I love church. And I particularly love my church. But, man, I hate getting ready for church. I don’t know about you, but Sunday morning is the most stressful time of the week in our house. It usually starts off pleasant enough, with Kim making muffins for the man child and the rest of us being allowed to enjoy them. Before you judge me, that’s her statement not mine. Anyway, it just seems to get tenser as the morning goes. With 5 kids, someone is always over sleeping, not able to find their shoes, needing their hair combed, or just being generally too s-l-o-w. And before you know it, all hell has broken loose while we get ready to go hear about Heaven. There are siblings barking at siblings, parents yelling at kids, kids muttering about parents, spouses taking deep breaths and still snapping at spouses. And that’s before we even get in the car.
Once we get in the car, it just continues. You are pretty much guaranteed to hear the following phrases: “Why is the car door still open?!” “Why aren’t you buckled in?!” “I told you before we left to grab your Bible!” “Look at your face!” “Why do we have to go through this every Sunday?!” And then we back out of the garage. From there, the anger peaks as I fight not to curse at everyone on the road. Why doesn’t everyone drive exactly like I want them to? Is it wrong to wish harm on people on your way to church? Anyone know a good road rage support group?
Finally, we arrive at church having not spoken a civil word to each other in 10 minutes. We huff and puff our way to the entrance where a greeter has the audacity to say “Good morning. How are you today?” I’m like really, how am I? What are you so happy about? Then I let the guy have it with “I’m great. How about this beautiful day the Lord has provided? Great day to be in His house.” Next thing I know, Kim and I are holding hands and all the tension is gone. It’s like a weekly miracle.
From there, I really enjoy church. I only have two minor critiques. First, I don’t understand why the pastor only preaches at me. I mean, we go to a huge church so surely there are other people he can preach at. Right? But, no, despite the fact that I drive from Alabama every week to be there, he insists on preaching about my sins. It’s awful. Honestly, it almost seems a little rude. I understand that I could stop committing so many sins, be a better person, care more for others, blah, blah, blah. But is that really the answer? Couldn’t he just preach about the one or two sins I don’t struggle with? Even just once-in-a-while?
The second thing I’d like to fix is the hand holding at the end of service. I don’t get why we have to take someone by the hand as we sing a chorus. Do they not realize how much anxiety this causes me? I’m constantly looking to my right or left to see if I have to hold hands with a non-family member. And, if so, what kind of hand holder are they? I have broken them down into 5 categories:
1- The Little Kid- This one is not too bad unless the kid happens to have a drunk uncle that looks like you or they give you the “I don’t want to hold your hand, Creeper” look.
2- Someone Else’s Wife- Usually it’s non-threatening but I still stress. What if I hold her hand too long? What if she holds mine too long? Am I squeezing too hard? Not hard enough? Am I supposed to acknowledge her after the hand hold? Is a glance enough? Should I smile? Uh oh, did she misinterpret my smile? I’m getting stressed just typing this. Let’s move on.
3- The Knuckle Rubber- My unscientific research shows that 98% of the time, this occurs when holding the hand of a senior lady with blue hair and a Buick. They just can’t help themselves. They just have to rub your knuckles with their thumb. For whatever reason, this one doesn’t bother me at all. I think it’s sweet and it reminds me of my Grandma.
4- The Clammy Limp Hand- It’s gross. It’s bad enough that I have to hold your hand, at least wipe it off, Dude. If you fall into this category, then stop it. Stop it now. Your friends will double immediately. Seriously, just stop it.
5- The Meat Hand- This is the most feared one for me. There’s nothing worse than looking over and seeing big meat hand man waiting to engulf my hand. These guys have hands the size of Rhode Island. When I see this guy, I usually try to switch with one of my kids. You know, because kids are so resilient. It never works though. So now I’m stuck hoping my hand doesn’t get crushed and trying to figure out how to get the dominate position. My hand needs to be on top. So now you have to wait each other out. Who’s gonna flip their hand under first and take the submissive position? It’s a battle of wills. And it’s awkward because you usually end up doing some stupid looking hand dance until someone relents. Yeah, those are good times.
So, if you happen to sit beside me at church, keep these two things in mind—1) yes, the pastor was talking about me and 2) no, I don’t want to hold your hand. I’m off for more therapy.
