God moves in mysterious ways

Huge argument at home this morning about going to church. Wife doesn’t buy my contention that it’s too hot to spend an hour in a room with no air conditioning listening to some old guy talking. I decide to stage a little protest at being made to attend. I wear one of my newest t-shirt designs. Of course, I’m smart enough not to let her see the slogan until it’s too late.

‘Church is where I worship, travel team soccer is where I get to play God!’ reads the slogan.

Pretty impressive I thought. She’s less thrilled when she finally reads it in the car-park. Too late to do anything about it by then.

‘You have got to be kidding!’ she shout-whispers.

‘What? These are going to sell by the thousand. I have to be seen to model them!’

‘Please cover it up,’ she begs. The desperation in her voice is hilarious.

The nun who greets all parishioners every Sunday is standing at the front door. She’s smiling at us and tilting her head to read my t-shirt. I think she figures it to be one of those quasi-daring religious shirts, you know, with slogans like ‘My therapist is a Jewish carpenter’. She soon realizes it isn’t.

‘I can’t let you in here with that,’ she says in that stern voice nuns must have to perfect at a very young age.

‘Why not?’ I ask, pretending to be shocked.

‘It’s sacrilegious.’

‘Sacre what?’ I respond, still playing the fool, loving the fact wife is now a deep shade of crimson.

‘Sacrilegious. It’s not appropriate attire for church. I can’t let you come in here,' continues Sister Sledge.

I throw my hands in the air in mock exasperation and turn to see sweat dripping down wife’s forehead.

'I’ll come back for you in an hour honey,' I say smiling broadly. 'I'm very sorry about this wardrobe malfunction.' 

Then I head home to watch the USA take on Brazil in the Women’s World Cup quarter-final, thankful that the Gods have smiled upon me this Sabbath day.