traveling non-stop; Boss has been working non-stop; and I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my sister and then my mother (where I am looking forward to going to Tenebrae and Maundy Thursday service) before being joined at the beach by Chris and only 2 of our children for Easter. (Boss is going to the beach with his girlfriend's family--developmentally appropriate but heartbreaking for a Mama; and Caroline is going to New York with a friend--again appropriate but sad.)  We haven't all been together as a family for weeks, and it won't happen again for weeks.  (Don't remind me SK wasn't here, I try to forget that and just live in Katherineland during these memories when all four children are around the table preferably in matching smocked jon-jon's and bishop dresses--instead we were all in sweatpants, sweat shirts and baseball caps.)

So we decided to go to Big Boy.  I will admit I pouted for a few minutes and said I wasn't going. Truth, yes I missed Palm Sunday.  I love the liturgy, and I love our community of faith.  I miss sitting with my family in the pew something we cannot often do anymore; we could have today.  But I also believe that while churches everywhere were re-enacting Jesus riding into Jerusalem, waving palms and chanting "Hosanna", Jesus was also present around our table at Big Boy.  This was one of those times spending time in relationship was more important than the "rule" of going to church.  Chris and I will spend many Palm Sundays over the next decades going to church, more Sundays than we will spend sitting around a breakfast table with our children sharing our lives, laughing and loving.

So, no, this isn't a confession.  This is just the truth of how we spent our day.  I suspect this will become one of those stories our family tells for years to come, probably every time we are getting ready for Palm Sunday services (and perhaps one our children will swear us to secrecy about so their children don't use it against them) "Remember that Palm Sunday Mama and Daddy let us skip church and just go to Big Boy?" We'll all smile remembering that day and the love around the table.