One of Those Days

We were out the door by 8:30 this morning. Plenty of time to drop the kids off in their new classes (it's promotion Sunday), deliver the danishes to the college class, and make it to our Bible study class on time (same class, we don't ever promote, we try to deny the fact that we're getting older). We would have made it in plenty of time if we didn't have a flat tire on the freeway. What a way to start your Sunday. And I did mention I was bringing food for hungry college kids, right? I kept my cool, but I was so upset that I was responsible for something and might come off as looking irresponsible or like a flake. We managed to get off the freeway and my wonderful, very useful husband was able to change the tire in a matter of minutes. Of course the four year old spare that had been neatly tucked under that carpet in the back was low on air. No problem, we'll just find a gas station and put some air in. Air, that stuff that surrounds us and we breathe in and out all day long, costs $.75 at gas stations. Too bad I didn't think of containing air, putting it under pressure, and selling it! Since we'd thrown our last bits of change into a fountain last night, Brian had to go in the store and buy some Gatorade and ask for cash back. Finally we're on the road, but you know you're only supposed to drive 50 miles per hour with those donut tires. We did make it to church, get the boys to their class, deliver the danishes, and arrive in our class about 40 minutes late. In church we sat behind a lady and her friend that held a conversation, normal voices not hushed ones, from the time of the opening song until the pastor got up to preach. (My list of who I cannot sit near in church is getting longer: Perfume lady, off-key loud singer, now Miss Chatty Pants.) We sang a song with some weird humming and "oo-ing" part that always make me think the visitors will not come back. Then, when we picked up Coleman, there were stickers on his Sunday School papers imprinted with his name (or not his name) spelled C-o-l-m-a-n. I feel bad because they probably have 100 or so stickers already printed with "Colman," but I don't want his name misspelled on everything he does at church.

I was thinking, why do I let these insignificant things bother me? Thank You Lord that we were not hurt going down the freeway at 65 miles per hour with a flat tire. Thank You that Brian was with us and able to change it. Thank You that we have money set aside to buy new tires. And when we got to church, the college class was not nearing starvation because my danishes did not arrive on time. And nobody called me a loser or a flake. Hopefully, somebody was blessed by the humming song, and I'm thankful for the ladies willing to teach my 3 year old about Jesus, no matter how they spell his name. I think sometimes we need these little inconveniences to remind us what really matters. I wouldn't change a thing about today. Well, I would try to have more patience, and maybe I would have hummed and "oo-ed" at the top of my lungs, if only to drown out Miss Chatty Pants!