It’s been one week at the church.  I’ve visited folks in the hospital, I’ve had a council meeting, I’ve met with our organist, I’ve preached, and for the first time, I presided at communion.  It was a powerful Sunday morning for me.  Not only was I slightly nervous, but the service plans for being outside were foiled by the hefty thunderstorms in the area.  The service was in our fellowship hall, which had the same sort of informal, “kid-friendly” VBS service they were looking for…  And it was 95 degrees in there.  I foolishly vested and wore my stole, looking pretty and official.  And as I stood behind the altar, sweat was pouring down my back… phew…  yuck…

So the next thing on my list was the clean out the pastor’s office.  Nobody had used the office for anything other than a storage bin in a few years.  To be honest, it was absolutely disgusting.  I vacuumed and dusted and washed and threw things away.  There were quite a few spiders evicted from their homes.  After a full day of cleaning, I left to run an errand before going home.

As I’m driving across town, chatting on my phone (I know, I know…) to another pastor friend about the state of my office, I smell something bad.  I was just starting to complain about somebody burning something in town, when I looked down at my feet.  Smoke.  Lots of smoke swirling around my feet.  I let loose a string of expletives and barely formed words as I told my friend that my car was on fire and threw the phone in the passenger seat as I looked for a parking spot.

$391 dollars later, I have my car back and my own friendly, neighborhood mechanic.

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