No More Time-Outs by Thomas Slater

Author:Thomas Slater
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strebor Books

I was trying to have a civilized meeting with the deacon board. But there was nothing civil about it. Every time we tried to discuss church business, Slydale managed to get personal. We were in a conference room next to the fellowship hall. The room was nice and spacious. A huge circular maple conference table sat in the center. I sat at the head. Deacon Slydale sat on the opposite end. We had been grimming each other since the start of the meeting. My friend, Deacon James Clay, sat to the left of me, along with Deacon White, Deacon Braxton and Deacon Shoe. Seated directly across from them were Deacon Long, Deacon Kelly and Deacon Robert, Slydale’s crew of wicked holy-rollers.

My supporters sat on my side and Slydale’s gang sat against us. “Pastor,” Deacon Clay said, “we were not going to tell you but we’re trying to raise fifteen thousand dollars for your anniversary.” Deacon James Clay was my right-hand man. He reminded me of what Morris Chestnut might look like in middle-aged skin. He had a head full of hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee.

“We already pay Pastor a generous salary,” Deacon Slydale chimed in. “I don’t think it would be fair to put that type of burden on the members.” He administered me a sinister look.

“I second that,” Deacon Kelly agreed with Slydale. Kelly was an old troublemaker with a terrible marriage. His wife wasn’t putting out anymore and now his only source of pleasure was raising hell in the church. He was a tall, grumpy, fat man with terrible acne and a humiliating receding hairline.

Slydale looked at his flunky, rendering me a devious smile.

Deacon Shoe came to my aid. “This church was built around our beloved Pastor. Most churches run through Pastors like you change socks. We are indeed blessed to have Pastor.” Deacon Charles Shoe was an elderly man. He was an old soul filled with infinite wisdom and never-ending knowledge. His eyes were those that had seen everything that the world had to offer. Anybody that saw Shoe automatically knew that God had hands on him. Tall at one time, but now stooped over by the weight of the world, Shoe’s hair looked grayer than the color.

I smiled at Slydale on the other end of the table. He had lost this battle. Shoe was the elder and whatever he said usually stood.

Slydale bowed his head, accepting defeat this round.

“Any more new business?” I asked, looking around at faces.

I noticed Slydale leaning over and whispering something to Deacon Long. Whatever he said must’ve tickled Long’s funny bone.

“Would you like to share with the rest of the board?” I challenged Slydale. He didn’t like to be called out. But I didn’t care. He was a playa hater without a life.

He cleared his throat, giving me another sly smile. “I said, if you left all of those women alone, we wouldn’t have to burden the congregation with digging into their pockets. Our members are comprised of blue-collar workers. And they have bills, too.

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