Sitting in church last Sunday, the pastor was telling the story about Mary and Joseph and relating what they went through to why more people wash their hands in public restrooms when someone else is there too. Impressions; what you think other people think about you alters the behavior you might of otherwise practiced had no one else been present. Like in this case, I might not write so freely if I thought someone might actually read this blog. Self-effacement is endearing, maybe I'll get readers that way...but I digress.
The pastor went on....Joseph was actually looking to dump Mary, quietly, so he wouldn't have to deal with all the rumors and whispering about Mary having someone else's baby...impressions. We all know how the story ends of course, and he went on to wrap up the message by pushing us to worry less about what the world thinks..........but I missed all of that because I was constantly waiting for the little LED sign to go off in the front of the congregation, with the number that was on the sticker that we put on our sons name tag when we dropped him off at the daycare. What were these people going to think of me when the number flashed "862" in huge red letters while the pastor is driving home some point about the perfect Son, and mine is in the other room flinging poo from his diaper or shoving little Susie off the inflatable slide?
Alas, no numbers, for anyone actually. So, either God wanted everyone to hear that message and put a "good behavior" spell on the kids, or they forgot to plug the signs in Sunday morning. Frankly I don't care either way because we made it through a service for the first time since Karsten was tiny. When you're the family that the volunteer from the back of the room taps on the shoulder and says, "Just to let you know, the crying room for kids is right back this way...", you're glad to sneak out the building without having left any kind of impression at all.