Going to church today, I couldn't help but realize how easy it is to miss the quirks of small town, home life... Walking into the door, I was greeted with an excited handshake from one of the old ladies of the church, and a few how-ya-doin's from others before finding my seat.
As the choral introit begins, I can't help but enjoy listening to the soothing sounds of my pastor's familiar old voice drowning out the rest of the choir because he forgot to turn his microphone off, and watch with satisfaction as a young teen suddenly realizes that they were supposed to be lighting the candles, and rushes to the back of the church to grab the lighter. That used to be me, and now, I can rib them about it later.
Then, another surprise memory hits, as we are welcomed with a rare visit from one of the people that also preach from time to time, helping the pastor out with the call to worship and call to confession, among other things.
Up the man creeps, leaning forward towards the microphone, ready to start the service. But he's not quite close enough yet, his eyes judge as they dart quickly from the microphone in front of him to the audience not 20 feet away. Just a little further, his eyes say, and he strains his neck and reaches with his lips to make sure he gets the best possible use out of the microphone.
"GOOD MORNING" he booms out, waking anyone still asleep in the surrounding communities.... "PLEASE FOLLOW ALONG IN YOUR BULLETINS..."
Having a terribly hard time not falling over with my laughter at the memories of this man and his troubles finding the right volume, I accidentally bump my dad, who knows exactly what I'm laughing about. He has a hard time holding it in, biting his tongue and failing to hold the laughter as well. I guess the call to worship was going to have to go by unread by us today
