Pardon the Interruption

Before today, my cell phone ringer had gone off exactly once during Sunday morning services.

That's once in the 18 years I've owned a cell phone, and during which time I can count on both hands the number of Sunday morning I have not been in church.

Until this morning my untarnished record was marred only by the Sunday when Boy#2 was a freshman at college and called to breathlessly report "I was just rear-ended at a stop sign on the way to church. What do I do?" My answer was obvious: "Here. I'm putting your father on the phone."

This morning Husband had left following early service to help Boy#3 get on the road for school after a rare fall weekend at home. I was sitting in the back row when the text ringer chimed. I dove for the phone, but not before at least three people around me whispered, "Go ahead and take it. We'll wait." Thanks, friends.

Husband wanted to make sure which portion of the bierocks I made yesterday was for Three to take back to his apartment. Okay, it's not exactly an emergency, but I could live with it.

A few minutes later, though, Husband's ring-tone sounded again. "The Bridge Over the River Kwai" is even more rousing when played during a solemn discussion of the lifestyle of early Christians. I grabbed the phone and ran outside.

"What?" I hissed. "I'm in class."

I could hear Husband and Three, but neither was paying attention to me.

"HUSBAND?" I yelled. "DID YOU NEED SOMETHING?"

Nothing. It was what I've heard discreetly described as a pocket dial. Eventually I hung up and the incident was closed.

I mentioned the disruption of class to Boy#1 this afternoon, and he was all sympathy.

"Why wasn't your ringer off?"

"I never turn my ringer off on Sundays. I don't carry my phone in my pocket like a Boy, so the vibrate setting isn't very useful."

"Really? I may have to start texting you every week during church like I do Boy#4."

Great.

Friends in Sunday school, please accept my sincere apologies in advance.