Two weeks ago at church…..or maybe it was last week. I don’t know. It was a Sunday.
My six year old participated in a small choir group at church. We’re new to this church so there was a lot I didn’t know, like where he was supposed to meet the other kids before their performance. The instructions on the paper they sent home with him said to take him to the music room in the kids hall. Simple enough. We get to the kids hall. There’s a desk where someone is usually manned if you have any questions. In this case, that question was where is the music room? Of course no one was there. We walked down this very long hallway sticking my head in every classroom until someone asked if we needed help.
“Yes,” I said. “My son is performing in the kids choir today and I need to take him to the music room.”
“Oh. That’s in the west wing.”
So before I continue I should tell you that this church is HUGE!!! It could house three buildings the size of my old church in Maryland.
We get to the choir room. And the good news is there is a choir in there, rehearsing. The bad news is, it’s the adult choir. Not the kids’ choir. So I ask someone, where do the Wednesday Night kids go? (The group my son is in rehearses on Wednesday nights.)
“Oh. They meet in the kids hall.”
“Where in the kids hall?”
“The music room.”
“Where’s the music room?”
“It’s in the kids hall.”
“Mommy. I have to go potty.”
“No you don’t.”
“It’s all the way down the hall. The last door on the left.”
“Wasn’t that a horror movie?”
Clearly that wasn’t a good time to make a joke.
The hallway is crowded and my son is walking right in front of me at a snail’s pace so I put my fingers on his back to push him a little because we have to go. Except that it wasn’t my son I was pushing. It was a very short woman wearing a dress that was the same color as my son’s shirt.
And guess where she’s going? To the music room with her son. We drop off our kids and then walk back down the hallway and I feel a lot of tension. “Sorry about earlier. I thought you were my son.”
“I see,” she said in a monotone voice. No humor. No compassion. I slow down and let her walk ahead.
I run into my husband who’s dropping the other two girls off in daycare. We walk back to the sanctuary where the service is held. The pews are beginning to fill up. And who sits in front of us? The church lady I was pushing down the hallway. Of course! That makes total sense! There’s two rows of 20 pews in this room. Why not take the one that’s in front of us. And when I say in front, I mean she was sitting directly in front of us.
My son and his group come out early in the service and I realize during the performance that part of the choreography includes having the kids point straight up in the air. My son has a habit of using his middle finger to point with. That leaves me a little concerned. It’s one thing to be that woman who shoved a poor church lady down the hallway but it’s entirely different to be the mother of that child who flipped an entire congregation off. I look over at my son. It was a miracle! He was actually pointing with his index fingers the way God intended.
So the performance is over and my son joins us in the pew. And everything gets quiet. I know everything is quiet but I’m too busy scribbling the events of this morning down in my notebook so I can blog about it later because hell hath no fury like a mommy blogger who can’t remember what she was going to blog about. I feel someone tapping on my shoulder and it’s my husband beckoning me to stand because every one is singing the opening hymn and between the two of us, I’m the only who has the hymnal open to the hymn – except that I was using it to write on. I stand and we sing. I try really hard not to look at the church lady I basically assaulted earlier that morning because I’m pretty sure there’s a special place in hell for people like me. The service ends. We leave and grab lunch.
Calling all readers! Have you ever assaulted a church lady? Made an ass out of yourself during a church service? Tell me all about it in the comments. I really need to know I’m not the only one.