Good seat, good seat. I’m feeling alright about my selection today. Few rows back from the front, good entry and exit points. People in front of me look to be of average height, unlike that freakishly tall family I’ve been sitting behind lately. It’s going to be a good Sunday.
Wait, what’s this? The guy next to me has a pack of gum out. I love gum. So many flavors, so many varieties. They’re doing so many fun things with the packaging and the presentation too. You can buy it in little hip cylinders or flip open packets like 5 and it lasts longer like Stride and it even whitens you’re teeth when you’re not looking. And don’t get me started on Orbit Mint Mojito. Unlike their pomegranate flavor which disintegrates the second you put it in your mouth, that Mojito is like a taste bud log flume ride.
We are truly living in the golden age of gum. When my parents were growing up they only had two flavor choices, “Spearmint” and “regular.” I don’t even know what that means.
Ohh, and he’s got the new trident layer gum. I’ve seen the commercials, that’s like a sandwich made out of rainbows. And he caught me looking at it, so at this point he’s probably going to offer me a piece.
If he hadn’t seen me, he might be worried that to offer me a piece unexpectedly would make it seem like he believed I had bad breath. Kind of like that time that lady next to me offered me a tissue in the middle of service because she thought I needed to blow my nose. That was like a middle finger of courtesy. In one stroke she said both, “here’s a helpful tissue” and “shut up.”
But he should share, right? This is church after all. Like the band Casting Crowns sang, if we are the body, why aren’t our hands sharing gum?
He’s thinking about it right now. I can see him weighing whether he should close the flap of that little box and put the gum back in his pocket. Maybe he’s waiting for the meet and greet time. Maybe when we’re supposed to say, “Good morning, good to see you,” he’ll slip it into my hand all secret like so that he doesn’t set off a gum chain reaction, being forced to give everyone in a two row radius gum until his box and possibly his hope, is empty. Maybe that’s his plan.
Or … he’s going to wait until the offering. That makes sense too. He could put a check in the basket as it goes by and then hand me a piece of gum, saying, “This tithe is for God, this “Cinnamon Tingle” is for you. I’m open for either approach really, gum now or gum later, just as long as he makes with the gum.
What would Jesus do? He’d multiply the gum and give everyone a piece. Clearly. I’m not asking for a miracle though, just a little cool mangoberry.
OK, he put it away. That’s alright. Maybe he’s not ready to rush into a gum relationship. I can respect that, but I hope he knows that I’ll be right here waiting for gum.
