The hardest thing I've found about moving nine times in the last 12 years has been finding a new church home. I'd even go as far to say that it's harder to find a church home than it is to find a house.

At least when you are shopping for a house you have a realtor to drive you around and give you all the specifics on a house- what year it was built, how many bedrooms it has, when the hot water heater was replaced.

When you go looking for a new church in a new town, you are on your own. Nobody is going to hand you a spec sheet on a church when you walk in the door and say, 'Hi, welcome to the First Church of the Self-Righteous! We are so glad you are here. If you miss a Sunday, everyone here will be talking about you behind your back and you are required to sign up for every committee we have. Oh, and don't forget that you'll be running the children's ministry by the end of next month and bringing at least two casseroles a month to our potlucks…even if you can't attend.'

It's simply not going to happen.

I know it may sound ridiculous, but we have had some pretty peculiar church experiences over the years. We've been asked to sign up to volunteer for a convention the very first time we visited one church and another church asked us if we felt called to youth ministry before they knew our names, or if we had a record of any kind.

So I was nervous this morning, biting-my-fingernails-tapping-my-toes-having-facial-twitches- kind-of-nervous, when we went to visit our first church in our new town.

We were running a bit late and got to the church during the song service. A very kind gentleman showed us to the nursery for Baby Sadie. He offered to go get teachers out of the service for the older girls, but I was already horrified that we were late and brushed him off, saying, 'Oh they'll be fine! They can just go to big church with us!'

But I was crying on the inside. My 5-year-old, Aubrey, had never been to big church before, and the one time I tried to take Emma, my 3-year-old, she wadded up a gum wrapper, threw it over the balcony at Seacoast Church and asked me in an outside voice, 'Momma, why does that man keep talking?' I was terrified, but I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.

We made a spectacle of ourselves as we walked into the small service during worship and tried to find four seats together. After several songs, we settled into our seats (on the second row) for the opening prayer and I began to feel sweat beading on my upper lip and rolling down my back.

I flashbacked to all the times my sister and I laughed and cut up in church because the man in front of us was snoring, or because the pastor kept saying 'tabernacle' and we thought he was saying 'tallywhacker.' I silently begged God and my mother for forgiveness and hoped I wouldn't be humiliated by my children.

I opened my eyes and saw a young boy approaching me with two bags in his hands; he leaned in and whispered, 'Here, these are children's bags. There are crayons and coloring books for them to play with.'

Oh! Thank you, Jesus! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! God had been listening and He answered my prayer!

I handed the girls the bags and watched them out of the corner of my eye as the pastor began the morning message. I was only barely paying attention as Aubrey and Emma pulled out books, Bible flashcards and other small toys out of the bags.

Then suddenly something caught my attention, and I turned just in time to see Emma pull a flute out of her bag. A flute. A FLUTE. My heart skipped a beat and my breathing became ragged. I summoned all my Mommy Powers, gave her a look and mouthed, 'Don't you dare put that in your mouth!'

'I won't,' she whispered, reaching back into the bag and coming out with a small video game.

'Let us pray,' the pastor said. The congregation began reciting the Lord's Prayer as Emma turned on the video game and began compulsively pushing buttons.

'Our Father BEEP who art BEEEP BEEP, hallowed BEEP BEEP name. Thy kingdom come BEEEEEEP…'

I jumped out of my seat as if the Holy Spirit Himself had pushed me and grabbed Emma, her video game and her bag and began to quietly slip out of the sanctuary. I got to the hallway when

I heard little feet running behind me and Aubrey yelling, 'Momma, wait for me!'

I spent the rest of the service in the nursery with all three of my kids wondering if God had answered my prayer, or if He just has a really great sense of humor.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com. or e-mail her, zebandrobin@hotmail.com.)