“Lord, bless those who thought of coming to choir practice and decided not to, and next week please push them a little harder.” This was part of the choir director’s prayer at rehearsal on Wednesday.

We had only eleven singers there. That’s not really enough for the Hallelujah Chorus.

So on Sunday (with the strength at 13) we were exhorted to call and nag the strayed choristers, and to pounce on other members of the congregation and persuade them to join us just to sing the Easter music.

I still feel too much like the new girl to do much pouncing. I have been trying to persuade #1 son to come and sing, but he is being recalcitrant. I feel that, since he can sing, and there is a need for singers, he should do it. Like giving someone a ride if you have a car and they need a ride. He doesn’t agree with me on this.

Sunday school was filled with lengthy OT discussions (I mean off-topic, not Old Testament). They ranged from admiration of my Olympic bag (they passed it around and oohed and ahed far more than it deserved, the sweeties) to arrangement of a baby shower for a woman none of us actually knows “but we ought to do something.” It was marvelous to see these ladies organizing it. I have so often been in meetings at which the goal seems to be to commit to as little work as possible and belittle everyone else’s ideas, that it was a pleasure to see how easily a group of kind-spirited people can plan an event.

But the result was that I did not get into the choir room in time to practice the anthem. So I pulled out the music and read through it (silently, of course) during the children’s message. And stood, at the appointed time, to sing, and discovered — that I had the wrong music.

Fortunately, I had the opening line by heart, and I was able to look onto my neighbor’s music after that. My other neighbor claimed afterward not to have noticed anything amiss, so I guess it was okay.

After church, I had a call from someone at my former church — where I am still a member. She was telling me about the changes they are making. I have been getting a bunch of these calls. I have not yet transferred my membership to the new church. I have been there for a year. I like the church, I like the people, I like the higgledy-piggledy choir. They have shown degrees of love and kindness to me and to #2 daughter that are just overwhelming.

But somehow I haven’t yet committed myself to the new church. And when I get those “You should come back” calls, I think about it. I think that a lot of it is about my kids’ having grown up there. The people at the new church don’t know my children, except #2 daughter. My boys stopped attending church during the mess that ended in my leaving the old church. The new church knows me as an individual, not as a family. There seems more of a chance that the boys would return to the old church than that they would begin coming to the new one. But you know, after a year, I should just give it up and settle into the no-longer-all-that-new church.

Then I hemmed my skirt, finished and sent the encyclopedia article, baked a cake, talked with my daughters, and began knitting a baby bonnet for the upcoming shower. A reasonably productive day. And yet today I feel as though I am behind on things, and rushed. Maybe it was just a dream I had and don’t remember, or just one of those Monday feelings.