Murphy's Law

I like to go to church. Really, I do. Despite the fact that I tend to be my dizziest, headache-y-est, most faitgued-ed self on Sunday. (Could it be the bright lights? The religious fervor?) But when I woke up yesterday, I had serious doubts that I could make it to the churchhouse on time.

First, I was painfully nauseous and threw up.

Second (and actually much worse since throwing up isn't so bad after my early-pregnancy vomit spree), I had pulled one or more muscles in my back, causing an intense pain in my back and neck that had me on the verge of tears. (OK -- I cried a few times; there's no shame in that.)

I laid down to rest and consigned myself to miss church, but about 5 minutes before we needed to leave I had a change of heart. Any time I miss church, I feel WORSE not BETTER. I knew that if I didn't go, I wouldn't be lamenting that fact all week. So I threw on some clothes and left the house in near shambles.

Our goal: To just take the sacrament.

However, someone had other plans. When we arrived, we were greeted by one of the church leaders.

He said: "We haven't asked you two to give a prayer yet, have we?"
(My thought: "No, but could we take a rain check because I'm not feeling so hot.")
Our answer: "No."

He said: "Would you mind giving the opening and closing prayer?"
(My thought: "Well, actually I kind of do mind, but maybe if just one of us could offer the opening prayer we could do it. And by one of us, I mean my husband.")
Our answer: "Sure."

He said: "OK, Brother, you'll give the opening prayer and you're wife will pronounce the benediction."
(My thought: "Pronounce it? That's easy -- BEN-EH-DIC-SHUN.")
Our answer: "No problem."

So our goal turned into a little more than we'd bargained for. Which was good in many ways -- the talks were excellent and the air conditioning was blasting so my ailments were largely frozen away. (Although I did keep seeing fireflys in the air, which reason suggests may have been hallucinations.)

When it came time to give my prayer, I mustered all my strength and walked to the pulpit. I lowered the microphone and, suddenly, a huge nausea-induced belch tickled my throat. Now, the funny story would be if I closed the meeting with a loud burp. However, I managed to gain my composure and gave the prayer in halting-teeth-clenched spurts.

And that is one of the great blessings of going to church.