A dear friend and neighbor of ours died early in the morning on New Year's Day. We attended his Prayer Service and Funeral last week. Scheduling was a bit of a challenge, though. The night of his Prayer Service, we were expecting dinner guests - two young, single men from Australia that are here visiting for a couple of weeks. Our plan was to eat at 5:30 to give us ample time to arrive at the Service by 7:00, but . . . "the best laid plans. . . "
We finally found a parking spot in the packed lot around 7:30 and made our way into the Narthex of the church. It was obvious from the parking lot that there was a full house, but we didn't realize just how full until we saw people standing along all of the walls inside the church. After greeting the people in the Narthex and looking around for a few minutes, I decided to take the children into the Cry Room. At this particular church, the Cry Room is in a small chapel to the side of the main worship area and one whole wall is windows, looking into the larger church. Knowing that they had a speaker in there, and seeing very few people using it, we headed into the Cry Room.
It didn't take long to realize that the speaker just wasn't turned up high enough to hear most of what was being said. That was alright with me during the Rosary, since we're not Catholic and you don't have to hear the prayers to know what's being said, but when it was time for the family members to share about the Deceased, I wanted to hear better.
I had noticed several people walking from the Cry Room into another, smaller room through a door at the end. I asked one of the women who was coming back into the Cry Room if you could hear better from there. She smiled and nodded. I hopped up and headed in.
Turns out, this room was a small Confessional, but had a door leading into the church where you could stand and hear perfectly. I stood in the doorway of the Confessional for a few minutes. Then, quite unexpectedly, there was a break in the Sharings and a number of people rose to leave. The Service had gone on for several hours and many people just had to get home. I took full advantage of the break and called to the kids to join me, then took off for a pew that had just been emptied out. Daelyn slid in next to me.
A few minutes later, well into the remainder of the family sharings, Daelyn looked down at his wrist.
"Mom," he hissed at me loudly, "my Phiton bracelet is missing!!"
Oh, my goodness. His Phiton bracelet!! He and his brother have pestered me for over a year for Phiton necklaces, sports things that the athletes wear. I finally broke down and bought a nice one for Dane at the Christian bookstore with John 3:16 printed on it and a bracelet for Daelyn and they got them for Christmas. Now, here it was, only a couple of weeks later and Daelyn had already lost his!! I was almost as disturbed as he was.
"Son!!!" I hissed back. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"
"Well, it might have fallen off my wrist in the Cry-Baby Room."
I snickered. The funny thing is that Daelyn never quite realizes he says things wrong but, often, his terms are very appropriate.
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