I had a meeting before church on Sunday and rather than take Brent's aging sedan, we prepped the girls early and headed over as a family. While I was in my meeting, Brent did something rather shocking, and downright indecent.
He switched pews.
See, we always sit in the very front, middle pew. As our family grew, we reasoned the closer we were to the speaker at the podium, the more likely we all were to listen. My years of business travel have scarred me for sitting in tight rows so the extra legroom is a bonus. Not to mention Brent likes to pack like he's hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro even when he's just walking a block away. It makes me cringe to see people tripping over his ginormous Land's End canvas bag (originally purchased for grocery shopping purposes only) as they scoot past us on tiptoe. The great secret about the front row is nobody wants to sit there, so we have it all to ourselves.
If we sat further back, the girls would likely see other children whose parents are a bit more generous with snacks and iPods during the 75 minute sacrament meeting. We didn't want our daughters getting ideas in their heads and while we are officially members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Brent and I must have come from strict Puritan stock. No snacks! No iPods! Sit up! Be quiet! We feel strongly our girls can make do with a handful of crayons, and a small notebook. Or rather, I feel strongly. Apparently Brent has changed his mind.
Fed up with not getting anything out of church, Brent thought sliding us to the side would somehow improve the situation. It certainly did for him- he had the older 3 sitting in the pew behind us, allegedly so he could interact with them easier than when they are spread out down a long bench. Turns out this is right in front of Sister Stewart, who absolutely spoils the girls with Oreos and coloring books and yes- her iPod. They happily colored, ate and swiped away. Brent didn't seem to notice he had planted us right next to a door and a large window. I spent sacrament with a steady flow of cold air on my legs with only a layer of "ultra sheer" Hanes nylons protecting me from the frigid onslaught. Brent sat happily in his dress shirt and pants, tie, and cozy vest wondering what my problem was.
Like a game of Jenga, Brent's move toppled so many other pieces in the church pew game. The Douglas' looked utterly lost and finally settled in behind the young men passing the sacrament. The head of the McMullin clan had decided to make a bold move similar to Brent's so the Martins (who sit behind us) had no choice but to take our place in the front row. Michelle Renzi who also sits behind us just looked sad, and lonely. Even Bishop commented about our move before he headed up to the stand. It was mayhem- utter bedlam, and afterward Brent and I engaged in a war of words not seen since the Clinton vs Trump debates. The whole thing was wrong, just wrong.
In the aftermath of it all, I've been thinking about the churches around Boston. Various trips down the Freedom Trail with visiting friends and family, Easter concerts and Midnight Mass and my own occasional meandering during my lunch hour gave me many opportunities to tour many a place of worship. Lots of them have a little plaque outside the pew, like this one at the Old North Church:
Brent and I are still divided on where we will sit this Sunday. I have to say I'm tempted to bring my label maker to firmly establish our pew and put an end to all this nonsense. No doubt our descendants will thank us for it.
And I'm certain our Puritan forbears will approve.
