handshake helper.

26 Apr
C. and I have spent a bit of time together lately. He likes it when I come over to his house to play and the feeling is mutual. I enjoy it when his parents invite me over to hang out. I’ve been over a couple of times for dinner and after-dinner games of car racing, I Spy, and Guess Who. C. and I, we’re pretty good friends now.
So on Sunday, the minute the closing hymn was over and “Go in peace; serve the Lord!” was proclaimed, C. left his parents and sister in the pew and ran out to the narthex to greet me. He threw his hands around me in a hug and then still wanted my attention as the rest of the congregation was leaving and trying to shake my hand – my hand that had a four year-old attached to it. I asked C. if he wanted to help shake hands with me. He nodded yes enthusiastically.
He stood next to me and shook every hand I did until the last congregation members had exited the sanctuary. I think the congregation members enjoyed it. “Oh, you have a helper this morning!” Apparently, C. tells his parents that he wants to be a pastor when he grows up. And a policeman. And a doctor. And a fireman.

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