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Not-so-quiet Desperation continued

Pam had just rescued me by grabbing my individual chalice and holding it for me as the usher poured the juice into it. She knew it was too small for me to handle, but she had not yet perfected the grace it takes to help me sip from a tiny chalice. In the process, half the juice did not make it to my mouth and ended up, instead, on my sleeve.

Trying to hide the stain with my hand, I looked at Pam again as she was sipping her grape juice. She swallowed it quickly in desperation but then, in trying to cover up the inappropriate grin on her face, let out a snort.

I started to snicker again, and, in trying to hold it inside, lapsed into a deep heaving that moved my whole body and threatened to burst into an uproarious laughter. I shifted my weight to my right leg, bowed my head and forced myself to picture, in my mind, my mother's funeral. My face turned hot, and my armpits were damp.

Pam, in trying to hide her grin, was employing another, perhaps wiser tactic. She was letting short bursts of giggle – a giggle here, a giggle there – mixed strategically with the deeper notes of the solemn organ music.

That was the real problem. I had not yet learned how to gradually let my silliness out. Instead, the pressure was building, and I kept hearing myself repeatedly ask, "Are you laughing with us, Lord?"

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