A Worthwhile Appointment

August 5, 2019

The old maxim, “Fake it till you Make it,” is dangerous advice. Many years ago, I was ordination coordinator for our Annual Conference. This entailed among other things, meeting with the ordinands to put together the service, then getting everything down in hard copy to be sent to the printer for the programs. Since my memory has never been my most stellar quality, there were times I forgot last names of the candidates. If there was any place in the program where you didn’t want any mistakes, it was the names of those being ordained. This was their big day, and we wanted things to be right.

On this particular occasion, I was again clueless. I could not for the life of me remember the last name of this one particular person, so I decided to ask in such a way as to not betray my mental state. We were at the ordination retreat where all the planning occurred. Approaching him one afternoon, I discreetly inquired, “And how do you spell your last name?” 

“S-M-I-T-H,” he quietly replied. No, my friends, it doesn’t pay to pretend.

I wasn’t pretending today, but I did get caught. I left the office early; I can do that without guilt because everything other than preaching is volunteer. “I have an appointment,” I told my secretary.

An hour and a half later as my granddaughter and I ate lunch and talked, sitting at a bistro table in front of the Upper Crust in Fredonia, who should pull up and park right in front of us but my secretary and her husband. “Your appointment?” she said as they approached. 

“Yes, indeed!” I responded. Having grandchildren of their own, they understood. They were actually coming to visit one of them, who as soup cook at the restaurant, had invited them to try out a new recipe. 

The older I get, the more aware I am of the significance of our intimate relationships, particularly in the family. The recent shootings in El Paso and Dayton are another reminder of the importance of these relationships. One thing these mass shooters have in common isn’t just the weapons they choose. Most are disconnected from their families which were usually dysfunctional, and there is a disturbing pattern of having been prescribed psychotropic drugs for depression and other psychological ailments which often accompany the disconnect they feel. Having lunch with my granddaughter while basking in the afternoon sun was good medicine for our souls as well as good food for our bodies. I make no apology and am grateful to have had this time together before she heads back for her last year of college.