Last Sunday our pastor decided to do something a little quirky. I guess the church he pastors is rubbing off on him. He handed out three hundred granola bars and told us to pray and give it to whomever God was leading us to give it to.
Ever the teacher's-pet I trotted in to work bright and early Monday morning with the bar in my hot little hand determined to get rid of it like it was a grenade. Perhaps I was thinking if I gave it away quick enough than I wouldn't have to give it to someone scary. Like a drug dealer. Or a homeless person. Not that homeless people are all that scary but the thought of being told to go to some big huge camp or something and... and??
I prayed in my car and oddly thought I heard the name of a sweet-spirited and mild-mannered lady that I already enjoyed talking to every day. Could it be this easy?? Surely I just wanted it to be her, especially since I'm typically a wuss with this kind of thing. But I prayed again and it was like if my thought was in a bubble over my head the answer was capitalized, in bold, and underlined in red with her name. I wandered over to her desk later and set the bar down in front her. Since she happens to know my pastor I explained that it was a bar from him and she started laughing. Like, oh, this is going to be a hoot, I can tell, kind of laugh. When I got to the part where I was supposed to pray and I felt like I heard her name she gasped out: I could use all the prayer I could get! I thought: girl, can't we all! We chit chatted for a bit longer while she munched on the bar. A+ right? Or surely a solid B? Well, wait till the second bar.
One little caveat the pastor had said when he passed out the bars was that we weren't to eat it and then he added jokingly that it would taste bad in our stomachs if we ate it ourselves. I nodded solemnly though like he was Gandalf and he had just placed a wizard curse on the bar. So today. Saturday. At the end of the week. Wouldn't you know it the love of my life, occasional procrastinator, still had his blasted bar lying around. We were scrambling to get him and the kids out the door in the morning for an acting gig he had that -thank-the-good-Lord!- had child-care. So when the two-year-old handed me a random granola bar my only thought was: hmmm, he must have found that in the diaper bag and we haven't bought those in about nine months so would it still be good to eat? I quickly decided it would, being vacuum sealed and all that and opened it and gave half to each kid.
It didn't occur to me what bar it was until I was strapping the kids in the car. The two year old had taken the tiniest toddler bite out of his and then carried it around for ten minutes so it was covered in baby slobber and dirt. He handed it to me and I ate it. I was slightly ashamed that I ate it to begin with simply because it was a dirty baby bar but I hadn't wanted to throw it in our brand new yard and didn't have time to hunt for a trash sack. As soon as I started chewing I realized what bar it was. I then remembered the curse and wondered if I should spit it out but again didn't want to have to come back and clean it up. I decided a little prayer was the best course of action as I apologized for being forgetful and careless.
The whole point of this exercise had been to be more aware of God's interactions with us. I have a feeling he was more like ruffling my hair in a playful "sheesh Court" kind of way rather than being annoyed at me. I just might want to remember that before I start feeling all pompous about something there might still be a chance I can screw it up!