Ya know, Sundays are rough. Last Sunday I got up to the sound of my alarm, woke my sleeping baby and 4-year-old up, and tried to move them along through breakfast, getting dresses on, and combing hair without too much complication. Then we got in the car and drove for 30 minutes. Between my house and the church there are at least a dozen churches, ranging from different Catholic parishes to a variety of Baptist organizations, Methodist, and a few that I don't know which category they fall into, but all of which would be a closer drive on a Sunday morning. Once at church, I'm by myself with the 2 girls which means that if Abby is naughty I have to take her out and leave Emily in the chapel, hoping she behaves herself. We're lucky if we make it through Sacrament meeting, after which Abby definitely won't sit in Sunday school, but we try again for Relief Society, and sometimes even make it through the practice hymn. It's an exhausting morning. But something bigger compels me to go. No one would notice if I weren't there, and if they did, they wouldn't fault me, nor would Peter. I'm just glad to have the chance to take the sacrament and sing a hymn or two and maybe actually hear a talk. If for no other reason, the church must be true if I'm happy/willing/determined to go back and do it again the next week.