Strange Sundays

 Last week while Big T and I were on our mini vacation, we decided to find a church and sneak into Sacrament Meeting.  We saw a steeple from our hotel and drove until we found it.  Orem is a predominantly white mormon community, so imagine our surprise when we sat down and understood nothing people were saying to each other while they avoided us like the plague.  You guessed it, we blundered into a Spanish speaking branch.  What are the odds, right?  Anyway, we decided to stay for a fun experience.  I was really excited to listen with my heart and feel the Spirit more strongly because I needed to focus more.
 That is not what happened.  I should have noticed the foreshadowing of a dark event when two different families wheeled their strollers into the chapel, but no, I only thought it odd they would think that was okay.  Then the 3-member family that sat in front of us was, well, oblivious to reverence.  The child would shout at the top of his lungs whatever came to mind and his parents did nothing.  I was so shocked that I couldn't help shushing him, which was quickly followed by a nudge from my sweetie telling me to mind my own business.  Next the three teenage girls and their mother who sat behind us, who, by the way, were really upset at having to sit on hard folding chairs while we were sitting on soft folding chairs, started tipping the empty chairs on wither side of us and then slamming them back to the floor.  I turned around and looked at them.  No way!  I couldn't believe that they would 1. do that at all, and 2. that their mother let them.  All four of them were practically shouting the whole meeting and nobody seemed to care that Sacrament meeting was in full swing.  
 Since I couldn't understand anything going on and the shouting was making it difficult to listen to the whispering of the still small voice, I focused on trying to sing the himnos.  I tried, with my limited spanish, to translate the himnos into hymns; no such luck.  I realized I have no spanish.  
 The little girl to the side of us, who decided to tap dance on the metal strip that connects the carpet of the chapel to the wooden floor of the cultural hall whenever the mood struck her (again her parents did nothing), was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.  I was shaking with irritation and could not wait to get out of there.  
 This had officially been the worst worship service of my life.  It wasn't the lack of understanding the language or the culture--I have no beef with that.  It was the parents' lack of desire for reverence, for themselves, for their children, or for the poor people who had to endure an hour and ten minutes next to them.  Never before had I been more grateful for my children and the way we are trying to raise them.  If you've ever had the misfortune of sitting by us during any church service, then you know we are not quiet at all.  But we try and we are getting better.  I think that is what bothered me the most; there was no trying whatsoever.  No matter what our shortcomings are we owe it to ourselves, and more importantly God, to at least make some effort to get better in some way.  I have never come across so many people who showed so much blatant disrespect.  
 Ok, maybe that is too harsh.  But it still bothers me.  No wonder most wards get the reverence lecture several times a year.  I realize, now, why reverence is so important.  It is just rude if you are not.  It prevents that much needed connection with God.  Without that nobody would make a good choice.  So, in an effort to make that connection with God stronger, I am going to make a good choice and learn from this experience and try to help my children actually be reverent and not just quiet.  I will actually be reverent myself, eventually.