Liar, liar . . .
. . . momma’l set your pants on fire.
Well, I was going to write on a serious subject, but something came up. My pastor called me yesterday afternoon about 4:30. To get the story straight let’s go back to Sunday night.
Pastor Rod and I talked Sunday night after church. Here’s pretty much how it went:
The Plowman’s Regress, Book 1
He starts off, “I got two new tires put on the van yesterday. I’m going to the (Oklahoma) state convention tomorrow and Tuesday.”
“Oh?”, I say.
“Yes, Jerry Falwell and John McArthur are going to be there, one speaking on one day and the other speaking the next.”, he continues.
“Oh.” I repeat, trying to not sound jealous. “And no one else from our church is going with you as a delegate?”
“That’s right. Just me. I’m heading out in the morning. Isn’t that quite a mix for speakers?”
“Oh, uhuh, sure.” I reply.
So by this time I’m looking for something to get the ball back in my court. “Did you see me cited over on the blogroll at Pyromaniac last week?”
“No, I wasn’t following his blog last week.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much.” (defeated) “He just mentioned that at my blog I commented on his audio lecture about Calvinism; that I liked it too, or something like that.”
So I finally hit pay dirt. I should have let it go at that, but nooo-ooo. I press on for more glory. “Yep, there’s no telling what he’s going to do when he catches wind of my series of posts on Thursday and Friday. I mockingly accuse him of stealing my material with his two podcast posts.”
At that point the talk turned to other issues more serious. After a good discussion on a variety of issues, my wife and I decided to go home. I don’t think any more about it until 4:30 yesterday afternoon.
The Plowman’s Regress, Book 2
“Hello, P. W., is that you?”
“Hello, Pastor. What’s up? Where are you?”
“Here in Oklahoma City. I just got out of the afternoon session.”
“Oh. How’s it going?”
“Great. We just got through hearing McArthur speak, and you’ll never guess who else is here.”
“No! Not . . .”
“Yes! Phil Johnson is here too.”
“Yes, and he tells your story from last night the other way around. He says you stole his material.”
“No! He didn’t.” (pause) “Did he?”
(pause) “No. I haven’t gotten a chance to speak to him. But he’s here. He’s going to speak over at Alan Connor’s church tomorrow evening. Some pastor’s conference, or something.”
“Yeah, I’m going to catch up with him after the session tonight and we’ll work on a good story to write about you and all of this blog stealing.”
“No! Don’t you dare!”
“Talk to you later. Bye.” (click)
Okay, so now I get to live in mortal fear, for how long, who knows. The buggar, up there alone with no one to confirm or deny, to keep him reined in. How can I know where the truth ends and the fibbing begins. Only time will tell. Only this one thing. Pastor, if you read this, don’t make me come over there and get you. This could get ugly. You might want to check the podcasts for next week. You just might have one of those funny little chipmunk voices preaching a five-minute sermon. Who knows?
And to think, I was going to write something serious today. Maybe tomorrow, God willing, and the fire engine doesn’t pull up to my house later today.
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