Jill's Journal: The best intentions to start the new year

I had every intention of going to church on Sunday.

Not one of those good intentions that quietly die when the alarm goes off, either. No, this was the real deal. The alarm sounded, I got up without hitting snooze even once (which should have been my first clue that something was amiss), and I headed straight for the shower.

This was happening. No excuses this week of bad weather or “out of town” for the holidays. Nope, not this Sunday.

So, I got ready with purpose. Hair washed. Clothes carefully selected. Actual Sunday-best attire, not the “close enough, no one will notice” outfit that sometimes sneaks into rotation. I felt accomplished. Ahead of schedule, even. Calm. Organized.

Again, I should have known better.

Fully dressed and ready to go, I walked out into the living room to grab my coat and head for the door. That’s when I saw it.

The clock.

It stared back at me with all the warmth of a smug cat who knows something you don’t.

I was an hour late.

An entire hour.

I stood there blinking, trying to make sense of it. This couldn’t be right. I had just gotten up. The alarm went off when it was supposed to. I distinctly remember it. I do not hallucinate alarms. I may forget why I walk into a room, but I know what time my alarm goes off because I rarely change the time. (I blame that on an alarm that makes that difficult from time to time. Let’s just say, it has a mind of its own.)

This scenario led me to the only logical conclusion: foul play.

Did minions sneak into my house overnight and change my alarm clock? They’re small, sneaky, and clearly capable of chaos. I’ve seen the movies.

Perhaps an elf on the shelf went rogue. I don’t even own an elf on the shelf, but maybe that’s what makes this even more sinister. An elf without supervision. An elf with nothing left to lose.

Could April Fool’s Day have been tossed into the calendar early just to mess with me? I checked. It was not April 1. But that’s exactly what April Fool’s Day would want me to think.

And that’s when I took a look at the alarm clock. It read 8:20 a.m., 10 minutes ahead of the ringing of the church bell to signal the start of the early worship service.

Eventually, I accepted the truth. No minions. No elves. No holiday-related hijinks. Just me… and the annual reminder that time does not bend to good intentions or well-pressed church clothes.

So there I stood, fully ready, nowhere to go, an hour late to a place I genuinely meant to be on time for.

On the bright side, I was dressed nicely for the rest of the morning. And next Sunday? I’ll be there.

Assuming, of course, the clocks are telling the truth.