My daughter’s a reader and was with her mother at one of those bookstores that has books and music and a vast collection of assorted other stuff, and she said (my wife told me with great admiration), “Get me out of here before I start wanting things!”
Then, we had spent the morning stuffing Christmas gift bags to distribute through the Baltimore County Public Schools Office of Homeless Education (an annual tradition at the church), and with close to three hundred bags stuffed, we were preparing to make a line from the Fellowship Hall (where we stuffed the bags) to the Sanctuary, so we could pass the bags, one by one, from one person to another, out the hall through the lobby, into the narthex, down the center aisle of the sanctuary to place them before the altar table.
But my daughter had her dance class. She had already changed into her dance clothes and now trudged dejectedly beside me, head slumped down and forward, toward the door. “I did all the work,” I heard her mutter, “but I don’t get to do the best part.”
I stopped. “You know, we can stay and you can pass some of the bags and we’ll just be a little late for dance. I think that’d be just fine.”
She stopped, considered that for a moment, then put her head back down and resumed her slow march to the door. “No, if I start passing bags, I’ll want to stay to pass them all.”
I’m so proud.