History is filled with accounts of what could best be described as epic interpersonal failures, instances where people got it truly, horribly wrong in how they treated each other.
Having a dripping wet, naked homeless man sitting on your office couch makes for a strange sort of day that can only be described as "a strange sort of day."
"My daughter will be here soon, Pastor!"
Early this morning, while perusing social media, I noticed a post from Franklin Graham linking to a Christian Post column on the clergy.
It is, I suppose, a mixture of scriptural misunderstanding, faulty logic, attacks from haters and even inaccurate preaching that often causes people to have some very serious doubts and questions about that which should bring us the most comfort in our times of trials.
While all churches rightfully have their own unique flavor, I suppose the hymn books, King James Bibles, male pastor, male deacons and regular lighting gives mine away as a traditional kind of church. As such, about 50 weeks out of the year, my wife/church secretary comes and asks me how I want something done, and then she sees to it exactly the way I ask. But about those other two weeks ...
July 17, 2022, had the distinct probability of going down as a very dark and infamous day.
The where and the which one I will keep to myself; I am not in the habit of publicly bashing hotels or other businesses. And since most everyone is short-staffed these days, I try to be even more patient and understanding than normal. That said, though, when Dana and I walked into the room at 11:45 p.m., hoping for nothing more than a good night's sleep, my obsessive-compulsive disorder and Mr. Fix It genes immediately spiked to red-alert status, and I knew I would be up for a while.
At some point, I suppose, I will have to slow down and not do quite as much multitasking.
It is a blessing, I suppose, that I usually do not think through my time limitations before I jump headlong into some great new idea.
