I had arrived before the sound engineer, which pleased me because I always seem to keep him waiting. When I opened up my guitar case I was dismayed to find a broken D. Smarter people than me pack a spare, but I was up a creek. Usually there is another instrument in John's office but if there was it eluded me. When I called John to ask him to look at home he said he had been hunting for keys for twenty minutes. Although there were two cars in the driveway he was about to start hoofing it. Benjamin is not known for his penchant for walking so I was dubious. But I had to start setting up the mikes and music stands. John and Ben arrived before the sound guy and when he opened up the printed program he let out a howl.

"It says the title of the service is Confusion!" 

"What is the real subject?" I asked while tuning the guitar I had eventually gotten hold of. 

"Cooperation." Sounded like a prediction. The sound tech came through the door and started hooking up the right cords. It felt pretty last minute to me, and I wondered if the music would suffer. 

But by the time the congregation actually streamed in, our voices were pouring out of the speakers like ribbons. My twins and I sang with abandon, as we abandoned all the mistakes of the morning. The service was lovely. 

Sometimes marriage gets confusing behind the scenes. One time when my pointer was poised to ring the door bell for a holiday party I overhead yelling going on behind the closed door. By the time it opened and the hostess welcomed me in, everyone but the youngest sons were all smiles and cordiality. They were not done pouting about forced labor. 

Although the table looked like a magazine cover, and the conversation was decked with gaiety I knew that there had been strife. It reminded me that even a picture perfect scene may have come at a cost to the people putting it on. 

Somehow it helps me give myself slack when I am the one scrambling.