Hindered health among baptismal blessings

Yesterday, in a sweet ceremony attended by some of our dearest friends and relatives, our Lia was baptized. I thank God for the beauty of the day and the spirit of love that surrounded us. (Not to mention my blessed relief that attendees refrained from sparring with me regarding the sacramental significance of infant baptism. I simply wasn’t up for that, seminary education or not.)

Lovely as it was, I spent much of the morning feeling like Ariel from The Little Mermaid. I could barely speak, afflicted with laryngitis or some such vocal chord impediment. I croaked out a little testimony about Lia’s name and the gift that she is to our family, but after the service I felt seriously hampered in my inclination to “work the room” (the church fellowship hall, in that case). I had invited the two dozen extra people who showed up in our support, and they happily meshed with the rest of our congregation for the so-called Loaf-n-Ladle Luncheon afterward (thus dubbed, no doubt, to duck the theologically dubious term “potluck”). I wanted to serve as hostess, but about all I could do was sit in the corner and smile, hunched over a homemade bowl of white chicken chili sprinkled with fresh cilantro (“cheers” to whomever brought the fresh cilantro).

In a way, I suppose my hindered health was also a blessing of the Spirit. Anything that suppresses my false notions of being in charge and/or the center of attention seems good for my soul. Humility accomplished (an oxymoronic benediction).

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail;
Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end,
Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.