“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will save it.”
People from the First Alliance Church of Worcester picked us up this morning for our weekly God time. The service reminded us of all the painful reasons we cannot wait to leave (worship songs that sound more like dirges; endless advertisements for activities we have no intention to participate in; sermons that range from thoughtful to ones like today, which were just deadly and endless).
Because it is the first Sunday of the month, afterwards we took part in Fellowship Hour, a time when many people from church stand around chatting (awkwardly, in our case) and eating food of questionable quality. I say questionable quality because today the food offering included an enormous plate of muffins. A homemade-from-a-box sheen radiated off their shiny, oddly pelleted tops. Ian and I approached after carefully suiting up in the appropriate protective garments and each obtained one of the type that we speculated might be blueberry. I carefully pulled off a bit of the muffinlike item with my thickly gloved hand, inserted it into my primed but anxious mouth, and chewed. Ian and I exchanged cautious glances, tongues simultaneously trying to categorize the food experience we had just embarked upon.
My palate identified it as blueberrylike muffing product. I passed my quarter-eaten muffin off to Ian, as I hope to avoid getting cancer before age 50. Then we looked at the sign next to the muffins and read
Blueberry muffins Artificial flavoring with imitation blueberries.
Yes, I think that description accurately reflects the blueberry pellets (in size and shape rather like the rabbit pellets we fed our rabbit before we discovered his unfortunate demise by following the smell to his half-decomposed body under the back porch) I observed on the pasty, impossibly white muffin-item I partially consumed. I can only hope my DNA has strong enough repair mechanisms to combat whatever I inadvertently consumed during the Fellowship Hour. If this blog abruptly ends, tell Mom I loved her – and stay away from the blueberry pellets.