The hope of empty arms
All I want for Christmas survive.

Given, and taken away.

This morning we arrived at Mass just barely in time to sneak into one of the back rows before the processional. Some would call that late, Clay and I gave each other fist bumps. It was the 9 AM Mass, after all. The crack of dawn. Early birds were rubbing their eyes sleepily and glaring at us for making so much noise. Did I ever mention that I'm not a morning person? No, really. I'm not.

Anyhow, since we were what some would term "late," we were in the back of the church, with the rest of the families with little kids, since everyone knows that it's all their fault that we're late all the time, amIright? Sitting right behind me was a family with two young kids, one of whom was a preschool aged little boy. He was wearing a fire fighter costume. I swear to you, the child walked an entire marathon during the service, all on the kneeler located directly behind me. I'm pretty sure that attending Mass while being elbowed in the back of the head regularly grants one something along the lines of God Points. Not sure how those are calculated, but I assume I got a lot of them today. 

Actually, the unnecessary force using fire fighter didn't bother me. I spent a moment getting a little nostalgic over the churning energy of a preschooler, remembering Raphael in particular, how he was forever in costume and never sat down ever at all, world without end amen. Those days, being over, look kind of sweet now. I was forever fretting about him bothering people, and I wish I could go back and stop worrying. He absolutely was bothering people. I didn't have to worry about that at all.

But now? Now he sits still for entire minutes at a time! He was sitting on my left, as a matter of fact, and as I mused about this, he leaned over to ask me a vital question about the burn on the back of his hand? And how it's shiny over here? And not on this side? And why is that, exactly? I shushed him, then realized that it was probably the fourth time in the last five minutes I had shushed him. He still never shuts up. I gave him frowny face, which is a totally valid and constructive parenting technique that I can't seem to stop doing.

About this time I heard whispered chattering on my right, and I turned to see Sophia, talking away with my mom, who happened to arrive at the same time as us. I dished them out some frowny face too, but neither of them took any notice at all, being safely separated from us by Clay and Max. I shifted instead to give Clay your daughter is talking in church face (also valid and constructive). He shrugged back and mouthed, Her GRANDMOTHER. Then he rolled his eyes. 

Raphael leaned over to tell me something else, this time about how one of the altar servers had messed up, and I realized that everyone was standing up for the gospal reading, and I hadn't heard a single word in the last ten minutes. Fire fighter elbowed me in the head, and I stood up, sighing. 

So much for all those God points. 




Angela Giles Klocke

Tee hee -- oh well. :D


I thought we were paragons of quiet sanctity. Actually at that moment, Sophia was explaining to me with that worried, deeply thoughtful look on her face, that she could not take Jesus in her hand yet, and I was saying that her day will come. Theology happens when it happens.


Mass is over for me as soon as I sit behind a baby. A BABY! One of God's greatest creations. I'll never get God points and I'm okay with that.


I believe God only gives points during the other 188 hours in the week when we aren't sitting in a pew. Too many people I know punch that "church time" card on Sundays and live the other 188 hours less than Christian like. I think God is just happy to see us together on Sundays, no matter where our minds wander too mid-mass.
Miss your posts as always gf! So happy to see you on again.

The comments to this entry are closed.