The Pastor's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I went to sleep hoping for a divine vision, but if it came, I couldn't remember because the kids cried out all night and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped over the dog and by mistake I cut myself while shaving and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast there were Rice Krispees for Ethan and Kix for Tristan but when I reached for my box of Cheerios, it was empty, and I'm also out of green tea, and I didn't notice the Kix that fell on the floor until I stepped on them.

I think I'll move to Australia.

I rode my bike to church because I care about the environment (and my wife has the car this morning), but on the way a truck almost ran me into a guardrail. I yelled to the driver that I was being smushed (or something to that effect). He didn't care.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At church, one member told me how much she likes Joel Osteen's sermons, but she didn't say anything about mine. Another member called to tell me that I'm not in the office enough, while I third member sent an email complaining I don't spend enough time visiting shut-ins.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I could tell because when I got online, I noticed that one of the church youth un-friended me on facebook. He said it wasn't cool to have pastor leaving comments on his home page.

I hope your efforts to get the old facebook back fail, I said to him. I hope your farmville barn gets swept up in a tornado and crashes down in Australia.

The secretary got a coupon for a free Jamba Juice in the mail, and the music director got a free CD with cool music on it. Guess who got only junk mail?

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That's what it was, because I got the directions wrong to the clergy association meeting and arrived twenty minutes late, missing the free lunch. We'll save you some next month, I was told.

Next month, I said, I'm going to Australia.

So then we started talking about how ministry was going. The Episcopalian priest just got a big raise, the Methodist minister welcomed five new families last week, and the Baptist preacher said that his youth group just finished building a new school for orphans in Mongolia. I felt like crying because my biggest accomplishment of the week was unclogging the toilet in the men's room, and I hadn't received a raise in three years.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I started to say, but I realized that no one wanted to hear that.

When I got back to the chruch I finished my sermon, but the computer crashed before I could save it. Then I tried restoring the file but ended up spamming the entire congregation. When, an hour later, the computer was running again, I replied to an email from the board chair, letting her know how frustrated I was with a certain committee chair, except that I accidentally clicked "reply all," and so I had to send another email apologizing to everyone.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

The treasurer stopped by to talk about the budget and I hate talking about budgets.

There was a hint of judgment in my "verse of the day" and I hate judgment.

The copier jammed, I couldn't find the book I wanted, my bank says I'm overdrawn, and the phone company wants me to pay my bill. I hate the phone company.

On the way home a teenager yelled at me out his car window, and then I went to make dinner but all we had was a box of mac and cheese, and when I drained the water, half the pasta fell into the sink.

I went to tuck the kids in bed, but they said they wanted their mom instead of me.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

My wife says some days are like that.

Even in Australia.

...with apologies to Judith Viorst

Science Fair

As everyone knows, pastors only work one day a week. Some of us are even lucky enough to be able to squeeze it down to a half-day on occasion. This may sound like the ideal job, but let me tell you, it does have its drawbacks.

My youngest son brought home a note from school yesterday. It said: "Dear Mr. Bradfield, Thank you so much for agreeing to be a judge for the school science fair. Please come to the auditorium on Thursday [that is, today] at 8:55 a.m. for an in-service on how to proceed with judging. Bagels, juice, and coffee will be provided."

First of all, what's with schools and strange times? Nothing in a public school ever starts on the hour.* And secondly, I don't drink coffee.

I would have thought that having my son participate in the science fair with a project of his own would have disqualified me from being judge. However, some people think that, because I'm a pastor, I'll be fair and unbiased. Which of course, I am. You don't have to be biased to know that my son's project will outshine them all. Especially since I spent a good part of the past few days working on it with him.

Perhaps I'll show up a little late. Enjoy my cup of tea at home first. Besides, I don't need an in-service on how to judge. I already know what my judging criteria will be. Does it look like a project the kid did, or one that the parents did for him? If it appears that the kid's parents did most of the work--or at least, a greater percentage of the work than my own kid's parents did--then points will be deducted.

Yes, that's right: my own kid's project is the judging criteria.

My son reported today that a few kids brought their projects in early. One is presented on a poster-board that features a (gasp!) white background. The instructions sent home clearly state that the background should be non-white. With titles that are 3 inches tall, and subtitles that are 1 inch tall. With photos, charts and diagrams that are glued onto the display board, not taped or stapled or clipped.

Everyone knows that when it comes to science fair projects, science doesn't really matter. What really matters is the number of glue sticks one uses. My own son went through three glue sticks this week, and I had to buy extra ink cartridges for the printer because it took us too many tries to get the letters the right height. Clearly, we--I mean, he--is going to win.

In the evening, all the parents will be able to view the science fair projects at the school's annual open house. I'll be there, of course, with a proud smile on my face; and I won't even worry about the elders' meeting I'm missing. After all, I've already put in my half-day this week.

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*Never mind the fact that the church I pastor has worship services that start NOT at 10:00 or 11:00, but 10:15.

A New Danger on your Doorstep

It could become a theme of sorts, on this blog: things you should be afraid of. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard this story on the radio this afternoon, warning me of exploding pumpkins! Ack! Little did I know that a simple walk through a pumpkin patch could have the potential to be so dangerous!

Cliffhanger

Last night, the family gathered around the television to watch the world premiere of "Camp Rock" on the Disney channel ... because there's nothing we like better than bad acting, predictable plots, and tons of Disney self-promotion.

In the movie, superstar Shane Gray overhears a girl singing with a beautiful voice. The problem is, he doesn't see her face. So he obsessively tries to find her by listening to every girl in the camp sing. Unfortunately, the girl whose voice he heard (no, it's not Ariel) is the one girl who doesn't want to sing for him.

With twenty minutes left in the show, the phone rang. It was a teenager from northern California who I haven't seen since we moved six months ago. (This teen's brother, by the way, looks just like Shane Gray in his pouty moods.)

We talked ... and I missed the end of the show. Did Shane find his girl? I don't know! Ah, the tragedy! How can I live without knowing! How can I make it through the day?