It breaks your little 2nd grade heart to see someone you admire so doing something so . . . not lofty. In truth, that never quite left me. I remember a choir to which my mother once belonged. There was a soprano who sang the solos for Handle's Messiah. She sang like the angels themselves. She wore a blue choir robe with a special golden sash because she was a soloist. She had mounds of curly golden locks that when the sun from the stained glass windows hit her made her seem as though she had a halo. Her name was even something like Angelique.
When she was not singing, I always sort of thought of her like this:
I think this is why people try hard not to allow me to do things. If a pick up a hammer or a plunger, someone grabs it out of my hands with a nervous, "Let me do that." But I want to help. I like to think that I can occasionally do things besides strictly priestly things.