A Fabulous Story about my Glamorous Life in Vocational Ministry in which I am shown in the Best Possible Light.

So, picture this scene. I'm at work, which is to say, church, on Wednesday afternoon. I'm just about on time to get out of the office and go pick up my kid, and as I run out the door and hop into the car, my phone rings in my back pocket.

I wriggle around, contorting to answer the phone. It's my husband. He has phoned me up to ask if I know where our duct tape is. Toolbox? Kitchen junk drawer? (His guess, as always, is as good as mine.)

Since I don't have much confidence in our ability to find what we need at the apartment, I slip back into the church building to borrow a roll of tape. It's in the sound booth, at the back of the sanctuary.

As I walk through the building to the booth, I continue the phone conversation with my husband. He told me why he needed the tape. As it turns out, a day or so earlier, my husband got himself a new prop for a magic effect. It is something handcrafted, rather technical, quite expensive, and terribly terribly delicate.

yes, indeed, it broke.

Joining him in his stress and irritation, I asked him a rhetorical question.

If you had overheard my side of the conversation, it would have sounded something like this:

"Umm hmmmmmm...

Ummm hmmmmmmm.... (punctuated with the slamming of cabinet doors and drawers as I search for tape in the booth.)

Really?

REALLY? Are you kidding me? And just what sort of fucking cheapass piece of shit is this, that breaks the very first fucking time one fucking rehearses with it?"


and it was then that I heard voices. Quiet, polite voices.

Prayerful voices.

Yes indeed, I was banging doors and snarling profanities into my phone while two people were holding a counseling appointment in the sanctuary. I didn't see them, and they didn't see me.

They certainly did hear me.


I stayed long enough to apologize to the boss. He, of course, thought nothing of it, and was very gracious, as he always is.

But dude.