By Carl Nelson
Sunday morning has begun. The lady of the house is busy corralling her young to the table for breakfast. John has not come down yet, even after three calls. Taking matters into her own hands, Melissa climbs the stairs and finds John still in bed. “We’re running late. Get moving,” she softly ordered. “I don’t really want to go this morning. The people down there don’t like me and I don’t care much for them. Give me two good reasons I have to go.”
“One reason is that you are thirty-six years old and you are the pastor,” she retorted. Pulling him up by the arm she asked,” Do you know what you will be preaching on today?”
“The goodness and grace of God,” he replied. “Not again.”
“It is the only message they need to know.”
“Do you know what I heard our youngest say today? I had just come out of the shower, no make up on, in my old housecoat, with my hair up in a white towel.” I said, “Good morning Henry. “Waffles this morning.” There was no answer. On the way downstairs I heard him say to his sister, “Who was that?”
At breakfast John asked if she was bringing the children in and not joining the children’s class. “Inside, two Sundays ago Henry was suspended from class for bringing a family of dirt beetles he had “saved” to the meeting.” “Well, keep a tight reign. It wasn’t long ago Henry was acting like he was going to throw up and the whole row in front scattered. Another thing don’t let anyone take that Lone Ranger secret whistle with them. It belongs to me anyway.”
In the car Melissa asked if he remembered that service early in his appointment when she had arrived late and that nice usher tried to help me find a seat. He said there was one down front left, one in the far right and another near the exit. He warned me that the new preacher was somewhat long winded and a little boring and suggested the exit seat. “Indignantly, I said, “Do you know who I am?”
“No Ma’am, I don’t.”
“Well, I’m the pastors wife.”
Somewhat stunned, he collected himself and said, “Do you know who I am?”
“I said no, and he said good and walked away quickly.”
“Well, we’re here, let’s see how many people I can provoke today. Look at that. There is a red truck in my reserved parking place.”
“But dear, he does have a God is my co-pilot sticker on his bumper.”
“Our God would not have parked there,” countered John. The coffee hour passed without incident.
