I had an amazing weekend…well, at least it was amazing up to a point.  That point of not so amazing began at exactly 8:32 a.m. Sunday morning.  That was the exact time my baby girl came into my room and gently nudged my shoulder.

“Mommy” she whispered, “Mommy, it’s time to get up.”

“Hmmm…yeah”, I moaned being certain to keep my eyes closed.  I quietly waited to see what would happen next, hoping she would quickly decide to give up and leave me to my peaceful slumber.  Not so much…

“Mommy, get up!  It’s time for church.” she continued on.

I met this declaration with silence.  I laid stock still anticipating my husbands next move.  His response was to roll over and pull the covers over his head.  Okay, looks like I’m on my own in this.

“Baby,” I began “Mommy and Daddy are really tired and my arthritis is acting up.”

“You said we were going,” She replied, “I woke you up and everything!”

“But, we’re tired…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence as she was already leaving our bedroom and closing the door behind her.

I laid there contemplating my situation.  I really could get up and go to church.  We liked the church we visited last Sunday.  We did tell the kids we were going to go back this Sunday.  Hmmmm….

BUT…I am really tired.  Friday and Saturday wore us out with having company and seven kids in the house.

BUT…I really do need to clean up the house.  The kids rooms and play rooms are destroyed and I won’t get a chance this afternoon with the Super Bowl game on.

BUT…with having company all weekend it would be nice to have a family breakfast together and catch up.

BUT…we really don’t go to that church, we are just visiting still.


My but kept growing and growing until I just laid there with my buts and fell back to sleep. I woke up two hours later with a headache and a grumpy husband and kids.

John and I sat on the couch and went through the motions, trying to reconcile our decision not to go to church. By reconcile, I mean we made excuses.  We tried to blame our guests for the weekend.  We blamed the weather, the Super Bowl, the dirty house, the kids, our parents and each other.  There were a whole lot of big buts involved in that conversation.  The more “BUT…” that came out the worse we each felt.

I like my but.  It keeps me safe and comfortable.  The bigger the better, I always say!

I think you like your but too.  It’s really a lot easier that way, isn’t it?  We can make ourselves feel a bit better with our buts.  We can hide behind our buts and shake our buts in other people’s faces when they try to make us feel guilty…

But, I don’t have the money.

But, I can’t spare the time.

But, I really need to work.

But, I’m tired.

But, the game is on.

But, the bible doesn’t make sense to me.

But, I need to relax.

But, I don’t know how to pray.

But, they’ll think I’m weird.

But, I don’t want to go alone.

But, I’ll look like a freak.

But, I don’t have anything to wear to church.

But, I don’t know anyone.

But, I don’t know what to say.

But, I can’t fit it into my budget.


Pretty soon, we’re sitting on our butts doing nothing as our buts become bigger and better, taking over our lives and rearranging our priorities.  My buts have kept me from serving, loving, giving, spreading, moving, creating, dreaming, braving, talking and trying.  My but has become way too big.  My but has taken over my life.  I like big buts…and that’s a big problem!


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