I have always maintained that being a pastor is one of the most bizarre jobs on the planet.
I am starting to think, however, that parenting rivals even pastoring. (What does it mean if you are trying to do both? Don’t want to think about that . . . .)
Yesterday I had a telephone call from Miss Bartley, 7-year-old Sam’s deeply loved second grade teacher. Calling from the health room at his school she informed me that Sam had had an unfortunate run-in with another student in which they banged heads and Sam’s loose baby tooth fell out.
Miss Bartley was calling to tell me Sam was fine. (I confess here that I felt a little stab of annoyance . . . why call if he’s fine? I am trying to write a sermon here! Please reserve telephone calls for life-threatening injuries . . . such is the sad lot of third children, I guess).
Turns out Miss Bartley wasn’t really calling to report on Sam’s health. He was fine, after all. The real reason she was calling was to inquire about the Tooth Fairy in our house.
Seems in all the confusion of colliding heads the lost tooth was . . . lost. The main issue preventing Sam from getting back to his studies was the deep concern about what this loss meant for his potential income resulting from the Tooth Fairy’s visit. How could he possibly collect without the actual tooth?
Here I sit in downtown DC in our beautiful new church offices immersed in my commentaries and thinking about Pentecost, all the while holding intense discussions with Miss Bartley about the Tooth Fairy.
How weird is my life?
The end result of this situation was that I informed Miss Bartley the Butler Tooth Fairy would, in fact, accept an official note from Miss Bartley verifying the loss of said tooth, and that this note could be placed under Sam’s pillow in substitution for the lost tooth without incurring any penalty.
Glad we have that settled so we can all get back to work . . . .