A while back, I was asked if I could give a witness talk in early March. I agreed, and I came up with the perfect talk on “The Eucharist and My Love of It.” I was sure that what I had to say was just what my unsuspecting audience needed to hear. I ran it by Number One Fan and Padre and started practicing.

On Friday, I found out that the title of my talk was something completely different. There it was, in black-and-white, just daring me to argue: “Special Celebrations of the Eucharist and What They Have Meant for My Life.”

Insert groaning.
Insert griping.
Insert whining.
Insert kicking and screaming.
Insert a few tears.

This was not what I had prepared. This was not what I had in mind. And I was pretty sure what I had in mind was right, because of that call on the red telephone from the Holy Spirit and all.

But today, a very nice person gave me some pointers (a person who gets big credit for being honest about my talk – he loved it – and helpful with what I should be trying to say). And tonight, after I got done with the tantrum drama (God must REALLY love me), I went to the drawing board and discovered that someone had been scribbling on it.


Maybe that call on the red telephone was about something else…