Recently at an event at our church, the band played a song in which “lift up your heads” was part of the lyrics. I thought, “no problem–the screen on which the words are shown is above my head. I have to lift my head to read the words. I am good at Christian ‘Simon Says’ player.” However, many around me were lifting up their hands. I worried for their souls. God doesn’t have room for those who can’t follow His instructions.
The singer continued with a second round of requesting that we “lift up our heads.” He saw some folks raising their hands, so he raised one, too. Ha! A trickster! Again, I felt good about my distance from eternal damnation, as my head was, in fact, quite lifted. Not so much from the throngs behind and beside me who ignorantly raised hands and not heads. I could smell burning flesh.
Pretty Bride was also keeping in the Lord’s good graces with her head and hands. Good thing. If the Mormons are right, we’ll still be hitched in eternity, and my ability to cook and do laundry has atrophied horribly since getting married. I’d hate to be hungry and stinky in Heaven.
I glanced around to see if any of my friends had their heads down or hands up–just in case I want their friendship in the afterlife. I saw someone who took the parking place I wanted with his Honda Odyssey earlier that morning. His hands were up. I looked upon his mistake and knew that it was good, as there may be parking spaces in Heaven, and I certainly don’t want his Odyssey in mine. There’s a barn behind Heaven where he can park, but instead of a cranky innkeeper, the Ghost of Christmas Future will send him there.
If borderline sacrilege is how you celebrate the conclusion of 9/11, check out these funny blogs and show your love for the Muskrat. Also, feel free to give love in the comments to Pretty Bride, who turned 34 today–the decidedly worst live birth anniversary there can be in our great nation.