Work in Progress

Just as we went out the door to church yesterday, I glanced at my black sweater.  "Howard," I said to my husband, "Check to see that I don't have any hair on my shoulder."  I had just shampooed, and I didn't want any strays showing up for some well-meaning helper to remove.  It's has always been a pet peeve of mine to see a hand advancing toward me, an intent look in its owner's eyes, while a collar was straightened, a speck removed or flaw pointed out.

Then while chatting over the pew later with a lady behind me as we waited for church to start, she peered and aimed a pinched thumb and forefinger toward me, informing me I had a loose hair.  "That's okay," I said, moving swiftly away toward my seat.  "My hair is always doing that."

"No, it's not on your head, it's on your sweater," she persisted.  I told her about my pet peeve, and her response was, "Why?" I smiled and shrugged, but later I couldn't help feeling a little disconcerted about my reaction.

Our worship leader was away, so a newcomer was leading the singing this morning.  After a slow beginning, he launched into a peppy tune I'd never heard before, but it was easy to learn and I was soon singing with feeling, "Jesus on the inside, Working on the outside." It fit me perfectly!  I would be reminded of that later.

It was announced that after our monthly singspiration that evening, we would gather for fellowship over desserts, and were asked to bring something sweet.  I'd been wanting to bring a special treat my daughter told me about, but we hadn't had these fellowships lately, so I hadn't prepared anything.  That didn't stop me from going to the store immediately after lunch to procure the fixings.

The dish was similar to a fruit pizza, but the crust was cookie dough baked in miniature muffin cups, forming tiny containers for a topping of cream cheese/Kool Whip with small slices of fruit inserted decoratively.  I found everything I needed and was soon mixing and slicing while the cookies baked.  It seemed fruit had gone up considerably in price, and for such small portions it was a shame I had to buy whole containers, but the results would be worth it, I assured myself.

Between batches, I would dash to the bedroom to practice a song Howard and I were to sing that night that he was laboriously copying in large print so we could read it.  I wasn't too sure about it, but if the cookies turned out right, maybe the song would.  That was my prayer, anyway.

The cookies were beautiful, but nobody seemed to know what they were, and about half were left over. (Of course, there were many desserts there.)  After waiting until almost the end of the long program to sing our song, most of it was pretty rough (hopefully the smooth parts made up for it).  Nevertheless, I couldn't help feeling deflated and defeated in spirit as we went home.  Feeling bad about my attitude, I had to remember the words of the song that morning, I have "Jesus on the inside," but still "Working on the outside."