I once was able to just walk out of church, get into my car and go about my daily business. Now, it’s as if I’ve been asked to escort caffeinated juvenile Rhesus monkeys, who happened to have forgotten to take their meds, through a fun-house made of banana taffy.
“For crying out loud, you’ve already gotten hand sanitizer, four times! . . .Those Bibles are for the guests! . . .That escalator goes up for a reason! . . . Every other second of the week you sprint everywhere but now your legs hurt? . . . Where’s your brother?! . . .Put down those used communion cups! . . .You don’t drink coffee! . . .Where. Is. Your. Brother?. . .”