Friday Night
His limp body snuggled against my leg …
“I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”
…as I logged into my zoom meeting. The loud whistle of the tea kettle startled me to my feet and I rushed over to turn the knob on the stove. Quick check in …sigh of relief. He was still asleep. I poured the water into my prepared mug and made my way back to my baby’s side. Just as I settled into my comfy seat on the couch, I looked up to see eleven pairs of eyes on me, some paired with warm smiles; others accompanied by friendly waves. I’ll admit that I was caught off guard. I had forgotten that my zoom log in was loading just before I raced to the kitchen. As the alerts of more people logging in flowed, I started to feel slight nervousness. Once “Coffee Talk” had actually started, the nervousness intensified. “Would he wake up?”
“Would I be the only one with a child on my screen?”
“What if he decided he wanted to play or cry?”
While I wanted to fully engage in this virtual experience with facial expressions and voicing my opinion, I decided to just follow the lead of a friend who was also attending this virtual event. I kept my microphone muted and disabled my camera. It had been so long since I had physically attended a Friday night “Coffee Talk” at church that I figured the compromises I was making was worth it. This particular experience symbolized pre-baby me who was rooted in my faith. 8am Sunday worship service? I was there. Friday night coffee talks, real talks, nights of worship, game nights? I attended them all with and without a plus one. What I was most concerned with was staying grounded; growing in my knowledge of Christ and doing so in community. These memories brought me to my couch on Friday evening with a disabled microphone and camera atop my ottoman, tea in hand and a sleeping baby out of view. They brought me to the woman who always desired to find a partner who would accompany me to these sessions so that we could grow in the faith together, eventually get married and raise children off of love and God. Instead, here I was at virtual church attempting to hide my pride and joy from the church view because that wasn’t acceptable. Here I was listening to the pastor mentioning that single people (by legal standards) should be quarantining alone, meanwhile I’m quarantining with my out-of-wedlock family. That was an interesting reality.
He wiggled himself out of his slumber to be nestled into my arms. I remained grateful that the camera was disabled. Once the event had ended, his eyes opened and my personal reflection commenced. I thought about how I am proud to show off my son in any other setting, whether it be a virtual or physical setting. I never consider the thoughts of others. Why was this time so different?
“What will the people in your church think?” The voice of my principal rang out loud and clear. I remember telling her that people’s opinions on me having a child out of wedlock held no value for me in contrast with the ultimate opinion of God. I, now, sat on my couch twelve months removed from that conversation with my principal feeling like maybe I lied. Maybe I do value the opinions of those in the church more than I have led on. I, further, wondered if that is what kept me out of the physical space of the church: physically wearing my sin so that people can see. I decided that I will spend the next seven days mentally preparing for next week’s coffee talk. My child is my life and I cannot feel as though I can’t or shouldn’t show him off because he is my visual representation of sin.
I’ve always been convinced that God makes no mistakes and, that, I am still certain of. I should live in and act on this truth in every single area of my life whether or not it feels comfortable. So, next week, I will keep my camera on. I will un-mute myself when I have some value that I’d like to add to the conversation. I will hold my baby in the view of the other young adults from my church and flaunt my ringless hand as I do so. Why? I’m making an attempt to merge the old me with the new me. I am still God-fearing and intend to raise a God-fearing child. What message would that communicate if I’m hiding the God-fearing child from the community of Christ-like believers who fall short of God’s glory; who’s imperfections show up in other ways; who are a bunch of humans living a very human experience?
Stay Tuned!
