Our pastor and his wife have been sweating equity into their
new home, a foreclosure bargain with good genes in need of a facelift. This evening they held an open house
before moving in next week. I cheered when I walked in the front door and saw fresh paint replacing ghastly orange floral papered
walls. Laminate flooring seemed
elegant compared to pet-stained carpet.
We’ve known these two masters of patience and dogged perseverance
for probably 8 years or so. During
that time, we’ve watched them navigate unexpected trials and tests not just with
tolerance, but real peace – a major testimony to their faith. This move and remodel mark the end of a
challenging phase, and the dawn of a promising era. We’re happy to celebrate with them.
Pastor prepared his famous “Road Kill Chili” for his guests
– a nicely seasoned, but not killer-hot, chili when served over cornbread. One of our friends sat at a small table
with his young son, and explained how the little chunks of meat swimming with
the beans were from a dead possum Pastor found along the road this
morning. “That possum - it was hit
by a car, and had been laying there dead a long time.” He was a good
storyteller, and made the scene come to life with dramatic intonations and
gestures. “Can you imagine? It was all swollen and puffed up – more
meat that way,” he said. “Smelled really bad.” The boy’s eyes grew wider while his dad nodded in
affirmation. “Makes better chili.”
The boy stared at the chili in his bowl, refusing to eat, but swallowed
the story hook, line, and sinker – until his mom stepped in with the truth. Then he got the joke, and laughed along
with the rest of us who were already chuckling.
Just so you know, Pastor’s wife made potato soup for the
faint at heart. It was good, too –
no stories attached.
No comments:
Post a Comment