I know, I know. You're thinking to yourself, "Self, are you kidding me? Is Kristi really going to write about this? Is she going to share this with the whole internets?" I say to you, "Yes, Internets, I am." Because I'm all about truth. And transparency. And mining every single piece of my life for comedy
I share this because everyone does it. And everyone blames it on someone else. Unless they can't.
A couple of years ago, I was invited to participate with an amazing organization called Operation Care International. It's an awesome organization that helps the homeless. I was so stoked to get attend a meeting and help out at one of their trademark events. Several of us at my church had become friends with the founder of the organization, and she asked us to attend a meeting that weekend. When we showed up, it was all Board members and Chairpeople and several other members all dressed in suits, ties, and super fancy Sunday clothes. There were no volunteers there save my little rag-tag group, and we all showed up in jeans to the meeting, so I was already feeling a *little* out of place.
The meeting began and the Head of the Board came to the front to begin the meeting in prayer. Excellent. I like to pray. I like God. Good start to a meeting. Then he asked us all to kneel at our tables. Okay, still cool with that. My knees may sound like firecrackers when I kneel, but they still bend. Life is good.
The whole room of probably 60 people knelt at their tables, heads on the seat of their chairs, and the prayer began. I remember making it through, "Dear Lord" and a few lines of prayer when I felt a rumble. A deep rumble. A not-of-this-Earth rumble. A-oh-my-Lord-please-don't-let-this-happen-to-me rumble. A I-am-going-to-pass-gas-and-there-is-no-way-to-keep-it-from-happening rumble. A this-may-cause-a-small-earthquake-or-perhaps-destroy-a-small-country rumble.
We've all felt it. You know you have. Don't lie. And usually when the feeling hits, you let your body do its job and all is good in the world (and your bowels). This wasn't one of those times, though. I was in a room full of strangers, except for my five friends. It's quiet. We are PRAYING, for Pete's sake. Who farts during prayer? AND there's not even anyone around to blame it on...no dog... no cat... no small, defenseless little human in a diaper. Nada.
I began to REALLY pray in earnest then. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God, please. Oh Lord, no. Oh God, please don't let me fart. Don't let it happen, Lord. Oh God. Oh God, no. Oh God, please. Please, Lord. No. Please. Oh God."
And then my prayer changed, "Please. Please, don't let that smell, Lord. Oh God. Please Lord. Oh God, please. Please don't let that smell. Oh God. Oh Lord, please. Thank you Lord for letting it be silent, but oh God please, don't let it be deadly. Oh, God. Oh God. Oh Lord. Oh No! Not again. PLEASE LORD. Please. No. Oh God, please. Please, don't let that one smell either. Lord, oh please. Oh God, please let them finish praying quickly, Lord. Please God. Please."
And He listened.
The prayer ended. I have never been so thankful. I'm not even sure I said amen, truthfully. I was too busy trying to gingerly get up without passing more gas, looking at the little old lady behind me to see if she had passed out, and pretending like I was touched by the prayer. Thankfully, she looked serene, and not like she was choking to death on noxious fumes. She even smiled at me. I tried to smile back, but I was worried that a smile might be too much of a strain because all my concentration was focused on the muscles I was using to hold any other errant bubble of loveliness back.
When I look back on that day, I have to think that God may have enjoyed my prayer more than the pastor's. I bet He and Jesus were up there laughing Their Holy Heads off. I sometimes even wonder if that's why the second one escaped, despite my pleas. He had to have found the situation funny. I know if I had been the One in charge I would have. I would have even zapped the poor soul with another one just for a giggle. Everything for a purpose, you know?
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