Faith or Desperation

This morning was one of those mornings when I just couldn’t seem to create any forward motion. I had plans to get up a bit earlier than usual and get some things done, to get dressed, to brush my teeth, to move about in a productive manner, maybe even make something hot and nice for breakfast. But alas, it was nearly 7:15 am and I had accomplished nothing more than dressing myself for work (just dressed no make-up, no hair style, morning breath). And I only got that done because I have this insane need to eat and sleep indoors and the job is the thing that provides those luxuries of life.

So in the normal last minute rush around to gather up my purse and dump some granola into a baggy along with a piece of fruit and a yogurt, someone knocked on my door. Startled I dropped my purse, tripped over a cat who has a habit of spontaneously stretching out right in front of where I’m walking, I stubbed my toe and let fly with some mild substitute profanity and finally made it to the door in a cloud of confusion and pulled open the door to greet the Publishing Clearing House team. But it was not Ed McMahon with a dozen roses and a big cardboard check. It was a gal from church. Wearing a stylish pale blue matching shorts set. And probably deodorant. Her hair was meticulously styled and sprayed into that helmet bob that seems to be the choice of all tall, thin, willowy, stylish blonde ladies. I on the other hand had not brushed my hair yet or my teeth. She stood there with her daughter on my front deck.

With no other option at my disposal, I decided to rise above it in a Kathryn Hepburn sort of way and just pretend that I was calm, cool, collected and not completely confused as to why she was at my door at 7:20 a.m. I opened the door and greeted her. To her credit, she came in when I invited her and didn’t even shield her daughter. Last Sunday I had agreed to help out and substitute in her primary class and she was dropping off the lesson material, as she said she would. About that time, Brien came running out of his room complaining that we were going to be late, he only had on his boxer briefs. Yet she handed me the lesson material anyway and is entrusting me to instruct small children in the ways of the Lord.

I’m not sure if that represents her degree of faith in what God can do with someone like me or her degree of desperation for a primary substitute.