This month has been full of stress, wonder, worry, and not enough hours in the day. So, I've been reflecting back on some of the funniest moments with my sometimes dysfunctional, yet perfect, family. We can sure find ourselves in some sticky situations, but have a way of making the best of it and pushing forward.
Today, I will share with you my first experience with the Catholic church. While I enjoyed the service very much, I just might be banned from ever going back. I'm still not sure and I've yet to go back in fear of them remembering that girl who was to impure to "bite the rice."
Think back to a time of being fairly newly wed, childless, and plenty money to spare. I cannot remember the exact year, but it was probably around 2007. I flew into North Carolina to spend a few days with Emma and her family. This was my first solo flight and I managed to do perfectly well in finding my way around the Atlanta airport. I made it to my connecting flight and I did not get kidnapped. Those were my two goals.
Upon arrival, I learned that some friends had invited E & her bunch (including me) over for dinner. Let's just say E & I had a large time and I'm probably not welcome there any longer either. Remember, this was years ago before I gained much sense. Heck, I wasn't even 25! E & I had not seen each other in a long time and were really just enjoying each other's company. The fact that her friend was serving up these delicious lemon drop martinis did not help the situation at all. The next day we were both bruised, confused, and somewhat embarrassed. I loved every minute of it!
So my visit rocks on, and we definitely needed a dose of Jesus after the ruckus we had caused the night prior. That said, no children were harmed, not many feelings were hurt, and really we were just getting our sillies out. We loaded up in their van - 2 adults, me, and two awesome kiddos on our way to Mass. E, like me, was not raised Catholic, but is now so in love with her church and is very, very active. I'm so proud of the wonderful, caring, lover of Jesus that she is. On the way, they give me a little crash course on what not to do since I am not a member of the Catholic church. I was told how to hold my hands, where to walk, etc. I paid close attention because I remember E making the comment, "J damned me to hell for years and years because he never told me not to eat the sacred bread." She didn't call it sacred bread, but I am still so got off with about this entire episode that I've not given myself the chance to get it all right and remember the correct terminologies. Forgive me in advance and no discredit to the Catholic faith. So picture yourself in the church gym. Yes, in the gym, because the church had grown so big that they needed more room and services were being held in the gym until the new construction was finished. So, yea. Lots of people. As I'm sitting there in the bleachers, not having a clue of what to say when they are saying what they say, I feel a slight notion everyone knows I'm totally clueless, but still feeling a bit of security in the fact that I was with family and no one was really looking at me. Then, the dreaded walk. It's time to form a line and walk toward the priest and his helper men. So, I'm trotting along (just like my young nephew who had not completed his requirements yet - as I was told to do.) They really should have told the kid to walk in front of me so I could have followed by example. In my head I'm saying over and over, "Keep my arms crossed, don't eat the bread. Keep my arms crossed, don't eat the bread. It will all be over soon." Well, then it is my turn and I couldn't be as lucky as to stop in front of a helper man, I got the priest. Yea, the guy who knows exactly how to spot a hoodlum. It's like God himself said, "this girl needs you, son. Help her!" So, arms crossed. Thinking I'm just going to keep walking after he sees my arms crossed over my chest. Nope, line stops. dead. still. There we are, eye to eye. My arms crossed. Lips sealed. No way was I going to eat that bread. I might have shown my tail the night before, but I still wanted to make it to the Pearly Gates. So, this nice man offers me the bread. I kindly refuse the best way I know how. He offers again and again I decline, shaking my head. Arms STILL crossed, dang it. The line begins to move, but the priest still has me there trying to get me to take whatever it was he was offering. I just knew I was supposed to keep my arms crossed and that I'd go to hell if I swallowed what he was offering me. So, this rocked on a while. E & J had already started back to their seats in the bleachers. The priest is getting very annoyed at me, and before I knew it the priest says what sounded like "bite the rice" and SHOVED THAT BREAD, CRACKER, OR WHAT EVER IT WAS IN MY MOUTH! The line began to move again. I catch up with E & J. She sees that I look like I'm about to throw up. She asks what's wrong and I can't answer because I have a mouth full of whatever was just forced into it. By this time, E realizes what has happened and why I can't talk. We begin to giggle. J gave us that look. She mumbles to J and tells him that I have a mouth full of "send me straight to hell." He then said something to the effect of, "well tell her to chew it up and swallow it."
Fast forward about 30 minutes. We are all back in the van. I'm traumatized, thinking I'm never going to meet Jesus. I also learn that E and I were giggling for two separate reasons. Sure, she thought it was hilarious that it all happened the way it did and I'm sure the look on my face was hilarity, but then she tells me why he shoved it in my mouth. Yep, after several attempts and me refusing, the priest must have thought I was implying to that I was too impure to touch the "rice" therefore he placed it in my mouth for me. Wow. Maybe God was talking to him. They also told me what he really said instead of "bite the rice." I still don't understand what he said, why or why I shouldn't accept, but by golly, if I ever go back, I'll just take one for the team and "bite the rice" and ask for forgiveness later.
I sometimes wonder if being kidnapped in Atlanta wouldn't have been less traumatizing.
1 comment:
Sweet,sweet memories!
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