Just Hold It

I have decided that the two worst places to be embarrassed are 2nd grade and church.

 

Not necessarily in that order.

 

Do something stupid in 2nd grade and it will follow you all of your life. They’ll give you a nickname that will haunt you the rest of your days.

 

Something like Booger.

 

Maybe it’s easy to be embarrassed at church because we’re so vulnerable there.

 

We sing, actually out loud in front of people. We pray which puts us at quite a disadvantage if that’s if ninjas decide to attack.

 

And you’re not supposed to get up and just wander around.

 

I guess in some churches, wandering around is accepted and maybe even encouraged. We went to a revival at this local church several years ago where a woman ran in a big circle around the congregation the entire service. She was screaming something that I couldn’t make out.

 

It sounded like, “there’s a scorpion in my girdle,” but I couldn’t be sure.

 

But in my church, just getting up at random times and walking around is usually discouraged.

 

Which made my plight even worse.

 

I play keyboards in our little church band. I sit up on stage behind this big keyboard with a light shining down on me.

 

It’s hard to do normal things while sitting up there in the spotlight.

 

Like pick your nose or dig your pants out of your crack.

 

Any movement and people’s eyes are immediately drawn to it. Which made what happened next quite a conundrum.

 

Or, as my granddaughter says, “You’re in a pickle, Pippy!”

 

Yeah, I was in a pickle.

 

We’re playing along just like we do every week, and about halfway through the second song, it happened.

 

I had to go.

 

I don’t mean tinkle. I had to GO! And go NOW!

 

My wife and I both take a big handful of magnesium at night. It helps us sleep.

 

But it also has a pretty nasty side effect. It turns you into a goose.

 

You even watched a goose walk around? When they need to do their business, they don’t run into the bushes or squat over a hole.

 

They just go. Who cares? They are apparently not easily embarrassed like us.

 

I needed to go and if I didn’t get to a restroom soon, the inside of the church would look slightly worse than the Battle of Gettysburg.

 

But I couldn’t just get up and make a scene. That would be only slightly worse than painting the walls of the church a nice new shade of brown.

 

I looked out into the congregation and tried to signal my wife that I was in crisis. She loves the worship part of church and was oblivious to my pinched facial expressions.

 

I wasn’t sure what she could have done for me in this situation anyway. Run and get me a bed pan? Put down some of those absorbent puppy pads around my piano bench?

 

None of these would have helped anyway. I couldn’t stop playing long enough to get on top of that bedpan.

 

So, I soldiered on.

 

Somehow I finished that song without getting up and dashing towards the back door. And I couldn’t do that. People might think I was filled with the Holy

Spirit or maybe I have worms.

 

The song ended. Here was my chance.

 

And then the band started right into the next song. My escape window had passed. I would have to get through this last song before something happened that would get me excommunicated not only from our church, but probably from my own family.

 

I squeezed my knees together. I bit my tongue. I prayed.

 

“Lord, allow this to pass from me,” was what I was going to pray but decided that this request could very easily be misinterpreted by God and the waters of the muddy Nile may be unleashed immediately.

 

The only thing I could think to pray was, “God, please!”

 

He must have heard me because my distress seemed to ease a little.

 

‘I’ll get through this,’ I told myself. ‘I’m strong and apparently I don’t have to wait in line for God to answer my prayers. I must be very holy.’

 

That was the wrong affirmation.

 

God must have been listening to that last part and his answer was swift and strong.

 

“Holy? Huh! We’ll see about that.’

 

And with that, the cramps came back with a fury. Oh, no! God was about to teach me and my stupid mouth a lesson.

 

I clinched my teeth. Crossed my eyes. Pressed my feet into the floor hard enough to dislocate both knees. And I kept going.

 

And I suddenly realized who was behind this. Other than the magnesium. It was Satan himself.

 

He knew my weaknesses.

 

Puppies. Roller coasters. Peppermint Schnapps. Holding it.

 

We were getting close to the end of the song and I could feel the battle between good and evil being fought in my bowels.

 

Satan was determined to get me banned from every church south of Macon.

I was about to say, ‘Satan, get behind me,’ but considering that was where the problem was, I resisted.

 

Just one more chorus. Please Lord, help me keep it in for just one last chorus.

 

Just a few measures away until sweet release.

 

And then the praise leader did something unexpected. He got caught up in the moment and decided to sing another chorus.

 

NO!

 

We’ve already played the chorus like 498 times. I know God loves to be praised, but singing it through one more time seemed like a little overkill to me.

 

I wondered what would happen if I just blurted out, “Come on, man! I’m dying over here!”

 

There would be gasps from the congregation. A scornful look from the pastor.

 

It would be my last day in the band.

 

So once again, I clenched and silently said a couple of Hail Mary’s and then the Lord’s Prayer, hoping God would show me just a smidge of mercy.

 

I guess he must have heard me because the worship leader finally brought the long, repetitive song to a close.

 

I was free!

 

I ran down the aisle like a fat guy trying to smuggle a honey-baked ham out of the store in my pants.

 

I needed to run. But I didn’t want to jar anything loose.

 

It was like running with a vial of nitroglycerin.

 

Remember all those cowboy movies where they would transport nitroglycerin in a train and one tiny vibration would blow up the entire state of Oklahoma?

 

It was kinda’ like that.

 

Luckily nobody stopped me to talk. That happens a lot in the lobby of our church where people hang out and try to draw you into conversations about such exciting topics as which was the best leftover donut in the box or quantum physics.

 

I wasn’t sure what would have happened if somebody was already in the bathroom stall.

 

If it was occupied, I would have probably pulled the fire alarm. Hey, if this wasn’t an emergency, I don’t what is.

 

Luckily, no one was in the bathroom. No need to call the fire department.

 

In the end, all was well.

 

Satan was vanquished. God reigns.

 

I’m still in the band.