One good story and one bad

My parents gave E some knock-off crocs for Christmas. She’d been asking to wear them, but (1) they were a little big for her and (2) they had holes in them, and it was very cold outside. Then I noticed some little girls in her class wearing them, and I figured they probably were very practical for day care life, and it got a little warmer, and her feet are bigger, so I broke them out last week. My mom also sent me a pair of mary jane crocs for Valentines Day, which are green like E’s. I HAD to point that out to her, and now every time she’s wearing hers, she wants mommy to wear her green shoes, like E.

So we were fighting that battle yesterday, when she got out one of my Coach purses that I had left out. “Bye bye mommy, see you later,” And she walked around the house with it, pretending like she was going on a trip. She even put in her tube of Burt's Bees lip balm (hers because she used it while sick with the plague.)

Then the real stylist moment came when Jeff came out without his pants on. Back up… he had showered, and dressed. He had a shirt on, and boxers, and had come into the living room to get his jeans out of his suitcase. “Pants on, Daddy, pants on!”

Our little stylist – green crocs for mommy, coach purse for her and pants for daddy. She’ll be dressing Jessica Biel before you know it.

So that’s my fun bit for today and now for the heartwrenching part. And I’m having difficulty writing about it, but I want you, my readers, to learn something from my pain.

Falling at Costco? Not my most embarrassing moment anymore.

Yesterday I served as assisting minister at church. It was my first time. I was terribly nervous. I read the gospel, lead the prayers of the people. All was well. I assisted at communion and spilled the chalice of red wine all over the organist.

Go me.

I wiped up what I could and had to go on. I started getting a little hysterical during communion. I’m sure most of the people who accepted wine from me (this time in the little cups in the tray) hadn’t seen the chalice debacle, but I still imagined them cowering in fear, “Don’t spill it on me!”

I put on a good face and walked with the pastors to the back of the church at the end of the service. The pastor put his arm around me and said some things to make me feel better, then made me go shake hands with the congregation.

After I was done, I ran back to the sacristy to grab my purse and a $10 bill. I found the organist, a nice woman who has, however, always intimidated me. I pressured her to take the money for cleaning her SUEDE JACKET. (Oh, I didn’t mention that detail?) She was extremely gracious, and declined, and forgave me. I started crying, and cried all the way home.
The rest of the day distracted me, and the pastor called me again last night to tell me it was fine, that he could tell me horrible stories about things he had done and seen during worship. I told him that it was more than just me being embarrassed about a mistake. My experience at the communion table was a big reason why I joined our church, why I even became Lutheran. It means a lot to me, and the fact that I could have detracted from someone else’s experience distressed me.

What could he say? “Well, that’s a good reason to feel responsible, but just brush it off, and next time you'll be fine.”

“I’m invited back another time?”

He laughed, “Of course.”

I’m still not over the mortification, or the guilt, but his and the victim’s graciousness says a lot about them, and about our church family.

I’m still taking a few months off from the job, though.