Conspiracy . . . ?

I am not comparing myself to Jason Bourne or anything but I am beginning to suspect a conspiracy.

I recall not too long ago-last year, I believe it was-when I happened to be having an orientation session with my new pastoral intern. We were walking down a busy Washington, D.C. street together and I was animatedly talking about something (which I am quite sure was very important).

I’m not sure what happened next but if I recall correctly, I suddenly found myself sprawled on the street, having unwittingly tripped over something or stepped in a hole or (more likely) just basically unable to walk and talk at the same time.

As you might imagine, this made a stunning first impression on my new intern.  (And, come to think of it, life around here during her internship was, at times, not unlike lying sprawled in the middle of a busy Washington, D.C. street . . . but I digress.)  To this day I wholly admire her for not falling down herself–in raucous laughter.  It was the moment I knew she’d be a great pastor.

Leah was back again today, in town to visit and catch up-what fun! We had lunch together in a little Indian restaurant around the corner. It seems so long ago now, remembering the feeling of happiness when the waiter led us to a table in the front window . . . up to an elevated platform higher than the rest of the dining room. We could really catch up there without too much bother from any of the other diners, I remember thinking.

And we did. She’s a gem, really . . . or that’s what I thought until, in a moment of animated response I happened to move my chair backwards.

And fall off the platform.

It was soon after I managed to gather what little remained of my dignity, pull myself up off the floor, participate as waiters (and owner, I think . . . kitchen staff? There were a lot of people who came out . . .) lifted a large wooden screen off my toe (oh, yeah, I fell off the platform into a wooden screen, which fell over and hit a mirror then landed partially on my little toe . . .) that I started to think: why is it that I fall over into totally embarrassing physical positions in public places ONLY when I am with Leah?

It’s an interesting, if not burning, question to consider.

It could be a conspiracy . . . a retaliation for making her practice her first sermon in the sanctuary in front of just me?

I am still pondering the answer, but I think I like the conspiracy theory a lot more than the alternative conclusion that apparently I can’t walk OR sit and talk at the same time . . . ?