Come to me, all you whose bladders are burdened...and I will find you a restroom

As my friend, Rachel, described it, her church's version of the Stations of the Cross would be presented in an extra-special fashion this year. "It's called Shadows of the Cross," she explained, going on to say that actors behind an illuminated screen would be representing each step of this mini-pilgrimage depicting the last moments of Jesus's life. I was fascinated. Yeah...it sounded a bit like Little Bunny Fru Fru but I'm pretty open-minded to different biblical interpretations so I was definitely on-board.

Naturally, I guilted my friend, Joan into going with me. She speaks Catholic so I figured she could interpret for me if I got confused. "First of all," she hissed, shoving me unceremoniously into a pew, "people kneel and genuflect before taking a seat. We don't bow like we're meeting the Emperor of Japan." Oops. My bad.

I glanced around the beautiful church with interest. I've been begging my pastor to replace the Colonial America-themed window valances in our church for over a year now. Maybe the stained glass windows here would inspire him. I wonder how much they cost? We could do a fund-raiser. Maybe throw a spaghetti dinner.

The choir was warming up in the balcony. Oooo...a balcony. I made another note for my pastor. Rachel hinted there might be a chant or two. The only chant I have committed to memory are the guards patrolling the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West. Oh-we-oh, we-o...o! I could jump in if need be. The coffee I had had with dinner kicked in following Station Number One. I am not a child, I scolded myself, this can wait. How long could this possibly be?

 (I'll pause here while you laugh hysterically)

By Station Three, I had embarked on a mini-pilgrimage of my own. "Where are the restrooms?" I asked a mother corralling a herd of toddlers in the back. She gave me complicated directions that would take me to the front of the church, looping around the confessionals, down a ramp, through two rooms, down the stairs...never-mind...I am not a child. I can wait. I returned to my seat. I refrained from bowing this time. The narrator was talking about an empty vessel. I sighed empathetically. Station Six. Almost there. Or wait. Was I thinking about the Ten Commandments? "How many stations are there?" I whispered. Joan looked at me solemnly, "Fourteen." I reached out in horror and nailed her leg. Yes. I am certain there will be bruises. I then began implementing every yoga move known to man...I tried settling my unsettled pelvic floor. I practically jiggled Joan out of the pew. My posture was extraordinary.

Around Station Eleven, I hit what can only be compared to as a Runner's High. I've got this, I thought to myself, practically euphoric, before an overly-long song brought me abruptly back to earth. By this point, no one in that church was praying as fervently as me. Although Joan, positioned downstream from me, was probably a close second.  As the stations came to a close, the priest concluded the meaningful service with a prayer. Turns out, a significant difference between my style of worship and Catholicism, is that, in my world, "Amen" equals "Thanks, Lord...over and out." In a Catholic service, "Amen" is the equivalent of "You said it, brother (or sister)! Let's pray some more!"  After I blasphemously half-stood three times, it was over and I was hurdling pews, diving around the confessional, barreling through a room of de-robing teen-agers ("You guys were great," I shouted), and sliding down a flight of stairs while chanting The Star Spangled Banner. I slammed the door, danced a mad jig, momentarily keeled over as a panicked seizure threatened to take over my body, pounded the wall, and then...stuck the landing. No one in that church was as thankful as me.

I apologized profusely to Joan as we left the church. "The Shadows of the Cross far exceeded my expectations," I told her, "What a meaningful way to contemplate the sacrifice of Christ. I'm sorry that I distracted from that. Unfortunately, my spirit was willing but my bladder was weak."