Pardon My Elbow In Your Side
I’m at a Wedding
My sister has a photo of a good friend of hers throwing the bridal bouquet. The bride has a huge smile on her face as she tosses the flowers. Several women wait with breathless anticipation and they all have blood on their minds, except me. While looking at it, my mom even remarked, “You’re the only one smiling.” The camera actually captured one woman with her elbow smashed in my side.
This event happened years ago, but I think of it every now and then, because often I see the same mentality. People so eager to accomplish one goal, they forget the real reason they are there. These women should be happy to celebrate the marriage of a good friend, but instead they are thinking, “I must have bouquet…small children… old women watch out… the calla lilies and baby’s breath are mine!” I went to a wedding where women rolled around on the floor fighting for the bouquet. Sssh… this part is a secret… it’s no guarantee of marriage. Pardon my elbow in your side, but I’m at a Wedding.
I’m a Good Neighbor
Recently my neighbor spray-painted my trash-cans. She spray-painted “YW” on my personal property. She did one a few months ago, and I didn’t say anything. Of course, I didn’t know she did it, until I asked her. She said she was afraid they wouldn’t take my yard waste if it didn’t have YW on there. She has helped me out in many situations. I didn’t tell her that I didn’t like it, but I know she meant well.
Now, this might be obsessive of me, but it isn’t centered. She painted right over my address. On the next windy day, I’m sure my trash can will be miles from my house and no one will return it, unless they can identify the weird YW.
I wouldn’t even call the “W” a “W” I’d call it a sick “V” or as I like to refer to it as the melting “W” If she had asked, maybe I wouldn’t have minded. (No, actually I would.) So, Pardon my elbow in your side, but I’m trying to be a good Neighbor.
I’m a Good Christian
This is difficult. I don’t say this to be mean spirited, but this is a blog, thus I’m to talk about my experiences and a bunch of other crap. I volunteer for my church. I do what I can. I work nights. I wish I could do more, but I also know my limits.
On more than one occasion when I have volunteered, I have felt the elbow in my side. I’ve been yelled at. Yes, yelled at, while they did their job, and I did mine.
I’m not dead weight, I work, but you see they are so eager to serve the Lord, they forget we should also make nice. I realize, they are busy and usually have a time crunch.
I’m an usher. I volunteered because I know I can be there on Sunday and it’s easy work, most of the time.
We have learned to stay clear of the usher’s closet on Communion Sundays. That’s where one occasion of yelling came in. The communion preparers must have time to prepare the bread and juice and we must stay clear!
We have one-hour church services, but occasionally we have ninety-minute special services. I ushered on one such occasion. The head usher, who I thought would handle everything had to fill in somewhere else. They told me, John Smith would be in charge. I didn’t know him. A man came and told me I was in the wrong place. I assumed it was John Smith. He told me to go to the front and now. I went. Then I saw, the same man sitting in the back, not doing anything. This isn’t how head ushers act? He never did anything, just sat there.
Finally, the real John Smith introduced himself. He had his own people, they didn’t need me. He told me to sit down. I thought not being picked for the softball team in junior high was hard.
Who was the other man? Just someone who felt the need to order me around, I guess. (And this part is shocking, I’ve never seen the man serve as an usher, ever.)
There’s the time I was to help serve at the prize table. More yelling, sorry, we don’t need you. We’ve got it handled. I have a few other instances, but there’s no need. Please, Pardon my Elbow in your side, I’m trying to be a good Christian.
You can’t fault someone for trying can you? All instances are people who mean well, except for the women who want the bridal bouquet. They really are out for blood.
(See photo of “YW”)