Dear Benevolent Benefactor:
As the veteran of 17+ years of dwelling in church offices, this shouldn’t surprise me. It really shouldn’t. In my first ministry position, my “office” was a glorified card table in the church fellowship hall. My bookshelf was a milk crate, which hauled my stuff from office to car trunk to the occasional locked closet if I could find one and someone would pass me the key.
My second office was on the nursery hallway, so even though it wasn’t a Catholic church I burned a lot of incense, if you get my digestive drift (those Diaper Genies never went back in the lamp after you rubbed ’em).
The third office was drafty and moldy, the fourth was shared with a super hero, the fifth was spacious and mine-all-mine but had atrocious mauve carpet, the sixth was little more than the size of a walk-in-closet but with great natural sunlight, and the present one is downright comfy, but windowless.
Editor’s note: no, he hasn’t been on staff at seven different churches. He just keeps getting kicked out of offices.
The common thread among all offices has been the anonymous donations that wait for me after a Sunday service. For example: there will be the box of clothing that is obviously not intended for me (I haven’t worn a floral-print windsuit in years), the 30 pound bag of tomatoes (you’ll be lucky if I manage to eat one of those slimy suckers), or the sack of books that are too heretical for you to read, but maybe I will like them (this is my best seller, I am who it says I am…).
But this week’s donation truly has me stymied. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with two hair dryers, six combs, and a curling iron. Perhaps you noticed on Sunday that my hair was rather unkempt (I took care of that on Monday when I caught up with my hair cut gal). Maybe it’s for our upcoming trip to Dubai (nothing says “comfort” like a high heat setting on a hair dryer in the desert), or possibly you just had a yard sale on Saturday and this merchandise didn’t move.
Whatever the case, I’m thrilled that you thought of me. I plan to pass out the combs to our interns on staff (they never groom themselves) and rig up a holster so I can bring a touch of the old west hairdressers to the Summit culture (I said reach for your part, pardner). As for the curling iron, I haven’t thought of a use for that. But the day is young.
Or maybe I’ll just go put them in this guy’s office. He never reads my blog anyway, so he won’t see it coming.