Something happened.

Everybody is always asking me why I don't update my blog more often. Ok, 3 people have asked me that in 4 years but nevermind that. I don't blog more often because, as I have said, I now have an outlet for my discombobulated ramblings as a preacher but also, I don't want to post about boring stuff about my life so this poor blog gets neglected. I'm getting to the point where I wish Facebook would blow up because so many people, and not just kids, want to post about the most minute detail in their boring existences. "At the gym", "Checking in from work", "listening to (insert some band I've never heard of)". Who the head-bob cares?! I even posted on there one time how much I hated those kinds of posts and nobody agreed with me! They all hammered me and said they wanted to know every detail about every "friend" they have. I'm in the Twilight Zone, here. Actually, those posts are not really indicative of the kinds you see on Facebook because they are all spelled correctly but I digress. Anyhow, finally something interesting happened and I would now, finally, like to share. How many horror stories have started with the words, "I just wanted a little bacon for breakfast"? Is it so wrong to want the candy of meats to go with my biscuits? Is it so wrong to want to not make a mess on top of the stove? Is it so wrong to cook the bacon in the oven on a baking sheet? Answers? No. No. Yes. I've cooked bacon in the oven before but my sheet with sides was dirty so I used a baking sheet with no sides. You can probably already see where this is going but I failed to. So, I went into the next room to watch the morning news until I heard a funny crackling noise. You know, sort of like a campfire makes? I walked into the kitchen which already had a funny gray tint to it and slightly opened the oven door. Now, I'm not stupid. I know that if you open the oven door when there is a fire that you will feed the fire with oxygen and so I just barely cracked it enough to let a huge massive fireball from the pits of Hades come raging toward my head. Amazingly calm, I quickly returned the door to its' original position, turned the gas off and waited patiently for the fire to just die from lack of any more oxygen. 3 seconds later, the black smoke started rolling out the back of the stove like the Springfield tire fire and I knew I had a problem. Time for a breath-prayer, "God, please help me" and then I grabbed the baking soda box out of the fridge and like Red Adair on his best day I opened the oven door and splashed the soda all over the inside of the oven. Not enough. I'm pretty sure I saw Satan himself laughing through the remaining flames. Ok, now the number 911 is pretty steadily rolling through my head but I remembered I may have another box of baking soda. Quick like a panther, I open the fridge, move the Dr. Pepper, grab the box and two shakes of the soda still don't squelch the inferno but with the last shake and the last teaspoon of soda, the fire gives up and the demons return to Hell. Between the soda and the smoke, the kitchen is a mess. The oven is ruined and I'm still hungry but the real victim was the package of bacon. I couldn't even find the remains. All that was left was a now-black and white pan and the smell of burned bacon mixed with brushfire. To top it off, I posted the picture to Facebook and a friend let me know liked bacon. He misspelled it. ,

A conversation

One of my favorite members of our church had a birthday today so I gave him a call to wish him well. I'm not sure even he knows how old he is. His wife told me earlier that the hospital forgot to write the day on his birth certificate but they think it's today or maybe yesterday. Not uncommon approximately 84 years ago. "Hello, Brother Davenport, it's Todd!!!" (You have to scream for him to hear you and he is the only one who I still call "Brother".) "Who is it?" "Todd. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Are you ok?" "Yes, thank you, just fine. Hold on." I hear him "whisper" to his wife that he doesn't know who it is and she should talk. "Hello. Who is this?" "Hi Mrs. Davenport. It's Todd. I just wanted to wish Brother Davenport a happy birthday." "Oh! Ok, hold on." She then "whispers" to him that it's the pastor, Scott. "Hello Scott!" "It's Todd, Brother Davenport. Happy Birthday!!!" "Well thank you. Now who is this?" "It's Todd!!! I just wanted to say happy birthday!!! Then I hear him tell his wife, "There's nobody there." and then *click*. Oh well.