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Today, we went to the blessing of our new nephew. A joyous occasion, held in a church hall, attended by a small group of regulars – maybe 30 people – and all of EaZyD 's family.
Even before we got there, EaZyD and me, we were having a BAD week – building works, new equipment, pins and needles in my right hand – a deterioration disaster - and, as ever, on the day, despite massive effort, we were late which was, annoyingly, not uncommon for us and guaranteed to REALLY bug some of the family.
We crept into the back of the room, as much as you can in an ugly wheelchair that smashes into all the door frames and requires rearrangement of the four rear rows of seats! Perhaps no-one would notice us!
The service had started, and continued, with much gospel type singing and relating of miracles. Religion is not really my thing but each to their own. I began to nod my head along with the music and chill. My mind wanders; I refocus on the hand life was currently dealing us – misery!
I suddenly realise that the Minister is asking who wants to be blessed? I sit in silence but am getting a very bad feeling about this as the Minister, now roaming the room, seems to eye me hopefully – naturally I’m the only person in a wheelchair! I have a horrible suspicion that Faith, EaZyDs mum, a genuine believer has, in all good faith, set us up.
The Minister approaches, I do not catch his eye or look up at all. My worst fears are realised as the Minister says that ‘as Gods presence is so strong today’, he insists on blessing Faith’s whole family! Sotto voce, I say to EaZyD, ‘get me out of here, now.’ ‘How?’ he mutters.
I wish that I could turn to God to get me out of here...
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