Dan Shows Up Late to Church

My husband, Dan, was late to church last week. Normally, that wouldn't be such a big deal, but last week was different. Last week, I was scheduled to sing a solo.

My sister-in-law and her mother were in town and came to our church that morning. In fact, they were early. I had told Dan he should get to church early too since my solo was scheduled for the beginning of the service.

My sister-in-law and her mother saved him a seat. They even prevented another attendee from sitting beside them, explaining they were waiting for someone.

The organ prelude ended, and the hour chimed. Still no Dan.

He is never late to church. The thought that something could be wrong tugged at the back of my mind, but I pushed it away as I came forward to sing.

I saw him slip in halfway through the solo, an aria from Handel's Messiah which, by the way, was less than two minutes in length.

Don't tell Dan, but I was more relieved that he was okay than upset that he walked in halfway through the solo.

Not wanting to let him off too easily, I gave Dan the I'm-watching-you sign after I returned to the choir loft. My sister-in-law thought I was glaring at her though and hastily gave me the thumbs up sign.

After the service was over, my sister-in-law texted my brother, telling him that Dan had shown up late.

"Uh oh . . . trouble in paradise," my brother responded, foreshadowing what was to come . . .

That afternoon, we tried to give him an out, coming up with a bunch of excuses.

"Was traffic was worse than usual?"

"No," he mumbled.

"Was it hard to find parking?"

He shook his head and changed the subject.

It was weird for him to be so vague. Usually, he would just tell us why.

"You're usually so punctual," I said after we had returned home that afternoon.

I paused.

"Except when you lose track of time doing computer stuff."

Silence.

"Were you playing a video game?!"

"Maybe . . ."

I texted my sister-in-law.

"DANIEL!" she texted back. "He was probably driving 80 miles per hour to church."

"I only ran a couple red lights," Dan replied.

"I thought about setting an alarm, but I didn't," he admitted later that day.

He also told me he grabbed the first parking space he saw and ran all the way to the sanctuary door.

He felt so guilty that he didn't even push back when I asked if I could blog about it. I think it's his version of penance.

I guess it is partly my fault. I buy Dan a new video game every time I have to abandon him for weeks at a time while rehearsing for a show. I suppose it was destined to come back and bite me.

Last Friday, I told Dan I needed to finish my blog post.

"That's fine. While you write, I can play Zelda!" he said.

"You might as well. It's about you playing Zelda anyway."

"Oh great."

"You lost your privilege to complain about this one!" I reminded him.

"I made it on time," he insisted.

"No you didn't."

"I heard most of it."

"That's not the same thing . . . "

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