Sometimes the most difficult place to sit in church is at the piano bench. I have a great view of half of the church, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about what I see.

Case in point: two weeks ago I had the honor of playing piano for a funeral. I absolutely love playing for funerals, when all goes well, because it is an easy way to love on those who need loving on. [Please excuse the dangling preposition. School doesn't resume until Monday].

Well, for this particular funeral, the family had requested that it be kept simple. I had two hymns to play, and one song for the tech person to play from the sound booth. Ol' Handsome and I had a quick powwow prior to the service to review the order of service. I decided to be least distracting, I would simply stay at the piano through this short service. With the progeny seated throughout the sanctuary, "The Old Rugged Cross" rolled out.

All well and good. Then it was the sharing time, and we listened to a song. Then began the message. And I became aware of a tapping and whapping sound coming from the little landing on the way up to the balcony. I glanced up from where I was trying to sit demurely at the piano bench. Child B and Child E were sitting in the two chairs there. As brothers sometimes will, Child B was whapping Child E with a piece of plastic or string or something of the sort, and Child E was quietly giggling and egging it on. It was quiet, but still audible. Summoning all of my mom powers, I shot a glance at the boys. Child E caught my eye first. The smile drained from his face, and he motioned Child B's attention toward me. I gave a shake of my head that was supposed to be inperceptible to the others there to celebrate the life of one passed on, but fully perceived by my errant offspring. Child B dropped the offending material, and sat up straight.

Klunk. I glanced up into the balcony, where Child C and Child D were sitting. Child C, usually a placid and compliant child, was lounged out across the front row of chairs, her western-boot-clad foot resting against the wall. Again I summoned my mom powers and went into "stern and powerful yet loving gaze" mode until she caught my eye. I motioned slowly with my hand to tell her to sit up. She slowly sat up into a more funeral-fitting posture. I turned my attention back to the message. All of this had happened in the space of just a few minutes.

Then I heard the sweet little sounds of a four-year-old voice. Child H, who had been sitting beside Child G, had given up on the sitting still and had leaned forward to speak to a woman ahead of her who had brought in a small dog with her. In clear tones that rang like a bell on a still autumn day, Child H began to converse with the woman about the dog. Now what? I could not shoot a glance now, without catching this woman in the crossfires. I certainly was not trying to shush her, just the offending four year old. I breathed deeply and prayed that the family here for the funeral would be honored and blessed, and that Ol' Handsome would wrap things up quickly.

I am no physicist, but I am quite certain we experienced a time warp that day. Agonizing hours of whap whap klunk glare whap whap klunk glare later, Ol' Handsome invited everyone to join in singing "Amazing Grace." I glanced at the clock, and realized that it must be off. There was no way those hours had been condensed in no more than 15 minutes. The final "amen" was sounded, and the progenitors of the noise drifted to the fellowship hall, where they rocked the serving of coffee and lemonade. Apparently no one in the whole church was aware of the sounds and disruptions except for me.

I have now entered the realm of theorhetical physics now. I am quite certain that I entered a time and noise warp, one that I only enter when I sit on the piano bench in a service and can say nothing at all.