This afternoon's NAUMS Annual Meeting must surely count among the strangest meetings I've attended, let alone conducted, in the last thirty-four years of my ministry. Many thanks to Gene and Phil, without whom the entire affair would have been surreal. Nice to know somebody's minding the store. Still, the business got done.
I'm going to go home after lunch tomorrow (today, now). I'm going to do other things that need doing. I'm going to let my mind completely clear. Then, I'm going to have to ask myself -- not for the first time -- why people act the way they do. And would they do better if I brought my gavel to chuck at their heads?
I'm sitting in the hotel bar* waiting to leave for the airport. Alles in Ordnung ist. I slept in this morning, checked out of my hotel, and ate a leisurely brunch at Denny's. I started reading Bill Hillcourt's Baden-Powell: Two Lives of a Hero. Reading about B-P's boyhood made me wonder how many of us who work with kids are still trying to capture for ourselves the boyhood we wished we'd had?
Saw Buddy D., former President of NAUMS, and we chit-chatted a bit. His younger daughter, whom I last saw when she was 10 or 11, has now completed her Master's degree, and is just back from a stint of teaching missionary kids in Morogoro, Tanzania. I envy her hiking trips in the Uluguru Mountains! *sigh* Maybe next time I get to Africa (if there is ever a next time).
My opinion of conventions (including Annual Conference) remains unchanged. They're expensive, tiring, and very little gets done in the official business. The real business is in the informal gatherings between the events. Gene, Phil, and I went out to eat with an old Scouter last night, and after dropping said old Scouter off, we three went for coffee across the street from our hotel. That time of informal laughing and grousing (and a couple of others like it) was the best part of the trip.
My flight leaves at 4, I land back in Indy about 9, should be home before 11. As for what I've accomplished here, I can't say that we moved the ball downfield; sometimes, the best you can say is that you at least didn't score an own goal.