You know what funny is to me? Taking the kids to the early service and when the collection plate is passed we fill it to overflowing, having weighed down our coat pockets with silver and gold, trying not to clink when we walk in and sit down. Sam has not caught on yet, even though he winds up spending an extra fifteen minutes each Sunday afternoon sweeping the floor in the sanctuary because it's covered with coins that have fallen. He marvels at how generous his congregation is and the fact that he must collect and redistribute the plates midway through the hymn, they are so full.
Is it not a sad day when you plot a month's worth of practical stunts and the recipient is nothing shy of grateful?
I need better victims.
And I am late for church again.