Years ago, when we’d first come to the place where we live now, I joined a church. Having three small boys I felt it imperative that they be enrolled in a Sunday school where they could learn about all things bright and beautiful. I should have known that the powers that be would soon tap me on the shoulder to ask, “Would you be our Sunday school superintendant?” I’m not fond of positions of power – don’t care to wield it – and have a “condition” that frequently betrays my inner angst regarding such things. Read on.
At the about the same time I joined a group of very nice women who were all wrapped up in a program called Stretch & Sew. It was sweeping the nation. We sat with an instructor, learned how to stretch our garment as we sewed and gushed over the fabric choices available to us – at about a gazillion dollars a yard. But I sprung for it, loved it, and made myself a nifty chocolate brown skirt.
So, what do these two things have to do with each other? Stay with me here.
With reservations I accepted the position of Sunday school superintendent. I gathered my group of teachers and we brainstormed ideas for our big September Rally Day. I talked with one of my sisters – also a SS super – and she gave me some great pointers. The upshot of all this was an outdoor balloon release and an indoor introduction to the program for the parents.
I decided to wear my cute brown skirt and a top I happened to find to go with it. I was excited. Rallying kids was what I had done for years. I could do it, especially in that nifty little skirt.
The night before the “big day” I prayed like Jonah – okay, whined like Job – that my nerves would not come undone. In school I used to shake so bad when I had to get up in front of a class that my paper actually rattled in my hands. Mortifying. But I was consoled by the thought that these were just kids and there was nothing to be nervous about. Not like when I used to sell Tupperware and my behind would break out in hives from the stress. No, not like that.
On Rally day we had a great turnout. I strode forth in my little brown skirt and passed out balloons of many colors with scripture messages inside. We included our church address for anyone finding them to let us know. Fun stuff.
Then it was time to gather inside. My nerves were holding. There were lots of kids to distract me. And I had my cute little skirt as an aide. But then, after we’d all settled down, the pastor introduced me and asked if I’d explain the program a little.
Oh. No. Didn’t see that coming. I froze. I sat still. He looked at me with expectation. I felt myself rise, quaking. There were adults in this audience. People who expected something from me. Something wise and wonderful that I was NOT prepared to give them. And I can’t remember what I said. But what I do remember is a great wind beneath my wings – uh – skirt. I looked down real quick like. What could this be, this great wind?
And that’s when that cute little brown skirt betrayed me. For it wasn’t a great wind at all. It wasn’t the Holy Spirit come to my rescue. Oh, no. It was my knees knocking. Oh, yes they were. Back and forth and out of control. The front of my skirt was swishing away like grandma’s backyard swing. In the nano second before full humiliation it occurred to me that this sort of thing only happened to Daffy Duck facing down Elmer Fudd, but no, it happens in real life, too. To me. Right in front of God and everybody.
I said a few more words, giggled, and made my way back to the pew. By the time we
were all having cookies and juice I was fine. Of course now I had to consider a whole new category to be added to my list of “conditions” – knee knocking. Yeesh.
Do things like this EVER happen to you? I really want to know.
Image: Free Digital Photos