We had some pretty severe storms last night. Normally I can sleep through anything. Last night I know I woke up twice to very loud thunder. But that's actually not what I'm talking about.
I had wondered if our friends Amy and Adam would be in church yesterday with their seven-day old son, Wesley. I wanted to meet him. When we walked inside, I looked to their usual spot and was disappointed to see that they were not there. We sat down, and as I was looking through the announcements, I saw that the Cradle Cross was in honor of Wesley. I whipped my head around to see if they were still M.I.A., and there they were.
I jumped up and ran over to their pew. As I rushed toward them, my shoe hit the support under the pew and,
"WHACK!"
It was loud. I guess it didn't sound so much like thunder (which makes for a better title) but more like a gun shot. A very, very loud gun shot. In church. I am sure heads turned. I laughed and ducked. I'm also sure my face was red. I do that. My face deceives me all the time, it blushes whether I am embarrassed or not. I wasn't embarrassed, I kick those pew supports all the time. This time it just happened to be louder then normal.
Luckily I didn't appear to do any damage to the newborn. He barely opened his eyes as I peered down at him in the dim-under-the-balcony lighting. He's pretty darn cute. It was worth the pain (it did hurt!), fuss and noise to meet him.
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