On Sunday morning, I get up and get ready for church. I have gathered all the materials I will need for the day on the Saturday night prior—clothes, Sunday school booklet, Bible and commentaries. This way, I don’t have to rush to get things done and can sleep a little later than would otherwise be possible. All I have to do is get up, shower, shave, put on my clothes, and grab my Sunday school bag before heading out the door.

My wife is different. She gets up around 6:00 to 6:30 a.m. and begins her preparations. This involves showering, fixing hair, applying makeup, choosing clothes (sometimes trying on more than one outfit), choosing shoes, ironing my shirt (if she feels it needs it and has not done so on the previous night), putting on her clothes, and collecting the things she takes with her every Sunday—cell phone, iPads, medicine, snack, and coffee. Almost every Sunday, she says on the way to church that she feels as if she has forgotten something.

Before iPads, she used to take her camera for pictures. (You never know when a Kodak moment will present itself!) I used to joke with her that she was the only person I ever knew who took a camera rather than a Bible to church. This was solved by leaving the Bible at church perpetually.

When we get to the church (or any destination for that matter) with very few (if any) minutes to spare, as I leave the car I ask the same question, “Trunk or not?” This, addressed to my wife, means does she wish to put her purse in the trunk. Sometimes the answer is yes, sometimes no, but almost always without fail the opposite of what I anticipate.

Anyone who knows me well realizes that I have over the years lost either the ability or desire (maybe both) to be as organized as when I was younger. The reasons for this I leave to the speculation of you, ever Faithful Reader. I will say this—I never leave the house on Sunday morning with anything that I don’t intend to take into the church with me. Rarely do I goof, but there are exceptions.

There was the Sunday for which I had spent quite a bit of time on the lesson I was to teach. I highlighted the leader guide and underlined the commentaries, made notes in the margins, placed bookmarks in the appropriate places in the Bible and commentaries to find references easily, etc. I arrived at the church and discovered that I had left my Sunday school bag at home. I panicked for a few moments, and then fell back on Plan B—lead the lesson from memory. God was with me, and it went fine.

There was another Sunday when I made it to church with my Sunday school bag, but left it in the sanctuary after the morning service. This happened because I varied my routine—rather than take it to the car immediately after the service, I left it on the pew while I talked to some people in the church, then rode to lunch with some of our church friends. I failed to retrieve it at the evening service as it was not something I ordinarily do. For some reason, I was very anxious as to whether my bag would be there on Wednesday evening, but it was, and all was well.

One Sunday after morning church services my wife and I went with a group to Bel Air Grill in Halls. My wife had me open the trunk so she could place her rather large purse in it. Normally, when she wants something out of the car she sends me out to get it, but on this particular Sunday she asked me for the keys and went herself. She probably did this to keep from agitating me, as I do find it aggravating to go out to the car to get something she specifically had me open the trunk for her to leave.

She was gone for quite a spell, but eventually returned with a family of three. It turns out my wife was trying to open the door of a car with no luck. Perhaps in desperation, she asked these people if they would help her get into the car. The man looked at the key and said, “This is a Cadillac key.” My wife replied that we had driven a Cadillac to the restaurant, and the man replied, “But this is not a Cadillac. This is a Lincoln.” It took a few minutes for the appropriate car to be found, but it was located, and then I suppose the family thought it best to make sure my wife found the group she had left in the restaurant.

The story had a happy and surprise ending. My wife invited them to our church. The next Sunday I was going around shaking hands and a lady said, “You don’t remember us, do you?” I said I didn’t, and she replied, “We’re the ones who rescued your wife last week.”

Sometime later, I was in the pharmacy picking up prescriptions and one of the girls behind the counter said, “My brother helped your wife find your car at Bel Air.” It turns out that these people are related to the Thomas family and are probably distant cousins to my half-brothers and –sisters on my father’s side of the family. Interesting world, isn’t it?

When my wife either hears about or reads this article, she will say I am making fun of her. Never fear, Faithful Reader. Next week I’ll share a story about a time I didn’t come out looking nearly as good as my wife.