(alternately titled: why there were no cheesy potatoes at the potluck)
On Saturday night I made a giant pan of cheesy potatoes. I've been experimenting with a bbq-flavor variety. They were in the fridge, ready to be baked and served piping hot at our after-service potluck on Sunday.
I finished the sermon on Psalm 28, focusing on the importance of intercessory prayer ... and a little bit about those pesky imprecatory portions of the Psalms. Meh. It was what it was. I went to bed.
I woke up in the morning, reviewed the sermon. I got excited for the strong case God was making: "The work of the people of God begins in our prayer together." Yeah! Awesome! Game on!
I went to the kitchen, pulled out my tray of potatoes, looked at the recipe again and did the reverse math: On table time 12:30pm - 45 minutes (bake time) = 11:45am
Well, perfect! The sermon should be done by then. And we'll just be doing the morning prayer. Certainly, "with every head bowed and every eye closed," it won't be a problem for me to sneak downstairs, preheat the oven and get those potatoes started.
And then God was all like, "Are you even listening to me?"
And I was all like, "Oh, right."
So the cheesy potatoes didn't get made. The trade off was that "every head bowed and every eye closed" included my own. And I'm glad we prayed together. That moment in worship was more important than cheesy potatoes after all. And that's saying a lot. Because I love cheesy potatoes.
(In a related note: I will be preparing cold salads or crock-pot dishes for potlucks from now on.)
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