Humility

Tears came to my eyes at last night's service as I saw our priest remove the robes of his office and kneel before four parishioners, my daughter among them, and humble himself to wash their feet. Such a solemn yet joyful Mass, beautiful music and symbolism, along with feeling the sadness of the unstoppable events to come on Good Friday. The tradition and pageantry of the service was very moving.

I hadn't expected that the parishioners would also be called forth to wash the feet of these four, but when they called people forth, I went. I had hoped to get in Lauren's line, but it was very long. Later at home, we laughed, because only the right foot was washed repeatedly and her poor left did not get a better treatment.

After picking up Anna at a Teen Council meeting, I returned home late to assist Lauren with the barn chores. The last chore was to shut up the chickens in the big coop. Lauren and I joked about not reaching in so that I didn't have a repeat episode of chicken poop jacket. As I entered the coop, I saw two hens perched on the top door, preferring no doubt the clean spring air to being shut up. As is my custom, I reached for a hen to put her in the coop, gently pinning her wings so she would not flap me about the face. Evidently, I didn't grab gently enough. In the darkness I hear the unmistakable sound of chicken sh@t being shot out. There was enough light to see that I was the intended target. All down my jacket and pants leg.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't think the hen intentionally did it. Rather, I think you can basically squeeze it out of them if you squeeze too hard in the right place. Lauren asked how many poopy jackets I intended to make? For the second time that night, I was humbled. (It is hard to be anything but with chicken poop dripping down you.)

Notes:
Tomorrow is opening day for Little League here, complete with a pancake breakfast and parade! Ye haw!

After reading here, go to Debra's blog and listen. A good way to start the day.