I wasn’t going to post anything more for my birthday, after last night’s post.
But life is so very funny. And so, while last night’s post was serious in nature, not all of life is so serious. There is much to laugh about.
Like this morning.
I was already a bit in disarray when I arrived at church early to run through the worship set before Sunday School. I had been moving slow all morning, because of my blasted knee (see previous post). And from the time I rolled out of bed till the time I arrived at church, 3 minutes late (I can’t stand being late), it had been a comedy of errors.
I had washed my hair first with conditioner, not shampoo.
I didn’t have any rubbing alcohol or baby oil to remove my temporary tattoos from The Color Run. I tried cooking oil, but all that got me was an arm that smelled, well, like cooking oil.
I looked in the mirror to brush my hair, and noticed that my face was, um, sparkly. Really sparkly. That’s after two showers of scrubbing my face. The glitter from The Color Run is in my pores. It won’t come out. I may be sparkly until I die. I hate sparkly.
I threw on a skirt and top, only to then proceed to drop the brush I was attempting to use to put some color on my pasty, sparkly skin (normally I could care less; on Sunday’s I actually try my hand at make-up) to try to dull the Princess Effect of the glitter. I am no princess. I dropped the brush, right onto my black skirt. Hello streak of Desert Rose or Burnt Amber or WHATEVER color it is that I bought. On clearance.
I jumped in my car, only to have to return–twice–to my house for forgotten items. First–Plates and silverware for our Misfit Sunday School brunch party. Second–the right pair of shoes. Don’t ask what I had put on. Good grief.
Once I arrived at church, things settled down a bit, but not without a few more mishaps. Like the way I totally and completely forgot a two measure rest in one of the songs, resulting in me belting (’cause I certainly couldn’t do it quietly) out an unplanned solo, and–without thinking–exclaimed “GOOD GRACIOUS” out of frustration once I realized what I had done, prompting folks out in the atrium to turn their heads and look at us. Oops. Mic on.
And we had all sorts of monitor, mic and sound balance challenges. All sorts. Our poor worship pastor, in a moment of frustration, declared “It’s going to be one of those mornings.”
Yep. Open Door. Couldn’t resist.
Out of my mouth came this:
“Funny. That’s the exact same thing that my mom said, 46 years ago today.”
Sometimes, the poor guy just doesn’t know what to make of me.
Sunday School Breakfast–yes, of course, I dropped sticky buns on my now replacement Coral and Black Striped skirt. Sticky Buns with tons of sugar and cinnamon goodness on them. Yep, it was obvious. I spent the rest of Sunday School trying to scrape it off, with little luck.
And then–Worship Service.
It was and is always always always, so very good to help lead worship. It means the world to me; the gift and opportunity to do so. I never, ever take that responsibility lightly. Ever.
This morning was no exception. And, maybe to a degree more, in light of it being my birthday. An excellent way to start yet another year.
And, we were leading a song that has deep personal meaning to me–A Hillsong piece, titled “The Stand”:
You stood before my failure
And carried the cross for my shame
My sin weighed upon your shoulders
My soul now to stand
Goodness, those words. Right there. They are not nothing. My soul now to stand.
So, I was really looking forward to helping to lead this third song in this morning’s set. And I was to open the first verse as a single voice, with the rest of the team joining in on the second verse.
Except, right after the second song, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what we were singing next. But I DID vaguely remember that I was starting it alone. But when I looked up at our monitor, there were no words on display to jog my memory as to what the song was. Now, remember, just an hour previously we had practiced THIS VERY SAME SONG.
Scripture was read–still no memory and no words. The first chord was played, and it did nothing to dislodge the blankness that was my brain–still no words, and still no memory.
So I casually stepped to the pulpit as if I was supposed to do so, and slowly turned pages in the book on the pulpit in hopes to find it. While that first chord was being held. Waiting for me. To start.
It wasn’t in there. Or else I couldn’t find it.
I nonchalantly stepped back, and I could see the worship leader kind of looking at me out of the corner of his eye, as he sustained the chord on his keyboard. I was quickly trying to form something of some sort–words, notes, anything, in my brain that would somehow match the chord being played.
I looked back up at the monitor, and by God’s grace–boom–words.
And my brain went. “Oh yeah. Hey, this is that song that is huge to you. These words are important to you. Sing!”
And so I sang.
After probably the longest sustained chord in all of church history. Ok, maybe not. But it certainly seemed that way.
And then, to wrap up the hysterical-ness that is my life, halfway through lunch with friends, I remembered that the hash browns that I had bungee corded to my sore knee last night while in bed, and that had fallen off sometime in the night, were still lying in my bed at home. Warm and mushy. They could probably be made into mashed taters now. Except, ew.
Life is funny folks. It is so funny.
There is much, much to laugh about, each and every day. Every single day.
I don’t write much here, in this space, about the absurdity of life. Usually my more serious thoughts go here. But there is grace, also, in being able to laugh. In being able to see the funny things in life, and enjoy them for what they are–God’s mercies to us. I am a serious thinker. Always have been, always will be. I ponder, question, stew, debate, fret, and live bathed in doubt and cynicism.
I think too much, probably.
Maybe that is why God allows so much ridiculousness in my life; to keep me aware that I am a sinfully prideful fool, who needs Him, and Him alone. And without Him, I am a mess.
With arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the one who gave it all
My soul Lord to you surrendered
All I am is yours