(Click here to read Part I first)
On the morning that I decided it was time to play the role of Pastor’s Wife, there was a torrential downpour. Flooding everywhere, rain pouring down in droves. We arrived late because I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me while driving. We parked far away and at a mega-church, that means FAR away. Being late: strike one. I don’t have a raincoat or umbrella because it’s not the kind of thing I think of bringing. Ever. I take my 4 year olds hand and carry my 2 year old and we make a sprint (well, as fast as a 4 yr old can run) for the church doors. We get in and I just stop and stand there. People walk through the doors, lower their umbrellas and shake the water off their raincoats while offering me a smile. I take the girls to the bathroom where my 4 yr old starts crying because her tights are wet. I panic slightly knowing that this daughter of mine would rather be naked than have something – even water- on her clothes. No umbrella: Strike two. I put her under the hand dryer and tell her some story about Noah’s ark and convince her that it’s fun to be wet. I turn to look at my 2 year old who is saying over and over “ooh, oooh!” I look to where she is pointing and notice that she is missing her shoe. It had fallen off in our desperate sprint from the car to the church doors. I stare blankly at her wet shoeless tights. Continue reading