I had to go early to church for choir practice today, so I took the car leaving my husband to get the kids ready and follow by bicycle.
After choir practice, I sought out my family so we could regroup and head to the service. Willing myself not to worry, I got into a light conversation about books while I anxiously watched the empty bike rack and tried not to imagine all of the horrible things that could have happened to my family on their way to church. Finally, with two minutes to spare before service, someone came in and announced that my husband and children had arrived.
I met my husband just as he’d settled our son in with the teens working in the nursery and together we ushered our daughter over to the meeting house. Sitting in the pew, I noticed something odd about my daughter’s apparel.
“Did you know you’re only wearing a shirt and a pair of tights?” I whispered to her.
My seven-year-old looked at me, looked down at her legs, then whispered back unconcerned, “Oh. I meant to put on a skirt, but I forgot.”