once a methodist

Today was a bit slower at the sawmill so I was able to step out for lunch with a few friends.  We gathered at The Bus Stop as the rain fell, each of us grubbing on Asian salad covered with coffee roasted brisket.  To die for, I'm telling you.  I always drop my keys in my pocket so didn't realize until I got back to work that I had left my purse.  Patsye's phone went to voicemail so I called the restaurant and they let me talk to her about delivery. It's definitely the kind of place where they would have called me anyway.  Thanks for the drop off Lil' Patsye!

As I was coming back in I passed a familiar figure sitting in the waiting room.  I paused and called his name not really expecting him to remember me because I was not a regular attendee during his tenure as FUMC senior.  That was his second round there and my parents thought he walked on water.  He was gone by the time they died.  What I saw was a kinder gentler face with a lot more understanding about what community is following time climbing down the ladder.  Each "parish" in a West Tennessee county is being included in a group that will help their congregations figure out how to get what their folks need.  I find that concept fascinating in a connectional sort of way.  The UMC was founded on the itinerant lifestyle for pastors so never make the mistake of getting too attached.  I do anyway.  Wesleyan tradition warms your heart that way.  

By the time I left work the sun was out.