swollen

Every time I come to put up a new post at the end of a busy weekend, I'm tempted to title it with this particular song that coincidentally is running through my head.

Allelu-u-ia! Sing to Je-e-sus! 

His the scepter, his the throne!

Of course it's a song to give God glory for all the wonderful things in the world but it's also a song of complete and TOTAL thanksgiving for his unfailing presence in even the most frantic and stressful moments (more like days) of my life.

Saturday night, we put on a fundraising dinner for pilgrims going to World Youth Day. We invited the whole parish and even some from outside of the parish but ended up with a group of about 80. Without going on and on about all the details let me just say that I was  f a r   b e y o n d nervous about whether or not it was going to come together. I imagine that if I had tried to remain in charge, white knuckling it all the way to the bloody end, the evening  probably would not have been as successful as it was. God really took the reigns and everyone, their best friend, and their mom (literally) rose to the occasion and went above and beyond to make the dinner p-e-r-f-e-c-t.

So instead of titling my post with the dominant lyrics in my head, I went with the one complaint I could come up with from the night. Swollen feet. For some reason I thought I should wear heals to look extra classy. Poor choice. Since Max's been born, I've wedged my feet into heals all of 3 times. Maybe.

And so as I sit with my feet elevated and throbbing, the same words continue to resound in my head and my heart. Alleluia! Sing to Jesus!