Because I haven't written anything fresh lately, I'll do it with a story about my son.
My son was two years old when we visited a new church. Since we were unfamiliar with the new place, we opted to bring him to the service with us rather than leaving him in the care of nursery workers.
All was going well. My son was happily seated between me and my husband as we stood singing praise songs along with the congregation. The room was dim, the voices low. Some people raised their arms in worship. Others bowed their heads and sang in a whisper. A man in the row behind us sat quietly, leaning forward in his chair and resting his head in his hands, praying.
My son stood up, facing backward--facing the quietly praying man. I wish I had witnessed the look on his face as he schemed.
"RAHRRGG!!" My son's voice rang out in his best lion imitation.
The praying man jerked his head up in surprise. My husband and I gasped, trying our best not to laugh as we shushed our son.
At the end of praise time, we shared a few chuckles with that man in the row behind us.
Who says two-year-old don't belong in church?