Yesterday on one of the local radio programs, the disc jockey asked people to call in with stories about being caught naked. This brought back a “Remember When” that I just have to share, and now that so many years have gone by, I can laugh about it.
It was wintertime in Frederick County, Virginia. The year was 1980. I had finished the dinner dishes, made sure the boys had their baths, and had tucked them into bed for the night. David was sitting in the family room relaxing and watching television on this quiet night. A glowing fire crackled in the fireplace. There were no church emergencies or crises going on, and it was a pleasant and cozy night to be indoors.
Checking to make sure the boys were asleep, I went into our bathroom to take my shower. As I luxuriated in the warm water washing over me, romantic thoughts began to take shape, and I envisioned a very special night with my husband. After drying off, I wrapped the huge bath towel around me, put on a little perfume, and with wonderful visions dancing in my head, I walked toward the main part of the parsonage.
As I turned the corner into the family room, I grabbed my towel with my hands, spread my arms wide open, and with a big smile on my face, I exclaimed, “Surprise!”
The surprise was on me. While I was in the shower, the chairman of the Pastor-Parish Relations Committee had stopped by to talk to David about some crucial issue going on in the church, and the two of them were sitting in the family room, talking. In front of David, Thurman Fishel, God, and the whole world I showed off everything I had. In a panic, I covered myself quickly, turned, and flew to the safety of our bedroom. I was embarrassed, to say the least, and shaking like a leaf.
I was never able to look Thurman in the eye after that, and the following June, we moved to another church. I’ve always wondered if we might have stayed another year, if not for that night.
Some things are better left unknown.