The Lord works in mysterious ways...

Thing 2, being a 7th grader, is due this year to begin her 2-year preparation for Confirmation. I have known since March that I have to submit her registration form for the class, but this year -- as with the last 3 or 4 years -- I waited until the last minute and handed in the form in the morning on the day classes began. This has never been a problem before, except that my children have been irked by the fact that their teachers never have their names on any list on the first day and their folders aren't personalized the way the other kids' folders are.

Whatevs.

This year, Thing 2 was determined that I would register her in a more timely manner for the Confirmation Level I class, scheduled for Sunday evenings. She asked me repeatedly since March if I had submitted the form, and repeatedly I told her to ask me at a time when I could do something about it instead of while I was driving home from work at 11 p.m. I finally caved to the pressure and had the completed form and a check in my bag for the week leading up to this past Sunday, when classes began. But there was always something preventing me from dropping off the form.

So there I was. As usual. Standing in the Religious Ed office at 10:00 a.m. Sunday morning to register my daughter for class beginning that evening. Except my fool-proof procrastination scheme failed this time. The Sunday evening classes were full. The registrar had already turned away 3 parents who shared my plan, and couldn't I register my daughter for Monday evening?

Well, no, I couldn't. So at that moment my journey to becoming a Catechist began. I became the new 7th grade religion teacher. I was handed a pile of teacher's editions and dvds about the calling to be a Catechist and mentoring young teens in a nurturing environment to accept the gifts of the Holy Spirit... What?! You hadn't heard about my love of The Young People and my boundless patience?

I'll just pause here while you laugh at me.

The first class was short because most of the time was spent in a group meeting with the director of the confirmation program. It went very well, although there were these two girls whom I immediately identified as girls I would have hated in junior high. (I'm in the middle of a heartfelt personal reflection about the struggle to explore my faith as a 12 year old in an incredibly secular environment, when "they" ask if "they" can use the bathroom. I said no.) One of the Moms, spying my ubiquitous knitting bag, gives me the official knitter sign of approval. I leave moderately enthusiastic about preparing a lesson for the next week.

Anyway, yesterday I got a call from the director of religious ed, informing me that an extra someone who is a middle school teacher and was going to teach on Mondays is available on Sundays. She was careful not to displace me, she was grateful that I stepped up so willingly, but wanted me to know that I could either cede the reins competely or arrange for a co-teaching scenario. She said that it is her experience that some of her best Catechists are people who fell into it much like I did -- accidentally -- but that the Holy Spirit calls us in those ways.

I am extremely happy. I am exhausted by the idea of preparing interesting and engaging lessons that a 12 year old might relate to. I would be overjoyed by getting to watch an experienced teacher do her thing. I have not been in a religion class since I made my own Confirmation in 1983, so I'm a little rusty. Plus they keep rewording the prayers to erase all poetry from them, so I'm just clueless. (Old Act of Contrition: "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest all sin for Thy just punishment..." New Act of Contrition: "OMG. I'm like sooooooo sorry and whatever. I am totally not going to do that again. 'K?..")

But her comment about the Holy Spirit leads me to two other possible conclusions.

1) My faith was tested -- would I sacrifice my time for the Church community's need? I jumped in without hestitation, and the Holy Spirit is now saying, "Right on, girl. You win the Wonka Factory. But let's face it -- you are too busy as it is, so you're off the hook." Like Abraham, now I gets the grace without killing my beloved son. This is a nice and, frankly, self-interested interpertation.

2) The Holy Spirit say me teaching and said, "Uh...No," and presented an alternative.

I been SERVED!

Thing 1 joined the Air Force Jr. ROTC this year. She's having a great time with it. One of her electives each year is Aeronautics, during which they learn - well, aeronautics in addition to military custom. She gets use of her very own Jr. ROTC uniform (owned by the United States Air Force) that she has to wear at least once a week and has the rank of "Cadet".

Anyway, last night, the Hubbins and I sat at the kitchen table, reading and signing the multitude of forms the kiddies brought home from school that day. I am focused on Things 2 and 3's forms, and the Hubbins has Thing 1's Jr. ROTC forms. The Girls are roller skating, jumping, and generally traipsing around the house at this time. The Hubbins closes Thing 1's forms, puts them in a folder, and walks away from the table.

I look at the folder. It has an Air Force Jr. ROTC insignia on it. I hold it up to Thing 1 and ask, "Do you realize that by signing up for this, you are choosing one of your parents and rejecting the other?" This gets her attention. I explain, "Families tend to serve in one branch of the military and one branch alone. If you are a Navy family, you serve in the Navy. If you are a Marines family, the Marines. Army, Army. Air Force, Air Force." She gets it, yeah.

"Well," I say, "My family is an Army family." She fills in the rest, "And Dad's family is an Air Force family?"

Well, this prompts all sorts of good-natured ribbing. Thing 1 delights in rejecting me. The Hubbins delights in being chosen. Much argument and giggling is had over whether superior air domination is more important that superior ground forces, etc etc. What war in modern times were won or lost on one or the other branch, etc.

The discussion continues this morning. Things 1 and 2 are getting ready for school and both are buzzing around downstairs. I say to Thing 1, "You know, if God meant for us to fly, he would have given us wings in stead of machine gun arms."

She responds, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted to fly."

I inform her, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted to eat."

Then, I gets wise, remembering the "4 Fs" of Intro to Psych -- the prime directives of our lizard brains. Thing 2 stands before me, so I decide to bait her with what I expect to be a smarty pants response about the Fourth "F", and as to which I can then make a mildly dirty joke.

I declare, with much authority, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted the 4 'Fs' -- fight, flight, flee, and procreation." I look smug, expecting to hear that "procreation" doesn't start with an "F".

Instead, Maura deadpans, "You said 'flight'."

OOF. I been served.