I shouldn't be writing this. I should be attacking the vast pile of dirty dishes we made today, or extracting the instant noodles and blobs of pink jelly from the carpet under the table. I really should be going to bed early, as no doubt the one-year-old will be wide awake at 6am. Again.

But I can't let this question go - 'Can you be a Mum, and be spiritually alive?' Surely it must be possible. But there's no time, no peace or stillness, only caring and cleaning, chasing kids, and feeling tired. Worship is just a distant memory of glory and peace. Church is now a baby minding operation, mainly concerned with preventing two lively boys from running/yelling/pulling/crying and stuffing it up for everyone else.

Sometimes I grasp it for a moment. If the boys are preoccupied with a container of chocolate bits, and quiet, I might be able to forget about them, forget I'm a Mum, and just be Silvia, and stand, for just a moment, in the presence of God. Nothing spectacular happens, but it is nice.

So how can I be a Mum, be with my children, and worship God?

There's another way, one we don't talk much about, but it is what keeps my faith alive. It is my knowing that a toddler peeking out between the legs of the lecturn is saying more about God than the minister's sermon. It is my awe at watching the child in my arms solemnly take and eat the communion bread, one arm firmly wrapped around my shoulders. It is my sense of privilege to be so close to such pure, direct expressions of God. So you could say that I worship through my children, allowing them to be the sacrament for me.

And then the sacred moment is passed, and we have to find the toilet, or whatever. There's nothing like little children for bringing you down to earth, back to basics. The God who speaks through them is a God of incredible direct love, a running body-slam hug kind of love. This is a God who knows and is known through bodies, hunger that hurts, the sheer delight of a warm bath, the grime and slime of everyday life. This is a God who couldn't care less whether your socks match, or how many reports you write, but adores you absolutely. This is a God who laughs and laughs at bursting bubbles, who treasures worms, and special moments, and even me.

The dishes can wait.

Silvia Purdie is a mother of three, a member of the Wainuiomata Union Church; also a counsellor and tutor.