Humbled

I'm not a little woman.  To be honest, I'm fat.  Some people might attempt to sugarcoat that assessment, but there just isn't any way of getting around the reality.  Fat is fat.

Because I'm not a trim size 6 or even an average size 12, I've always felt as if I need to try a little harder -- dress a little sharper, take more care with my overall appearance -- so people won't see me as a fat slob who not only lacks self control but has also given up in every area of her life.  I also want to make an effort with my appearance so I don't embarrass my kids any more than I do already because of my weight.

So this Sunday I took the effort to completely blow dry my hair before M and I left for church.  Most of the time I do a pretty good job of styling the front and sides, but I slack off on the back.  I can't see the back of my head so I'm not especially concerned if it's totally dry when I leave the house.  After all, it'll dry eventually.  But for church, I decided to do the job right.

When M and I left the house it was beginning to sprinkle.  As we drove south on Gary Ave. towards Wheaton, it began to rain harder.  By the time we pulled into the library parking lot a block away from the church, it was raining steadily.

The rain wouldn't have been that much of a problem if we had had an umbrella in the car, but we didn't.  We had taken the umbrella out over a week ago during the storm when the trees came crashing down in our backyard, and instead of putting it back in the car, we left it on the porch.  : /   So now it was raining and we had a block long walk, uphill, to church and no umbrella.

Meredith didn't think that no umbrella was that big of a deal, but I was grumbling.  As we headed towards the church, I sarcastically said, "Thank you Jesus" and in reply the sky rumbled with thunder, as if to say "You're welcome."  I was not feeling very worshipful at that point and I felt even less so when, a few steps later, the steady rain turned into a heavy downpour.

By the time M and I got to the front steps of the church we were pretty thoroughly soaked.  My once dry hair was now wet enough that it was plastered to my head: I was pretty sure it was about as wet as it usually is when I step out of the shower.  There were plenty of other wet people hurrying inside, but I felt like I was the only one who was dripping and disheveled -- a feeling that was reinforced as M and I walked into the sanctuary and were confronted with rows of dry and dignified worshipers.

I wasn't just wet, I was soaking wet and I was also irritated.  In my mind, everyone was staring at me, judging me for not being smart enough to carry an umbrella or organized enough to get to church earlier, before it started to rain.  I wasn't in the mood to worship, but the prelude was starting and I didn't want to embarrass myself even more by getting up and leaving.  Besides M had expressly said that she wanted to come to church and this would be our last Sunday to worship together.