Mortification as Ministry

Every Thursday night during the summer and winter months, our church hosts up to twelve homeless ladies for an overnight stay. The program is called Room in the Inn, and the Boyettes love it.
I love helping with RITI because I love to cook and you will not find more willing taste-testers than those ladies. Also, I never considered cooking as a ministry, but have discovered that it can be.
Some people that serve don't bring their children. They know the kids will be underfoot and make other arrangements for them. That's not an option for me, so I bring my kids along. I believe it's good for them to be around all types of people growing up so they can learn that everyone no matter what color, handicap, economic, or housing status is a valuable person.
About a month ago was our first time to serve this summer. I was busy in the kitchen dishing out the food so I let the kids roam around, visiting with the ladies. One of my friends alerted me that I needed to grab Paul. He was jumping on the guest beds. I was mortified and immediately yanked him and apologized all over myself. The lady who was lying down said she had seven kids of her own and didn't mind Paul at all. I relaxed a little, which gave the green light to Claire.
The next time I looked, both kids were jumping on the mattresses and Paul was also actually riding a lady like a horse. Church members kept alerting me that my kids were going crazy, I kept apologizing, and the homeless ladies kept enjoying it.
This past Thursday we served again. During the appetizer portion, Paul and Claire ate off of everyone's plates. One lady kept getting more grapes, only to have them hijacked by Paul every time. Claire begged for another lady to pour her punch and went around the room showing everyone her new McDonald's toy.
During dinner it was more of the same. I was serving, and the kids were going wild. They were jumping on beds, doing somersaults, and leaving their shoes all over the room. Paul kept approaching one lady and showing her his big boy underwear, which I later realized was filled with poop.
My stress level was to the roof and I was mortified. Several families at our church have children that are quiet, graceful, and well-behaved all the time. My children act the same way at church as at home: full of joy, enthusiasm, and energy.
Once I discovered the poop, we had to exit. I was embarrassed and exhausted.
Yesterday at church, one of the homeless ladies approached me. She told me Claire and Paul were the talk of the Day Resource Center on Friday. Apparently a few of the ladies who visited our church were telling stories of those crazy kids. Cindy told me they talked about Paul's shoes which never match, Claire's new haircut, their personalities, and even that they jump on beds. Apparently several of the ladies asked about the bed-jumping and said, "That actually sounds like you guys have fun!"
So this Thursday when we go to see the homeless ladies at church, I'm not going to fret it. Apparently jumping on beds can be a ministry.
Another activity that mortifies me is taking Paul to "big church" service. We started taking Claire when she turned two, slowly training her and escaping to the nursery when needed.
Last week Paul had to leave when the sermon started because he was singing "Halloooya!". This week he lasted almost to the end of the sermon when he started army-crawling under the pews. He was very quiet, so I felt we had some progress.
After service everyone gathers in the atrium to fellowship. No less than three strangers came up to me to ask why I had to take Paul out of worship service. "He was being so good. He wasn't disturbing anyone." They all commented on what joy it brings them to watch my energetic, enthusiastic kids during worship.
I had been cursing under my breath and regretting that we let Claire seat us in the front row. Apparently sitting in the front row is okay because we're providing entertainment for the entire congregation.
I've learned that having hyper kids at church is one of those turning lemons into lemonade moments. Who knew that my mortification was preventing the kids from sharing joy?