I have been a church attender all my life. Over the years, I have served as Sunday School teacher, occasional usher, trustee and treasurer. One of the greatest honors of my life was to have once been anonymously recommended as a deacon. I did not pursue that opportunity, but I found it humbling for someone to even have considered me worthy.
If my unknown recommender could know me better in my darker moments, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so honored. It seems that Satan often attacks when a person tries to become closest to the Lord. Pastor Oliver Wolfenbarger was once talking about the thoughts that go through a person’s mind when in church. He said that possibly if the thoughts in some of the minds in the congregation could be broadcast on the screen above his head at that very moment that some people would be most ashamed.
No sooner had he said that than the strangest thoughts started going through my mind, and yes, they were thoughts that I’m glad no one else could know. Never forget, Dear Reader, Satan attends church every Sunday, riding in on the shoulders of some who really do try to be the very best Christians.
Once on a Sunday I was leaving church. Eugene Brantley was “riding shotgun”. We came to an intersection at which I was to turn right. There was a green arrow for those who wished to turn left. Somehow I didn’t seem to be thinking. Perhaps I was lost in the thought of the church service just ended. Whatever the cause, I was waiting for a green arrow to point to the right. Even though the light for my right lane was green, I kept sitting there, waiting for the green arrow.
The vehicle behind me tooted. I looked in the rear-view mirror while saying to Eugene, “That idiot behind us is trying to get us killed!” I ranted and raved to Eugene, but looked to the left. Nothing was coming, so I made the right hand turn to get the “idiot” behind me “off my back”.
My phone rang. I was my nephew, the Rev. Jeff McMurray. He said, “What are you doing? That light wouldn’t going to get any greener. Where’d you learn to drive, Frank Mincey?”
I said, “I didn’t know that was you behind me. I told Eugene that idiot behind me was trying to get us killed. I almost flipped you a bird!”
Though Jeff’s wife Jill said that would have been hilarious, it sure wouldn’t have been Christian, though ranting and raving to poor Eugene wasn’t exactly Christian, either.
At least I didn’t run a red light, like one lady in the Carolinas. The policeman who stopped her said, “You know, stop lights don’t come any redder than the one you just went through.”
Perhaps she and I were both color blind. I stopped on green, she went on red. What a pair we’d have made, much like Jack Sprat and his wife. In case you don’t know, I’ll share the rhyme I learned from my mother:

Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
his wife could eat no lean.
So ‘twixt and ‘tween them,
they licked the platter clean.

There was another Sunday when I left what to me had been an uplifting church service. On that occasion, I was alone. I stopped at Sonic and got, among other fine things to devour, a monstrous drink. I sat the drink between my legs as I drove down the road, as the cup was too large for any cupholder in my car. For whatever reason, I had to hit the brakes to prevent impact with another vehicle, and that huge drink shot from my lap and spilled all over not only my pants but into the floor board as well. Huckleberry Finn’s father could not have utilized the darker side of the English language better than I at that moment.
There is no excuse for personal sin, but I know from experience that I’m not alone in my struggle. Misery does indeed love company. I was just the other day relating the tale to a fellow Gideon of a church trip to Cade’s Cove. A friend of mine and I couldn’t ride bicycles, so we walked the eleven-mile Cade’s Cove Road loop. Over the years, we walked it at least three times, and it took us from four and a half to greater than five hours. On one of the trips one of the deacons drove a truck around the loop a couple of times and gave us water. Trust me, that deacon won’t lose his reward!
On one of the trips it took us so long that we noticed that for about the last two hours no one had come by to provide liquid refreshment. When we finally got back to the parking area, every one of our church members had gone. My friend said, “I’ll be blank! Every one of the sorry blankety blank blanks [you, Dear Reader, can fill in the blanks] has run off and left us!”
On another occasion, I was talking with a deacon on the church porch when his wife walked by. The deacon spoke to her, and she answered him very hatefully. I asked the deacon, “What’s her problem?” He replied, “Nothing, she’s just being the blank she usually is! She needs to get over it!”
I hope filling in those blanks didn’t put bad thoughts into your head, Dear Reader. It’s a good thing that God is the father of second chances, and third, and fourth, and fifth, and sixth . . .
I leave you with some thoughts others have shared with me over the years.

I hate when a couple argues in public,
and I missed the beginning
and don't know whose side I'm on.

I asked God for a bike,
but I know God doesn't work that way.
So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness.

Do you remember a time
when mistakes were corrected
by simply exclaiming,
'Do Over!'?

If profanity had any influence on the flight of a ball,
most athletes would play better.