Ever have one of those days?
My days are typically filled with exciting things. I always get to go to Mass which is the greatest thing to do. I get to teach my kids which is something I truly love. I make no money doing this but when I was a Catholic school teacher I similarly made no money so there’s no change there (when I was an administrator I made even less!). And most days I get to spend an ample amount of time on my front porch in the late afternoon enjoying a gin and tonic and watching my Sacred Heart flag gently blow in the breeze twenty feet above my quarter-acre signaling that all is right in my world.
Today? Not so much.
Today I missed Mass. strike #1.
I got the pleasure of shuttling guests of my wife’s company party back and forth between two area airports and a hotel. I actually enjoyed this as I love meeting new people and I love airports. We’ll call it a draw here.
My dryer is busted. Four years old and the drum ate away at the housing while the dish ran away with the spoon. I’ve been shuttling laundry to my mother-in-law’s house in between my other assigned tasks. Don’t buy a GE.
But the absolute worst thing today was confession. As in, it didn’t happen. I’ve been trying to go specifically for the November plenary indulgence. Unfortunately amidst all of my airport runs, I had to pick a church that I do not usually frequent – as in ever.
Confession at this church runs from 11-11:30. I arrived at 11:32 and got on line. There were five people in front of me. Person #1 enters the box and exits within two minutes. Person #2 meanwhile answered his phone, exited to the adjacent vestibule and proceeded to gab at full volume for about fifteen minutes. Person #3 (now serving as person #2) enters the box and seemingly got sucked into a black hole because she remained there for fifteen minutes. Person #4 enters the box next. While he was in there, the original Person #2 re-enters the church and jumps on the back of the line until… Person #5 (the only man standing between me and the priest at this point) motions for him to come back to his original spot.
The next thing that happened was that this line-cutter went in, presumably confessed his sins, and stepped out just in time for my watch to signal it was time for the moon Angelus. And then he dropped the bomb.
“Father said he has no more time. Sorry.”
So now my question is, when I get to confession tomorrow am I obligated to confess wanting to strangle this man? Kidding. I’m glad someone got his sins wiped clean. Just wish it could have been me.
St. John Nepomucene, pray for us!
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 