Hey Sam, "Watch me poop on the preacher!"

Last Sunday was a usual warm, muggy day here in Myrtle Beach. At 8 am, we were already miserably oppressed by the high humidity and absence of any recognizable breeze. Over one hundred folks slowly made their way, out to the covered area, on the longest fishing pier on the east coast. Two college kids stood up before the gathered assembly, and began to lead in the offertory special. Then, with ten seconds left in the song, just before my time to
"dare to speak on behalf of God", I was pooped upon. Several pigeons were perched above, and I did not heed my wife's warning to watch out. Something warm and oatmealesque plopped into my perfectly coiffed hair. "See Sam...Told you I could Do it."

Luckily Sarah is always prepared. Miraculously, I was able to get her to stop laughing long enough to use a "wet wipe" from her purse to get me cleaned up. While reading the scripture, I dared think...yep...this must be the secret to the Christian life, learning to dodge the poop, or at least knowing the one who is able to clean us up. Sounds like the Gospel to me!


Later that evening I saw two Hasidic Jews walking down ocean boulevard in the midst of bikinis, many piercings and a roaring dinosaur at Ripleys, and I acted as if it was normal....whatever that means.