The Line Worth Standing In
Saturday we made our monthly pilgrimage to confession. Our parish loves confession and there will always be a line no matter how early we get there. We arrived just 8 minutes after confessions began and the line was a dozen deep. We added our half dozen to the end of the line and waited.
Our pastor was on vacation, leaving his associate to hear confessions. He is a lovely, young, vibrant priest and does not cut corners in the confessional. He is a wonderful confessor but we all knew we were in for a long, penitential wait.
Our two youngest almost immediately began their little passive/aggressive techniques of trying our patience. Baby Wingnut kicked and squirmmed, wriggled and writhed in Wingnut's arms. The Tornado primly sat herself in a pew and began primping and preening, occasionally glancing over to see if anyone was watching her. When that no longer worked in gaining attention, she began tapping her sandals on the pew and rattling my purse straps. As I inched closer to the confessional door, Baby Wingnut had had enough and began protesting loudly. Wingnut had to take him outside and "adjust his attitude" with a stern scolding mixed with equal parts threats and cajoling.
It was nearing the beginning of the vigil mass and we were all nervously checking our watches and sizing up the folks in front of us for holiness. Thankfully our family made it through to the box, but a few poor souls were asked to come back after Mass. It was just another typical First Saturday in our parish and it sure did my soul good to be standing in that line.