It’s hard to imagine, as I sit here typing, that people back home are just now getting ready for church.  We, on the other hand, are settling in after day full of new friends and family.  It was a day of bible readings and song; a day of sharing tea with friends, and a big meal with extended family.  A day of laughing at our differences, and finding common ground in such things as cars or ice cream.  But most importantly, it was the day of Micah’s blessing.

It truly was precious.  Mom cried during the blessing, I cried during the sermon -  between the two of us, we had tears covered.  There’s just something special about being with a group of believers – you may  not speak the same language, but you serve the same God.  And we could not have been made to feel more welcome.  The pastor gave the blessing in both English and Swedish.  They even had an interpreter for the rest of the service.

And there lies my humiliation …

We were sitting right in front of the interpreter’s booth you see.  As the priest got up to say the final blessing, the interpreter said he couldn’t interpret since the priest was not wearing a mic.  Being ever so polite, I turned around to acknowledge – Chuckle, chuckle! Oh, that’s okay.  Only I didn’t mouth it; I said it–Out Loud.  With earphones on.  It was only when my mom punched my leg and I turned to see her look of mortification that I realized something quite possibly was amiss.

Oj!  Those stupid Americans …