This morning, I was up betimes and got to the church by 10:00 a.m. I spent the next two and a half hours making a cubic yard of lasagne (or so it seemed), put it in the fridge, and cleaned up.
Then homeward, ho! Changed to suit and tie, grabbed a quick lunch and went to court, ready to testify at my parishioner's sentencing hearing. As it turns out, I didn't have to say anything, but I was there for her, and that was good ministry.
Home again, home again, jiggity jog. The answering machine was running as I walked in the door. 'Twas my soon-to-be predecessor at Yonder UMC, calling to set up some stuff for the transition. In the course of our conversation, I learned that my stock with the bishop and cabinet is extremely high (I'm basically getting the top move & raise this year, as a reward for my having stayed at my post and done top-notch ministry rather than worry about promotions up to now -- woopee for me). I also learned that the home Yonder UMC is getting ready to buy for a parsonage will not be available to occupy till NOVEMBER. Yikes! That means moving into temporary housing, then moving again six months later. I was so discouraged, I was about ready to just call the DS and say I'll retire in 120 days. Screw 'em all. But I didn't. Didn't have TIME to.
For instead, I had to change back to t-shirt and khakis and get back to the church, where I met Don V. about quarter till 4, and we started in cooking again. Other guys came in over the next hour. Everything ran extremely smoothly, the food was incredible, the teenage girls stuffed themselves silly (as I predicted), and a good time was had by all. Then came the cleanup. I limped home an hour ago, after a twelve-hour day.
"He does so have to shoot me now." -- Daffy Duck