Approximately ??? yrs ago, my mother had allowed me to sit with my best friend/cousin and her mother for a Sunday evening church service. I'm not sure what she was thinking except that I had probably begged, pleaded and promised to behave and offered to do extra chores or something crazy of the sort. (Somewhere in the DNA rations, I missed out on the negotiation gene, I was, and still am, no good at it!) Often times failing at the behave part of the deal, I'd get a flick on the ear from my mother who "sees all and hears all" in church. How she crept in and around people in the pews to reach me, is something I was sure Pastor taught on Sunday mornings after dismissing us kids to Junior Church!
This particular night was special...it was communion night. As a young girl, I not only revered communion for the serious moment that it is, little Melissa also saw visions of herself accidentally flipping the heavy tray of red grape juice cups into the air and being kicked out of church! (Oh, the imagination of a child) My prayer was always that I wouldn't make a mistake or disturb those around me and to NOT do anything that would cause my mother to "check me out" to the lady's room.
If anything crazy was going to happen, it would surely be caused by me. It would be forever recorded in the church history books and discussed at every basement carry-in/pot-luck dinner that little "Missy so-n-so" got kicked out of church! It would be of no surprise to most. I was the tomboy girl who played football in the church yard while wearing her Sunday dresses and never seemed to learn how to "sit like a lady" while wearing those dresses. (One more gene that I seemed to be missing!)
As the communion plate of broken saltines came my way, the nerves in my body had all flipped a switch into hyper sensitive mode. The crazy self-inflicted pressure of embarrassing myself & my family weighed heavily upon my shoulders. Each person tries carefully to take the exact piece they touch. My cousin took her piece of "the body of Christ" and then ... it was my turn. There's always the moment of slight indecision regarding which piece to choose. If a large piece is on top and easy to touch, will I appear to have a super heavy load of sin I'm trying to get forgiven, will I just appear really hungry? Do I risk taking longer than the 1-1/2 seconds that's customary and dig to the bottom for a small piece? Either way, having to hold it and not lose it until the appropriate time was stress enough. UGH!!!!!.
Not sure what happened next exactly but the tray hit the floor. Those missing 3-1/2 seconds of my life still remain a blur. Quickly, I scooped up saltines and handed the tray to my Aunt. Guilt, fear, tears and a cold sweat took over my body as I quietly whispered, "what do I do with all the saltines on the carpet?"
My aunt told me to eat them and I'd be SUPER blessed. She smiled (on the edge of laughter herself) at me and I knew God understood my dilemma. The guilt, fear and tears were instantly replaced with the feeling of uncontrollable laughter. My Sunday School teachers had not covered this type of laughter situation in our lessons and I knew of no verse that offered the literal advice that this literal pre-teen required. Laughter ensued and I was sure that my cousin, my aunt and I were on our way to hell that very moment. After surviving the night and waking the next morning, I felt that God too may have gotten a chuckle out of my saltine mishap.
I know, that I know, that I know God created me on purpose with a Divine purpose. Serving and being in charge of communion was probably NOT the purpose and I am fine with that. As the last ???? years have unfolded and continue, I've been able to fill in the blank of some of the purposes and laughter; however, is definitely on that list.
"Thankfulness" is the word that seems to encompass all my thoughts about my conservative Christian upbringing. A "Thankful" heart is what I have toward my Savior for inventing laughter. (I think He gave me an extra ration of that gene!) "Thank You" is my daily prayer that I have a laughter filled home. "Thanks" is what I hope to hear from our son when he leaves our home and lives his life with extreme laughter. TY is the text message I hope for when our teenage son ............. well, he's a teenager..........I would be glad to get this text at anytime. :)
Blessings from ..... A Latte Soul
