The church we attend* places extra-special attention on the ceremony of reading the New Testament scripture.
There is a little "parade" with the cross and the Bible and the reader to the center of the church. All who are singing turn as the cross passes down the aisle, so we are facing it and the reader when they come to their spot in the church.
Now, another crucial piece of information is that I must be holding two books at one time to accomplish this task. The first is a hymnal and the other is The Book of Common Prayer, where the scripture is actually printed.** The ADD piece of my brain will only allow me to focus if I'm reading while listening to the reader. Otherwise, as I look over the sea of people between me and the reader, my mind wanders fiercely.
During the time the scripture is read, you can hear a pin drop, not unlike in most churches. After all, this IS the word of God.
It was during this very important part of worship that The Babe decided it was time to be held by Momma.
He had been extra, sugary-sweet all morning long, had been super generous with kisses and hugs, and had been paying attention to the service like never before. I had, at one point, looked over at him and thought "He's getting so big! He'll be six before long. My baby is growing up and getting so mature."
So, I tried the impossible: balancing two books in one hand while picking Babe up with the other arm. In any other circumstances, I probably would have dropped him on his beaner. But, praise be! I got that boy up to my right hip. He wasn't very stable, but he was pleased that Momma picked him up.
As I was attempting to listen to Deacon Darryl, The Babe started wiggling something fierce. The movements were jerky and violent and I had a moment of panic when he shifted one way and I felt like he was about to drop. It appeared something about the way he was positioned made him feel like he was going to fall.
That's when he announced, at a volume level generally reserved for conversation at restaurants with cavernous dining rooms that echo, that he was uncomfortable. "That almost crushed my nuts."***, he said, without a hint of hesitation, embarrassment, or concern.
I choked. Audibly. To keep myself from laughing. And, as with all five-year-olds, he noticed my reaction and decided "That got a good response! I'll say it again." And, before I could get the contents of my left hand dropped onto the pew and my hand over his mouth, he did.****
Thankfully, the only person truly embarrassed was me. Even the lady behind us didn't seem to flinch. Mike had no clue until I told him later in the day.
God? I think He was probably laughing. But, just in case, I made sure to ask for forgiveness for The Babe's behavior later in the service. I think our little guy can use all the help he can get.
Especially with that vocabulary.
*The Church of the Holy Communion, Anglican.
**My Baptist friends are shaking their heads wondering why it isn't my Bible instead. Same stuff, all in one location with prayers, to answer the question.
***Where, or where, did we go wrong? We've used anatomically correct languaage with all three boys. Yet, this junk keeps coming out. GADS.
****By the third attempt at repitition, my hand was over his mouth and I was giving him the evil eye.