Deodorant really works. I have never tested this theory. I just took it at face value. I assumed this to be fact just like fire burns, or toad pee causes warts, or cottage cheese makes cellulite. I never felt tempted to test these statements. I am the gullible kind of girl that just believes what my mother tells me.
Well, now that I have turned 30 everything has changed. Sunday morning I got ready for church just like every weekly holy day -- by throwing cloths on at the last minute and yelling, "Eat your pop tart, NOW!" and "I have told you to put your shoes on 7 times!" or "No, you can not take baby Jesus from our nativity to church. Why? Why, you ask? Cause Jesus is already at church, that's why." and sometimes I bring Christ to the center of it all "For the love of sweet Jesus, you cannot bring pats of butter in your pants to church."
Yes, these are real phrases spoken often on the Holy Sunday Mornings. So it was typical that I was trying to find a shirt that didn't have to be ironed to wear with my least dirty pair of jeans and spike heeled boots that I thought dressed it up at little. We ran out the door while I buttoned up my silk blouse. We were on our way.
Now most people would assume we were hurrying in an attemp to not walk into church during the middle of praise and worship or at least not during the beginning prayer -- these are all great goals, but not ours. We were trying to get out of the door in time enough to drive though Starbuck's. This is way better incentive for us than morning prayer. If we are past 10:45 you can kiss a nonfat, half caf, venti vanilla latte out the window buddy. This is all too devastating on a morning in which I will praise my Lord and Savior not only for his gift of Jesus, but that Starbuck's saw it fit to put a beautiful franchise less than a mile from my new church. Hallelujah.
Our church is fairly laid back so we sit down in our chairs drinking Starbuck's in our jeans and saying hello to everyone just as the music starts playing. We have this down to the second. I swear by the love of my sweet Jesus that I do not know what overtook me during praise and worship -- maybe it was the bright lights, the hot vanilla latte, the extra 10 pounds from Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, or the holy hula I was doing; but I started sweating like a pig. My arm pits were flowing like a three year old pouring a glass of milk. I was drenched. I was afraid to lift my arms due not only to the fact I knew I had sweat rings, but that I would drench my daughter standing beside me. I was afraid my armpit sweat would overtake her and soon she would be standing in a pool of sweat fighting for her last breath as she tried to doggie paddle to safety.
So I did what any respectable classy woman in a worship service would do, during prayer I unbuttoned my shirt, stuck my hands in my armpits and pulled out my fingertips and smelled. My breath caught in my chest as I uttered three little words, "I forgot deodorant."
Well praise be to God once again that a grocery store is less than half a mile from the church also. I was there and back before the sermon started with a hint of power fresh in the air. I thank The Maker of Heaven and Earth for Deo for my B.O. So does the congregation.