A S’s wife asked me Sunday, “You know you were the only one to do any compromise in that proposal, right?”
I know. It was disheartening to her, to S and to W, my wife. Honestly, it is disheartening to me as well. It is a tragic game of chicken.
The elders know–or at least they should know–the proposal we put forth was pure garbage. It is me calling their bluff. It is me giving them exactly what they asked for–like children who ask for candy for breakfast. But like children destined for cavities, this is not at all good for the church.
It was, the only way to actually make T happy and play well with others. Ever since I arrived, he has moped around wanting to preach. Any time he agrees to something less than that, he manages to weasel out of it and do whatever he wants anyway. I figure we will just make it a little easier.
It is a game of chicken. The players will meet on Thursday morning to see what happens. Inside, I am screaming, weeping and screaming more. I don’t know what else to do.