Mini-stries…

The other day our car broke down (again) and we borrowed Mere’s grandfathers vehicle to drop of the car and return to campus. They called later in the day to tell us to come and pick up the car.

On the way there we stopped on at the corner of Speedway and San Jacinto, across from the Crown. A buddy of mine, Freddy Kitchens, was walking back to campus. I hung out of the window and proceeded to talk trash to him. “Nice shirt!” He was wearing a pink polo shirt. He smiled and said, “Dude, Are you talking trash from a mini-van?” and walked away.

There I sat, my head hung in shame. Never talk trash from a mini van. We drove to get the car and Mere laughed at me…

These days I need all the brevity I can get. God grant me the ability to giggle like a grade school child. Keep me from taking myself too seriously. Let me be kind to strangers, compassionate to those hurting. Aware of the needs of others and respond in your love. Forgive me for the things I pretend to do and the things I do not do and know that I should do. Deliver me from my prideful need to control. Wash away the veneers of this false life and reveal in me the true nature of creation in your Son Jesus Christ.

Amen

4 thoughts on “Mini-stries…

  1. The Crown! I love the Crown. Practically lived there from ’93-’96.
    Just wait until you BUY the minivan. And the suburban home. Well just because I did doesn’t mean everyone does. I think it’s God’s way of making fun of me. And- showing me that all that stuff isn’t what’s important..

  2. Dani says:

    You can never take yourself too seriously when you drive a minivan. You can always hear people laughing in the distance . . .hey, you in the big silver box!!! Yeah, I feel this way all the time.

  3. I once was given a Pontiac station wagon by a member of Carol’s church. It’s only problem was that it had a tendency to die when we made left hand turns into oncoming traffic. One hot Louisiana day it broke down in the middle of the road and cursing I left it there and walked in the sweltering heat home. Disgusted I thought that I would abandon it there. As I sat in the church manse I suddenly became quite panicked. As I ran back to the car the state police officer said, “is this yours?” “Yes officer,” I said sheepishly. He looked up from the bumper sticker that proclaimed, “The Presbyterian Church is Open this Sunday!” All he did was smile as we began to push it back to my home. I guess it would have been easy to trace me since my church was the only Presbyterian church in the Parish (county).

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