Dead Man's Honda

For whatever reason the lawyers here are trying to decipher the words in a song playing in some scene from some clip involved in some lawsuit. The song, as far as I can tell, is "I Can Only Imagine." I've heard this song played over and over in the office behind me and today three more lawyers joined in the discussion of it.

"I still can't tell--is it 'dance with you Jesus' or 'dance for you Jesus?'" one lawyer says.

"What does it matter? Either way this guy in the video is pulling his paralyzed son along with that song in the background-- there's no way we'll win. We're totally screwed."

"Maybe it's 'will I dance on you Jesus.'"

There's a brief silence. Then a snicker.

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Perhaaaaps....." another adds, "It's how would Jesus dance."

"Like what would Jesus do? What would Jesus dance?" another says while her voice cracks as if she's about to burst out laughing.

"Yeah. What? It's possible." Says the other, sounding offended.

"I still think it's 'Will I dance on you Jesus,'"

"Either way we're screwed."

"Yes," another says "Yes we are."

When I arrived home from church today something seemed “off”. I sat in my sister’s car and stared out the front window thinking to myself about this “offness” when I slowly began to realize something.

This morning on my way to church I quickly pulled on a pair of my sister’s brown leather high heels—the kind that keep your feet in the awkward shape found only on the distorted plastic feet of Barbie dolls. It was early and we were running late.

After second service we taught our adorable class of two-year olds, praying to God that none of their parents arrived at the precise moment they decided to revolt and run screaming in circles around the room. We try to keep order—honest. We told a story and prayed and let the kids respond to the lesson about Noah. One little girl with her hair pulled up so tightly in a fountain on her head that her eyes seem to squint from the force piped up:

“Oh look at that shit!”

What she really meant was “look at that ship”, but instead a very distinct swear word was heard.

After our class (did I say class? I meant circus) my sis and I waited for her fiancé to finish his two hour, sometimes three hour, sometimes they-hire-a-person-to-sing-for-I-swear-to-you-four-hours-with-an-amp the-size-of-Montana-Latin service. We waited in the car. I laid down in the back seat with my legs dangling out the door. Finally we decided to drive the car up to the front of the chapel so my-soon-to-be-brother-in-law could make a quick getaway when the service finally stopped spinning and came to a close. Somewhere in between lying in the back seat and picking up future bro-in law, I lost something.

When I got out of the car at home, (which is about forty minutes away) I realized what I’d lost:

My shoes.

My sister stared at me with a look of incredulousness I could not even begin to describe.

“You don’t have my shoes on?” she said with intensity. “Seriously?”

We all started laughing in the way you laugh at those awkward, this-person-is-an-idiot moments.

“Um. No.”

“Well where are they?”

“I believe they might be in the parking lot.”

Indeed they were.

Fortunately for me, someone found them and put them in the church box after future bro-in-law made countless phone calls to ascertain their whereabouts.

“Hi,” I could hear him say on the phone to one of the custodians, “Has anyone happened to bring in a pair of shoes from the parking lot?”

Not the most awkward inquiry I’ve ever heard, but certainly not average either.

It’s not every day you go to church with shoes on and come home without them….too bad it was because sometimes I'm a mindless idiot rather than someone who gives their shoes away....