Dear mama who made it to the pew today, who almost didn’t, who nearly lost it, who’s not sure if she should have, anyways: I see you.

I see you wavering for the first time as the alarm sounds. Most likely, you didn’t get a full night’s rest. This is only the brink of second thoughts about to rush in. Will this be worth it?

I see you waver the second time, realizing that the jeans without holes never made it to the dryer last night. You search for alternatives, holding up shirts to gauge the wrinkles, rummaging through drawers as disheveled as the thoughts in your mind.

I see you wavering for the third time as you snap “hurry-ups!’ at the table, tossing your hair into a ponytail and forgetting to eat breakfast yourself. Your husband pulls jackets over little heads and grabs his own on the way out.

Should we just stay home? I asked it too.

I see you slumping wearily into the car, shoulders tight and mind a fog, thankful that you remembered to grab your lukewarm coffee off the counter on the way out the door. I see the question still hanging in your mind, there’s still time to call this off. Morning’s frenzy has left your heart far from worshipful.

I see you pulling into a parking spot, unbuckling kids, perhaps a baby balanced on your hip, grabbing your coffee from the cup holder as you hurry to the door. You can hear the music already playing, signaling your late arrival.

I see you placing name tags on button-downs, only now noticing that stain running down one of them from breakfast. Faces sticky from syrup smile up at you as you route the most effective path for getting each child to their correct classroom. You hold extra tight to the hand of your little one whose lip still quivers at the classroom door each Sunday. “I’ll be back in an hour”, you offer a smile of assurance and kiss the top of their head.

I see you settling into one of the last available seats, the sermon already begun, praying your child’s name won’t appear on the screen, calling you to come and pick them up early. I see you grabbing your husband’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze, a silent “We did it. We’re here.”

I know your mind might be too tired or too busy or too scattered to hang onto many word spoken from the pulpit, but you were supposed to be there. I know you might have walked in unprepared to worship, and feeling more resentful than thankful, but God was happy to have you there, exactly how you came.

Dear mama who made it to the pew today, we did it. Some weeks we won’t, there is grace for that too. But today we did, and it mattered. Whatever mess or chaos or fatigue we waded through to get there, our children heard the name of Jesus, and we stood next to fellow weary parents, and we banded together in making faith and community priorities in our homes.

Dear mama who made it to the pew today, it was worth it.