Praying for a Miracle

I’m nervous.  No, scrap that.  I’m terrified.  My eldest son has been asked to do something that requires him to hold something high in the air without dropping it, whilst looking ahead and concentrating…AND climb steps.  Simultaneously.

Now, no-one who meets my son can dispute his kind heart or generous nature.  However, no-one who has ever met my son can convincingly deny his unbelievable, breathtaking, potentially bone-breaking, injury-inducing, cover-your-eyes-with-your-hands-and-don’t-breathe-until-he’s-safely-sitting-down-again clumsiness, either.

This boy falls over fresh air, imaginary people and furniture that is tucked into the farthest recesses of our home.  He has no spatial awareness whatsoever.  He struggles to walk in  a straight line.  In fact, he struggles to walk, period.  He runs, throws and propels himself forwards.  Maybe it’s because he has quite a big head.  Maybe it unbalances him.  He defies both centrifugal force and good old-fashioned gravity.

Yet he has volunteered (bless him) with three other boys to carry the four corners of a large white cloth down the church aisle on Sunday as part of their Sacramental Programme.  They must hold the cloth aloft and make their way slowly towards the altar, navigating two steps and LIT candles before they can place the cloth neatly at its destination.

I hope it all goes smoothly.  I really do.  I’d go so far as to say I’m PRAYING it will.  They practised it three times last night, after all.  Yet this is the carnage I can’t help but envisage:

J will start off well, arms straight up in the air and eyes forward with a proud smile on his face.  His attention will soon begin to wander as he notices members of the congregation and he will start to stare.  He may fall at this point and have a domino effect on the other boys and their momentum may roll them up the aisle to land in a sprawling heap at the feet of the priest.  This is my best case scenario.

Alternatively, he’ll spot me and try to wave, causing the cloth to be pulled from the hands of the other boys and end up over his head.  Doing his best impression of Casper the Friendly Ghost, he will then stumble down the aisle blindly, knocking the other boys into the congregation and causing small children to cry and the innocent members of the church to scramble frantically out their seats.  I can cope with this (I’ve experienced far more embarrassing moments since having children..and before having them, for that matter).

My worst case scenario that keeps playing through my head is that the boys will make it to the altar.  J will, by some miracle, make it up the first step unscathed.  He’ll relax, thinking he’s made it without incident. He’ll forget about the second step.  He’ll trip and the corner of the cloth will catch fire.  J will try to ‘help’ to put the fire out and his flailing arms will waft the fire and cause other items to catch alight.  People will panic.  J will panic.  He’ll run and take the priest out, sending chalice, dish of eucharist and altar boys and girls flying.

After much chaos, someone will grab a fire extinguisher and put the fire out.  People will stand dazed and slightly charred.  Some may have singed eyebrows.  Others may have extinguisher foam dripping from their noses.  Still others may be left holding the smouldering remnants of their hymn books.

Meanwhile, J’s goldfish attention span will have wandered and he will no doubt have found a six month old sweet that’s been festering in his pocket.  He’ll extract it with a cry of delight and will sit sucking happily on it, completely oblivious to the utter bedlam he has created.

I’ll let you know how it went (presuming I’m not at the police station answering questions about my son’s arson attempt on our church).

I’m including this old post as a Magic Moment over at the lovely Jaime’s The Oliver’s Madhouse.