February 2002
I was proud of myself. It was 10:30 a.m. on a rainy Sunday morning, and for the first time in months I knew I would be on time for church! Each Sunday I was on a mission to arrive at church before the sermon was over, but for some reason… something always seemed to happen!
I loaded the kids into the car, having successfully fed, bathed, dressed and re-dressed my two boys. Then I got into my nicely warmed-up car and pressed the remote to close the garage door… and nothing happened. I pressed it again, and again… still nothing. I decided to trudge through the downpour and go back into the garage to use the master switch. Pushing open my car door, I waded through the rain into the garage, negotiating the warzone of boxes, bookshelves, and computer pieces still piled from our recent move.
Reaching the master switch in the back of the garage, I pressed it with confidence and headed back out the side door. I got half way back to the car when I heard the garage door suddenly reverse! I turned around and ran back through the rain and pressed the button again, only to watch it get half-way down and roll back up.
Now I was really not amused! After all, I had worked really hard to be on time for church, and this stupid garage door was making me late. I stood there for a few more minutes watching as the garage door repeated this weird up/down routine. By this time, I was certain my formerly Christian garage door was possessed by some evil garage door demons.
Marching through the boxes (which I was now propelling out of my way like I was Arnold Schwarzenegger), I decided to test the garage door sensor. Since I’m a master repairwoman (I faithfully read “This Old House” magazine). I confidently fiddled with the “thinga-ma-jigger”. (This is done by carefully hurling it against the nearest wall.)
Having now fixed the sensor, I dashed back to the master button for one more try. I was in luck, it was going down… lower… and lower… almost closed…. But wait – it suddenly went back up! I was beyond furious by this point! Stomping out of the garage, I rebuked the evil garage door demon, which I was sure didn’t want me to go to church anyway!
Marching through the rain and back to my car, I no longer cared that my once neatly styled hair now resembled a helmet of acrylic hairspray and I looked like a drenched rat, I opened the door and dropped inside the car in a drenched huff!
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”, came the sweet little voice from the back seat. I turned to face my five-year old son, and that’s when I saw it. In his tiny, pudgy hand was my garage door remote!
My blood pressure catapulted. “Have you been playing with the garage door remote, Brandon?’ Not even waiting for a response, I gritted my teeth and pronounced, “Don’t… you… ever… do… that… again!!! I was seething but still trying to retain some form of self-control. After all, I was going to church to worship God and I was a happy Christian!
Brandon rustled up the courage to break through my personal volcanic eruption and said, “But Mommy, I thought you were trapped inside the garage.” Okay... now I had massive guilt. I had just yelled at my innocent little boy who was trying to save me from the perils of haunted garage!
By this point, I didn’t need to go to church. I had already sinned repeatedly, rebuked the devil, wept, repented, and I was now laughing hysterically. Sometimes the best Sunday sermons are learned before you even get into the sanctuary. And by the way, just to prove that I was going to win this spiritual battle, I did go to church and got there just before the sermon ended!
