The Sermon This Week Is On Gratitude
As I was leaving the hospital from visitations this week, I noticed a group of new plants pushing up through the mulch at the edge of the parking lot. And it made me think…”8
My adoptive father was a minister, and he always had a story. In fact, I noticed his sermons almost always followed a script: an “I noticed” story, followed by a complex thought that this simple image had conjured in his mind, which was then tied in with scripture, and then closed with an emotional clincher.
Tied up in a neat bow, a clean twenty minutes, and you’re out after the final hymn in time to get to the local meat ’n’ three before the Baptists.
He had it down to an art.
My adoptive dad is smart… brilliant, really. He studied at the University of South Carolina and then landed a spot as a foreign exchange student in England in 1971. He got his Master’s in Divinity from Emory University. But aside from his accreditations, he was just plain smart.
He easily answered every single question in Trivial Pursuit and on Jeopardy. Without looking up from his paper, usually. He quoted stanza upon stanza of British poetry and could recall passages of classic literature.
He joked in Latin.
So how did the really smart guy, the guy who noticed everything, not notice what happened to me?
Iliked him, almost right away.
He was sort of nerdy with a poofy little ‘fro, almost, the first time we met. Behind his glasses were eyes of icey blue and generous laugh lines at the corners. He reveled in a great Dad joke.
He was a real punny guy.
I felt that I could trust him to not be a creep. I got that from him almost immediately.
He just seemed to be an earnest, good guy. I hadn’t met any foster dads who were like him; in fact, I hadn’t met any men who were like him at all. He used big words and talked with his hands.
And his sermons… he could really get deep in that little 20-minute sermon. By the time I was in junior high, I was actually paying attention. Always with the opening story, then weaving theology with…
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