Nice to have that cleared up: God is in Florida

Still on vacation in my hometown in Florida, we attend the century-old Episcopalian church my parents have belonged to for decades. The sanctuary looks like the interior of an old wooden ship, curves and small windows and no apparent exits except the big one in the back.

I took Anna to the children’s room to play during the church service. That’s a routine with which she is familiar, and this room offered friendly faces — grandchildren of my mother’s friends, who meet us for playdates when we are here. So she happily absorbed into the crowd of kids, tossing a quick goodbye over her shoulder.

It’s a tradition at this church to bring the children in for the final minutes of the service. There was a baptism scheduled today, so they sat at the feet of the rector, in a tight circle around the baby and family, wide-eyed and solemn. It was truly lovely.

Only at the end, as the parents turned to face us and the congregation joined in the blessing, did she remember me. After scanning the congregation a few times, she looked for an adult to help her find her family, as she’s been taught to do.

Eh, why bother with an adult when you can go right to the top? Marching over to the rector, she grabbed his robe, effectively re-directing his attention from his hymnal to her small upturned face.

“Hey, GOD!” she shouted up at him, loudly enough for us to hear all the way in the back. “Where’s my MAMA?”

Luckily for all theology, he knew the answer.

Published in: on August 9, 2010 at 5:08 AM  Leave a Comment  

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