We must have hit a high of 45 degrees today which, for a Minnesotan in March, is nearly Jamaican, mon. The kids were giddy when I took them to noon Mass—running through the parking lot, tromping through the melting snow, laughing wildly—until, freaking out, I gathered them into an impromptu huddle and said, “Look. We are on our way into the CHURCH, for heaven’s sake. Could you please calm down and you can play after the Mass?”
They nodded submissively but still they giggled.
We climbed the steps to the big wooden side door and I opened it; Felicity and Angela shot in. I was propping the door open even wider so that my older three could pass through when suddenly poff! A snowball smacked Joe on the back of his jacket. It was my husband, who had come from work to meet us.
“Dad!” Joe’s scream of amusement rang through the church as I stood there holding the door open. A hundred pairs of eyes were on us and I’ll tell you, I about DIED.
It’s a Friday in Lent.
Deo gratias.
Leave a Reply