The Wizard of Oz and Church

Dorothy (The Wizard of Oz one) and her peeps are all the rage in this home of mine. Halloween and all its magical wonder has taken over. The glitter is already worn of the toes of her ruby reds and her blue and white checked dress that arrived 3 days ago is stained with all manner of dirt and paint and toothpaste. I am rather certain that she dressed herself for church before I was awake, so that I would have zero say so in her outfit choice. Proud little Dorothy was reared and ready to go in her Sunday best at the crack of dawn.

Making our way to church was typical: Dorothy fussing at Toto for barking too loud, me (Glinda) having to oil the Tin Man because he is so rusty and SLOW, while the Munchkin blows out her diaper and poos all over Glinda, and for the first 5 minutes of the car ride, it seems there is a land that I am dreaming of that feels really far from the current one.

I was sitting in church, nursing the munchkin, staring at my husband's dirty feet and hands wondering if he forgot to wash them in the shower and simultanelously loving that his hands are always caked in dirt of some sort. Always...because his hands are in the business of being useful and creative. Reaching for his dirty hand in church, I was reminded, as I am most Sundays of why I go to my church.

I am very certain that nobody else noticed his dirty nails and if they did, they would understand them. And, why they were understanding dirty calloused hands, they were looking adoringly at my daughter who giggled her Dorothy self into my pew to steal my purse, while I unashamedly nurse my baby and struggle to see the Rev. who's face is blocked by the huge hat worn by the old granny in front of me. After the sermon, we have a meet and greet before receiving communion and everytime, Ms. Louise (another Granny) and I look for each other and talk about what we bought at the Farmer's market last Tuesday. Then, she kisses my cheek and her one long whisker tickles my face. And then we all hold hands and sing the Lord's prayer and I really believe that the hands I am holding know what it means to ask for daily bread and to long for God's kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. When I receive communion and I am holding my baby, her little forehead gets gently patted and blessed with some gentle words like, "may the Lord make His face to shine upon you." And then before it's all over, with a blessing from the Rev. and some good old fashioned church cookies and coffee, my kids are adorned with lipstick kisses from a variety of different grannies, most of which are eager to get home to watch their favorite NFL team win a football game.

It's a land I dreamt of for some time. It's not even over the rainbow and I don't have to click my heels to get there.



Now, don't you think the Tin Man needs to wear this instead?

Munchkins have dirty hands and feet too, right?