Book Club - "Baptists at our Barbecue" by Robert Farrell Smith

Last week our book club met to discuss the book Randi had chosen, "Baptists at our Barbecue" by Robert Farrell Smith. I've seen the movie and loved it so I was excited to read the book. 

Randi made a DELISH creamy potato soup and fresh rolls. It was so good! Then we settled in with popcorn to watch the movie. Its been years since I saw the movie, I thought they followed the book pretty good, except they left out my favorite part! When I read this part of the book, I couldn't start laughing. Josh had to check on me twice to make sure I was okay. I thinks is unfair it was left out of the movie so I'll post it here.

"I stood up and checked to see if I were leaving the couch as clean as I found it.

My heart stopped.

There on the cushion where I had been sitting was a spot about the size of a silver dollar. I sat back down as quickly as I could. 

Ian looked at me oddly. "Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"I..." I had no idea what to say.

"We really should be going," Ian said.

There was no way I was going to stand back up.

"What about a prayer?" I asked, trying to buy time.

"That would be nice," Ian said, realizing he should have suggested it before."Brother Crimsal, since it is your home would you like to call on someone to give a prayer?"

"I'd like to give it," I blurted out.

"Well, Tartan, that's up to Robert here."

"Please, Robert," I begged.

I had ulterior motives. If I could give a long enough prayer I might have a chance to clean off the spot while everyone had their eyes closed.

"If you would like to that much, go ahead," Robert said.

"Thank you," I said. "We all need to make sure we close our eyes out of respect for the one we are talking to."

Ian looked at me as if I were crazy.

All three closed their eyes and I began my plan. I started the prayer like any other prayer, but while I spoke I felt around for what I had spilled.

I knew it-- my consecrated oil vial had popped open. I had filled it up this morning in anticipation of these visits, and now it had done me in. My dark pants didn't show the stain, but the oil had leaked down the side of my pants and onto the couch. I continued praying as I tried to figure out what to do. I needed a solution fast. I was running out of things to pray for.

"And bless us that we might all be able to find the joy we wish we had, that we might know assuredly this earth is a place for us to live and to dwell one with another, brothers and sisters in harmony..."

No one was peeking yet, but I felt certain they were all growing weary of my prayer. I slowly stood up still praying and examined the stain. It wasn't huge, but there on the pure white couch cushion it looked to be the size of one of my mom's old vinyl records.

I was having a hard time keeping my voice directed toward the Crimsals. I needed to be able to turn around and clean the cushion.

"...help us to understand the true blessing of tithing. And let us know what though preferest we pay on, gross or net. Guide us as the seasons change..."

Facing them I put my hands behind my back and tried to flip the cushion over. It was no use. The cushion didn't fit unless it had the stained side up. I quietly pulled the cushion in front of me and then sat down on the couch where the cushion had been. Amazingly everyone still had their eyes closed. With the cushion in my lap I used the end of my tied to try and lift the stain out. 

"...we're thankful for today, that it's not tomorrow, and that there is still the possibility of the next day." I was scraping the bottom of the prayer barrel. "And let us be wise enough to make an extra effort in all we do, that no task will be left undone in the presence of others. And that time will treat us kindly, taking us from one point to the next smoothly and with peace of mind."

It was no use, I wasn't doing anything but making the stain worse. I scrubbed harder.

"And, and, and bless the weather that it will be nice this week, and that, and that if its' not we won't complain..."

Sarah was the first to peek.

She nudged her husband who in turn looked over at me in confusion. There I was, a grown man sitting where my cushion should have been, about six inches lower than Ian, scrubbing one of their couch cushions with my tie while praying for things so vague that even God must have lost interest.

The Crimsals started to whisper between themselves. Ian hearing them whispering cracked his eyelids and turned to look at me.

"Amen," I quickly said.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked.

It was no use, I had to fess up. I hung my head in shame.

"I got some oil on your couch," I said defeated.

(Taken from Baptists at our Barbecue by Robert Farrell Smith pages 143-145)

Now every time Josh thinks I need to laugh he says "We are grateful for today that it isn't tomorrow..."