This Sunday, it was not my kids.
Do you know how wonderful it is to write that? Not mine. But the kid sitting behind us.
The pastor had launched into one of his infamous illustrations that he was pushing a little too much, and he knew it. He even admitted it, saying "Ok, I'm working that one a little too much, aren't I?" Then took a breath to go on.
In that half second of quiet while he drew his breath, the loud, clear voice of the little boy behind me was heard.
"Mommy, what is he talking about?"
We all laughed, even the pastor. He said, "And that is about what everybody is probably thinking right now!" And again he took his breath to start, and again, right before he said the next word, the confused boy spoke up again:
"Mommy, I don't know what he is saying!"
I felt for the mom, honestly I did, but I giggled and enjoyed the little voices - especially since they did not belong to MY kids this Sunday!
1 comment:
So funny! And I definitely understand about it being enjoyable that it wasn't your kid this time all the while you were feeling for the other mother. :-)
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