Sunday, November 6, 2016

Butter Fingers

November 6, 2016 Lately it seems like everything I pick up, I drop. Friday, it was my bass. Today I preached at Falconer United Methodist, and was invited by the pastor to help serve communion, which I was glad to do. I was one of two serving the bread. I observed that when the communicant approached the server, the latter would break off a piece of the bread and hand it to the communicant, so I followed suit, which went well for awhile. For awhile. When we were about halfway through the line, I handed a piece of bread to a little old lady who didn't quite get a grip on it before I let go. The bread bobbled, I reached for it as it bounced twice from my grip before hitting the floor. It looked like that commercial where the guy is fumbling his phone across traffic and through the house before losing it in the swimming pool. The communion decorum was completely lost as I noticed those behind shaking as they tried to conceal their mirth. After church, as I walked to the parking lot, I phoned my friend Harry to arrange rides to band rehearsal this afternoon. I put my phone in my pocket as I always do, mounted my bike, and headed for home. I hadn't gone a quarter mile before I noticed my pocket didn't have its normal phone bulge. I turned the bike around, drove slowly back to the church parking lot, scanning the lane I had just occupied. Nothing. Not even a squashed phone. A search of the parking lot revealed nothing. I repeated the circuit. Twice. Still no phone. I had to get home to grab a bite before rehearsal, so I had to let it go. Linda called the pastor to see if anyone had turned in a phone, to no avail. This afternoon as I rushed to rehearsal, I grabbed a cup of coffee to go and placed it in the mug holder in the console of Linda's car. It was too hot to drink, so after just a couple sips, I left the rest and went to rehearsal. When it came time to come home, I loaded my borrowed bass into the car, sliding it into the backseat with the neck between the two front seats and above the console. You know where this is going, don't you? Yep. Unknown to me, the neck nudged the nearly full mug, dribbling its contents into the mug holder next to it. Fortunately, Linda had a supply of restaurant napkins in the glove box, but I know that more coffee entered the mug holder than I sopped out of it. Where the rest of it went, I don't know. Adding all this to my dropped bass, I'm getting a bit nervous about holding onto much of anything. I seem to be...losing my grip. But I am thankful tonight that Jesus doesn't lose his grip on me. Unlike that unruly piece of bread or my slippery phone, I have too often actively tried to wiggle out of God's grip, but fortunately, his hold is strong and secure. Jesus himself said it in John 10:27-29. "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand. I may be butter fingers, but God is not, for which I am thankful tonight.

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