So I'm at this wedding reception and I go to get a drink, only to realize they've run out of beverages. "Why do I always find myself in these situations?" I mutter. "Am I the only organized person on the face of the earth?" I look around and see that no one is rushing to remedy the problem at hand and decide it's once again time to get involved.
I hate this! Part of me chides, "Let it go, Mary. The world won't end and you won't die if this party goes on without anything to drink." Then I notice the bride sipping from the bottom of her wine glass. I look at my watch. Three hours left--to dance, socialize, and get thirsty. I can't let this happen. I suck it up and casually stride over to her mother, the hostess. I kindly offer to "help" replenish the beverage station. She gives me the you're-only-a-guest-here stare and I flit away red-faced. For a moment I'm tempted to become part of the fresh floral arrangments and keep my mouth shut. But then, I wouldn't get watered.
My reputation is again superceded by the needs of others and I march with determination toward my son. Not only is he well respected (unlike us "controllers") but he's got connections. I explain the problem only to hear him say he'd rather not be bothered with it at the moment. This time I perservere; he knows what I'm all about. And I know he's my son and I'm his mother. In a few moments I'm giving orders to the attendants. They scurry about without question as guests look on, including the hostess, wondering who I think I am. I don't care. We need drinks.
Long story short, the bridegroom was quoted in the Cana Times for serving the best wine in Galilee at his wedding. My name was never mentioned, nor did anyone ever thank me for saving the day and the wedding. Do I care? Never! It was my Son's doings, anyway. He did tell me later that they needed me. That was enough. But I do hate to control. Really.
(This story adapted from the Gospel of John, chapter two.)
I hate this! Part of me chides, "Let it go, Mary. The world won't end and you won't die if this party goes on without anything to drink." Then I notice the bride sipping from the bottom of her wine glass. I look at my watch. Three hours left--to dance, socialize, and get thirsty. I can't let this happen. I suck it up and casually stride over to her mother, the hostess. I kindly offer to "help" replenish the beverage station. She gives me the you're-only-a-guest-here stare and I flit away red-faced. For a moment I'm tempted to become part of the fresh floral arrangments and keep my mouth shut. But then, I wouldn't get watered.
My reputation is again superceded by the needs of others and I march with determination toward my son. Not only is he well respected (unlike us "controllers") but he's got connections. I explain the problem only to hear him say he'd rather not be bothered with it at the moment. This time I perservere; he knows what I'm all about. And I know he's my son and I'm his mother. In a few moments I'm giving orders to the attendants. They scurry about without question as guests look on, including the hostess, wondering who I think I am. I don't care. We need drinks.
Long story short, the bridegroom was quoted in the Cana Times for serving the best wine in Galilee at his wedding. My name was never mentioned, nor did anyone ever thank me for saving the day and the wedding. Do I care? Never! It was my Son's doings, anyway. He did tell me later that they needed me. That was enough. But I do hate to control. Really.
(This story adapted from the Gospel of John, chapter two.)
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