I have always considered myself a writer, not necessarily because I have all these grandiose ideas streaming through my mind that warrant public acknowledgement, but instead because I hands down prefer the written word to any spoken. Besides texting itself, I cherish all things text: books, magazines, post-it notes, and the ever present inspirational postcard.
So, when I stole ten minutes away from my higher calling of improving the lives of America's young people through the power of education, I was honestly giddy.
Yeah, that was Monday morning. This is Thursday evening, and I've got nothing to show for it! It's like I'm literally (pun!) paralyzed. The idea of my ideas floating around in cyberspace for all to read and judge totally freaks me out. I'm more of the "stand outside the fire" kind of person, as my long time older man crush, Garth Brooks, so adoringly sang about. (Keep watch for a longer list of older man crushes in subsequent entries.)
But here I am, posting to the world. Yeah, right! Who am I kidding? If you're reading this, we are probably closely related or I owe you money and you're just trying to keep track of me.
I think starting anything is the hardest part, so let's just pick up the conversation as if we're already having one. This past Sunday was a joyous day to worship God by pulling a bulky snow coat over our crabbier-than-crabby toddler, wrestling her into a five-point harness carseat, and then dropping her off with the ever patient, next in line for sainthood, nursery staff. (I think one of the things I look forward to the most in Sunday morning worship is simply sitting by myself, not being touched or needed or whined at by anyone. Ahhhh.)
But I digress. Back to the original content of this post.
If you had been driving down 26th Street after the service on Sunday about 12:30pm, you would have seen Hillcrest's student ministries pastor running over his wife with the maroon Pontiac. ("Running over" may carry too strong of a connotation, but the jolt I received from the right bumper did cause me to stumble back a step or two.) If you had continued to watch this scene play out, you would have witnessed the pastor's wife (Please know that I never call myself a pastor's wife, but this title lends itself well to my story.) giving him the death stare and cussing him out. Loudly. So much for the transforming work of the Holy Spirit. When the rubber hits the road, or the car hits the body, as the case may be, I fail miserably.
Stay tuned next Sunday, same time, same place, for the next episode of You've Got to be Kidding Me! starring the Hutchinson family That episode will no doubt be entitled "Two Masters Degree Getting Owned by a 20-month Old. Again." Should be a good one. As always, we promise to make you feel better about your own circumstances by laughing at ours.
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2 comments:
Seriously.....how could I miss the hit and run? Or hit and stay sheepishly? I obviously need to park in the pastor's lot cuz it's much more fun. You made me laugh out loud which I haven't done since mocking one of my students for their utter lack of ability to make a rational decision.
As far as being owned by a 20 month old....well, wish I could help. We all are brilliant...well-read....see children every day that we swear ours will NEVER be like and then bam, one day that comes back and bites you in the butt. God has an amazing sense of humor and I believe he brings it out incredibly well in parenting episodes such as these.
Can wait to hear about more man crushes.....you know you're old when you log in to facebook and instead of seeing a "Someone thinks you're hot" announcement, you see a "Mature males are looking for you" announcement.....
I hope that Allison's next blog will share about the strikingly handsome pastor getting out of his car, rescuing her like a Knight in shining armor, and comletely stealing her heart away from that fat slob Garth Brooks.
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