I've never done this in ten minutes!

After struggling to move lattice and lumber into my daughter's apartment yesterday evening, we got en route to church quite late. As we crossed in front of Our Lady of Fatima, I looked furtively down at my watch.

"He's not going to not let you play, you know," My wife said.

"We have a policy. You have to be in the nursery, ready to practice, fifteen minutes before Mass."

"Well why are we even going? We went to the ordination yesterday, so if you're not going to play, we don't have to be there."

I sighed. She was right of course. But I wanted to play, and as much as my wife tells I am anally retentive about following rules, watching the group from the pews would be an awful feeling. We barreled down Carling, through Bronson, down Glebe and hurled over to the church. As I dashed down into the nursery it was 7:46. There was nobody there.

I ran upstairs, my guitar, mandolin, and gig bag dancing all over beside me. As I hurried up the stairs the caretaker said, "Not to worry; he's still in the backyard. I'll get the mikes."

"No ****?" I said, referring to our folk group leader.

"Nope," She said, and went into the rectory. Somewhere at home, I thought, is a message on the answering machine telling me about this. But I hadn't been home.

I raced over to the filing cabinet and started pulling every vaguely Pentecost-themed hymn I could find. She came out with the mikes as I raced to get my guitar and gear plugged in. I knew I wouldn't need my mandolin.    

"I've never done this in ten minutes," I've said, gesturing at all the mike stands that were not set up. "Maybe we'll just throw up one mike, I'm the only one here."

"It will be fine," She said, "Everything will be alright." She started threading the microphone clip.

"Thank you," I said, believing her for a moment.

Two singers emerged, one from the pews, the other from the nursery stairs. Going to need the other mike, I thought. Sensing this, the caretaker started threading another mike clip. Quite helpfully, she offered, "I guess you have nobody for overheads, hmmm?"

"No, no," I said.

"Just make sure they are in order," she said by way of offering to do them.

Two more singers emerged. The priest, deacon, and monk were just outside the sanctuary ready to process. Our caretaker was still threading the last microphone as we sang, "How Great Thou Art."

It worked out. It always does. Thanks to angels - who come in more varieties than just the seraphim and cherubim. Sometimes they look just like the caretaker.