Wow, Jesus, our politicians feel as if they’re being crucified this election year, but their pressures can’t begin to match those of Your last days. Unlike them, You could have zapped Your enemies with a wave of Your hand. Instead, OMG, You gave Your life for their sins — and mine.
Protest image by Bruce Emmerling from Pixabay. Christ image by marinas32 from Pixabay.
O Lord, I remembered my name today, but apparently forgot to add that final cup of flour to the cookies. Thank You that my eternal destiny does not depend on turning out a perfect recipe — of any kind. OMG, how I celebrate Your love and forgiveness through Jesus!
O Lord, sometimes I push others’ forgiveness quotas way beyond 70 times 7. Thank You for teaching me to say “I’m sorry.”
Sometimes, though, nagging computer error messages, car warnings and dinging appliances override people. OMG, did I just apologize to my microwave?
Sunday, when I worship Christ with His family and grow in my faith, is my favorite day of the week. However, even a confirmed church lady occasionally experiences a Sunday that makes her wish it was Monday.
Those tough Sundays happened more frequently during my years as a church music director.
One unholy morning, my pastor met me at the door. He’d changed his sermon topic on the way to church. Would I please restructure the service in five minutes? Thank you.
Half the choir music had disappeared. Who steals church choir music?
The regular accompanist had left on vacation. Our substitute struggled, but she played loud to make up for it. During practice, I sneaked a signal to our young sound man, Dylan. Turn the piano down.
I fastened a microphone to my lapel and hung its little black box on my waistband. Dylan usually did a good job, but this morning, the sound system hated us both. After squawking and squeaking sound checks, I quickly made a restroom stop before heading downstairs to warm up the choir. Without warning, the microphone leaped from my lapel and dove into the toilet, followed by the clunk of the little black box.
I screamed, clearing the restroom of primping churchgoers.
Did I really have to fish the mic out of the toilet?
Ewww. …
Its green power light no longer shone. I wiped the microphone with a dampened paper towel, then tried to dry it. As I headed to the sound booth, I pasted on a toothpaste-ad smile and avoided shaking hands.
Dylan was also a church board member. What could I say?
In a microsecond, I evaluated my fib files. None came close to explaining this.
I held out the still-damp, $200 device. “Dylan, I dropped the mic in the toilet. I’m sorry.”
He stared, then whipped around to test a second mic. “Hurry! Service starts soon.”
No threats of dragging me before the Inquisition. Or the budget committee.
The little green light on this second mic shone like a candle of compassion. I rewired myself, incredulous at his forbearance.
Decades later, I remember that complicated Sunday, when I wished with all my heart it was Monday.
Thanks to a fellow Christian’s maturity, not so unholy, after all.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Have you ever experienced a complicated Sunday?
O Lord, You know my husband does a great job with the laundry. Recently, though, the cranberry-colored place mats he washed dyed our towels pink. Very pink. But, OMG, it was easy to forgive him. You recall that as a new wife, I accidentally turned all his underwear lavender. Very lavender…
O my God, thank You for giving me the ability to concoct mystery plots. Yet I appear to have a chip missing when it comes to replacing towels in my bathroom — until I really need one. OMG, thank You that regardless of my missing chip, You love this drip.