Writer's Block

Wowee, I haven't gotten too far into my Summer o' Writing, and I already am stumped for subject matter. Granted, I just walked in the door and realized I have yet to do today's self-imposed assignment. So I will tell a tale of humility:

A few years ago I was getting dressed for church. Our family is like most American church-going families, and we were rushing around at the last minute as was par for the Sunday course. Dress on, black slingbacks on, I rushed through the living room and kitchen yelling, "Ten minutes! TEN MINUTES!" I must have learned this from my mother, because I have vivid memories of her running from the back bathroom in my childhood home to her bedroom yelling, "Twelve minutes!"

As I moved through the house wailing like a night watchmen, I thought to myself, only in the BACK of my mind, that one of my shoes felt looser than the other. And the thought was fleeting as I continued on my mission to get husband and kids out the door and into the sanctuary before the bells began to toll. (Our church really does have tolling bells, and if you are caught just underneath the belfry immediately upon the hour of worship, you can very nearly have a heart attack from the vibrating sound. It makes you quake and then you walk down the sanctuary aisle like a derelict truly in need of prayer.)

We got to church and I settled into some sort of meditation and attention to the sermon. When I sit, I tend to wiggle a foot. Either one, makes no difference. My Dad does it, too, as well as my brothers. I recall wiggling my foot, and then I re-crossed my legs. I glanced down at my foot. "That's not MY foot", I thought. Because THAT foot was wearing a black pump. Not a black slingback.

Uh-oh.

Everyone surely has a time in their life that they can't stifle a laugh without their shoulders silently heaving. I was DYING of embarrassment. I nudged one daughter, who nudged the other, and the three of us sat there in silent hilarity. (They, no doubt, were enjoying the moment; I was simply mortified at the prospect of going up to take communion.)

How is it I can walk out of the house with no attention to detail?! More importantly, how is it that the other four members of this family would allow me to walk out of the house without a thorough inspection? Omigoodness.

I walked up to communion with both daughters following (quite literally) on my heels in the hopes that noone would notice that I was wearing one black slingback and one black pump. The guys in the family? Oblivious to the whole thing.

This was once again a lesson in humility. I have lots and lots of these gems, these "humility" moments...