GAIL WHITE Who wins when it's Maker of the Universe vs. Maker of the Lunches?

Some stories you just never live down.
My children will never let me forget the day I got mad because they did not want to make time for the "Maker of the Universe."
It was a Sunday morning, and I had gone in to wake the children three times. The last time, I could hear them conspiring in whispered voices as I entered the room.
"Get up and get ready for church!" I yelled, in a less than holy voice.
Normally, I don't even have to wake the children on Sunday morning. My children simply do not know the meaning of sleeping in. On the few occasions I do need to wake them up, one call is always enough.
They were scheming
But the children were scheming this Sunday morning. As I was busy getting ready to go worship the God in heaven, all hell was about to break loose.
I resorted to insisting that Pat go in and get them moving. He informed me he was not going to yell this morning.
"We'll go to church ourselves," he said.
I was not happy about this. In fact, I was mad as ... well, suffice it to say, I was boiling.
As we were walking out the door, I could not resist one last jab at the fake sleepers.
"If you don't have time for the Maker of the Universe," I informed them. "I don't have time for you."
It was my attempt at a hellfire and brimstone one-sentence sermon.
The point of my anger was two-fold. First, in our family, church is required attendance as much as school or work. Sure, we miss Sundays, just as we are absent from our weekday obligations occasionally. I do not think my children will go to hell by missing one day of services. But their behavior was blatant disobedience, and I wasn't about to tolerate it.
Second, as I reminded them later, two hours on a Sunday morning is not asking too much for the Maker of the Universe.
When Pat and I arrived home from church, the children were flushed in the face. They had been outside chopping wood.
Apparently, they thought firewood was proper penance. Pat was impressed. I was unforgiving.
I didn't yield
I stuck to my guns. They didn't have time for the Maker, I didn't have time for them.
They got their own lunch.
They made their own dinner.
Pat suggested they pack their lunches for school the next day.
"I don't think your mother is going to do it for you," he told them.
Monday morning, I didn't "have time" to wake them up. They all missed the school bus.
Before Pat took them to school, I sat them down on the couch.
"You think you know what's best for you?" I continued my fire and brimstone sermon. "You have proven that you don't."
You would think I would have been in my glory. Taking care of myself was definitely easier than doing for the whole family. But by Monday afternoon, I felt like a louse. I was completely derelict of my motherly duties. I didn't know how much longer I could "not have time" for my children.
Deal time
Then Andrew arrived home from school.
"Mom, will you wake me up tomorrow morning? If I'm late again, I'll get a detention."
"Will you listen and obey this Sunday morning?"
"Yes," he assured me.
Phillip asked if I would "please" pack his lunch tomorrow morning.
I made the same Sunday morning deal with him.
By evening, we were back to normal. Dinner was made, lunches were packed, there was help with homework.
I was pleased with the way "making time for the Maker of the Universe" had played out. They all learned a valuable lesson.
One more lesson
But "the Maker" had one lesson left. This one was for me. Truly, there is a consequence for every action.
When I dropped David off at preschool the next day, the teacher pulled me aside.
"We gave David a hamburger for lunch yesterday," she informed me in a hushed voice. "He had only an apple and six pieces of candy in his lunch."
gwhite@vindy.com