Now that the pressure is off and I am not about to buy the chapel down the road, I am trying to use the extra available time to recoup my energies, but even without a new house to build, time still seems at a premium. While the kids were installed in front of the television, I slipped into a bath full of my favourite oils. I ached in every joint from my new running regime (four days in a row). However, no sooner was I in the water than off went the doorbell. Wrapped in a towel, I went to see who had popped round only to be confronted with strangers. I ended up having a long conversation with some German worshippers keen to inspect the mosaic that adorns the apse. My church is listed in a few guidebooks to North Wales.
Something about me must signify a soul in danger, because this isn’t the only time I have been sought to be saved. The most memorable occasion was when my brother was in his born-again phase, and somehow managed to persuade me to accompany him to a service in Tooting. Thankfully I declined the bible reading class beforehand, because the service proved to be a staggering four hours long. Even pre-baby that almost exceeded my bladder’s capacity.
Finally, to my great relief I saw the end must be drawing nigh (of the service that is, not of Time), because lots of holding hands, hugging and exchanging signs of peace with neighbours was going on. So much, in fact, that I could have wished I wasn’t seated in such a densely populated area of the church. Just when I thought I’d soon be free to find a loo, four hundred pairs of eyes turned on me and the Pastor’s deafening voice came booming through my daydream. ‘Is there anyone here who hasn’t seen the light?’
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If I had had the remotest belief in a God I would have asked Him to make sure the floor swallowed me up then and there. A frenzy of hands started pushing me forwards and I found myself before the altar in the midst of frantic dancing and singing, which mounted to an alarming crescendo. The sweat on my brow wasn’t due to the emotional fever of conversion, it was because my bladder was about to burst. At last, subjected to torture, I weakly agreed that I could see the light.
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