Today is the tenth Marriage Conference. I am astonished that we have pulled it off ten times. The caterer is a miracle worker, not losing her balance when the numbers for meals vacillate like the thermometer.

"Two more for lunch."

"One cancellation for dinner."

"They want to know if they can bring their kids since they can't find a babysitter?"

"Two gluten frees for Friday night and four vegetarians."

"No problem!" she calls from across the hall.

Then there is the pastor. I was cutting paper into ticket sized scraps for the raffle when he walked into my office. 

"I can't find my tickets so I am making some." Not the best use of my time the day before the event. He disappeared into the photocopy room.  In a minute he handed me four colors of tickets to choose from. I exhaled. One tedious task off my list. 

Some years I have had the benefit of indentured servants. College students who need an extra few points on their grade could squeak in and help with child care or setting up chairs. The high school service club sometimes sent a small army of altruistic teenagers wanting to earn a few hours toward the spring trip. But this year no such luxury is afforded us, and my own trusty six foot son is in Scotland. The nerve. 

But miracles seem to seep in when I least deserve them, and probably today will have its own share.