Aselin

I bore my testimony in church last Sunday, which is the equivalent of a spontaneous mini talk. Anyone can get up and bear testimony, it’s pretty much open mic night in the chapel. There are some terrific stories of fantastic happenings being shared from the pulpit. Usually the testimonies are exhortations toward better living, or travelogues which challenge the audience to find the spiritual message in visiting great aunt Edna in Des Moines.

So I felt moved upon to share. I climbed the stairs, well, stair, to the podium and delivered my thoughts without falling, crying, or snorting in the microphone. For this I feel the event was a wondrous success. Hearts were softened and lives were changed. I think an angelic chorus swelled for effect.

After the meeting a fellow parishioner approached me to give me some feedback. Here are her words verbatim: “Aselin, I really liked your testimony today. It had a beginning, a middle and an end.” I thanked this thoughtful sister and walked away trying to figure out if that was some sort of backhanded compliment, or slam.

Retelling the story in the car the kids busted out in uncontrollable gfawws. Unnamed child #3 chimes in and says - “Good job mom, usually your talks have no end.” Wit apparently does not correlate with self preservation. Unnamed child #1 says, “Did you talk today?” Unleashing howls from all three of them. Feeling like Rodney Dangerfield, getting no respect, I pondered how many different ways I could make them cry.

Sadly for them the next morning I had occasion to check some of their chore work. There was going to be a whole lotta cryin’ when I caught up with them. Needless to say, this was not their best effort. In fact this was no effort. Bathroom sinks crusted with hair and toothpaste, empty soup bowls with dehydrated residue cementing the spoon inside, closet floors that couldn’t be located under the debris pile. It was a pathetic, shameful, lame-o effort. Much like times when I was a chore workin’ kid.

Of course, my personally crafted discourse brought weeping and wailing, gnashing of teeth, pulling out of hair, rending of clothes, ardent declarations of future effort, promises to change... and with all this my message had a beginning, and a middle....

Poor kids. I’m still going.