Wet with the Dew of Heaven

Friday morning, I was pretty excited to go to an appointment with the sister missionaries. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't think I was going to be late to something. I had even woken Matthew up early from his nap to be on time. After I changed his diaper, we'd be all set to go.

As I began the wrestling match, I heard my phone ringing. It was from the missionaries, so I figured I should answer. I wasn't terribly surprised when they told me that the appointment was canceled since it's been more than three years since an appointment I was going along to wasn't canceled. I was just grateful I found out before I got to the empty apartment. (And not sure why I was excited in the first place, actually.)

I hung up the phone, finished putting a new diaper on Matthew now that I had two hands again, and stood up to throw the diaper away. After walking just a few steps, I realized that my shorts were totally soaked. I had taken a gamble answering that phone call before putting a new diaper on him, and I was now paying the wet, smelly price. I changed my clothes, cleaned things up, and laughed it off.

***

Today I played a musical number in church. I spent the first few talks of Sacrament Meeting wrestling with Matthew, oblivious to the time, so before I knew it I could tell the talk right before my piece was winding down. I had walked to church today and hadn't gotten a drink, so I was really, really thirsty. I definitely didn't need water in order to play the piano, but I sure wanted it!

I grabbed the cup Joseph and Matthew shared for water, unscrewed the lid and took a quick sip. Matthew reached over and splashed just a little bit on me before I managed to close the lid.

"Whew! That was a close one! Imagine if he had actually gotten more water on my skirt!" I thought. And then I looked down at it. Those few splashes were enough to make a giant wet spot on my champagne colored skirt.

Well, no going back now. I went up to the stand, played the piece, and walked back down, although I admit I did try to hold the music just so to cover up the spot . . . knowing all the while it would just draw attention to that area. Whatever. People who see wet spots can probably guess where they come from, which is usually water.

***

I've talked before about the fake (although great) quote attributed to Marjorie Pay Hinckley:

“I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.
I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.
I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children.
I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden.
I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.
I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.”

I don't know how exactly I will arrive in heaven, but my pants will probably be very, very wet.

Beats sticky cheeks and dirty fingernails.