First impressions

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I’m a big believer in first impressions. Whether it’s meeting with an important client or interviewing for a job, my clothes are wrinkle free, my hair is neatly brushed, and my breath is minty fresh. This tendency was heightened as I drove with my family into a new town for a new position as Senior Pastor. We were to live with the chairman of the deacons and his wife for a month while work on our home wrapped up. Their generosity saved us a few thousand dollars, and I wanted to show our gratitude from the very beginning.

A little ways into the seven-hour drive, the chairman called, inviting us to dinner with he and other extended family members he was sure we’d enjoy meeting. We eagerly agreed. Yet when we arrived at the restaurant, we were not in the best shape. We neither looked good, smelled good, or felt good after being in the car for seven hours with two preschoolers, especially not after having said teary “goodbyes” to our closest friends over the last five years. We were utterly exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally.

Nevertheless, dinner went fine until dessert. Our two year-old son was not yet fully potty-trained, and clearly did something in his diaper at the table. I was on the outside of the semi-circular booth, and I was happy to serve my wife in the presence of our deacon chairman. In the restroom, I discovered my son was wearing underwear instead of a diaper, and I had no underwear or diapers to put on him. I managed to clean him up, but he returned to the table “commando,” wearing nothing under his blue jeans.

A few minutes later, as we all stood up to leave, my son froze in his tracks and began to whimper. Fortunately, the smell hit me before the sight. I wrapped my arms around both of his thighs like a tourniquet and whisked him into the parking lot, leaving a putrescent trail of methane in our wake. I don’t typically have a gag reflex when it comes to strong, horrid odors, but I nearly vomited a few times in the van during the 15-minute drive to my deacon chairman’s home.

Fortunately for our host family (did I mention he was the chairman of the deacons?), their guest quarters were in the basement. We pulled around back to the entrance, and I carefully carried my pitiful son inside. While I cleaned him up in the bathroom (there is never enough water pressure when you need it), what he left in his jeans continued to wreak havoc on the 1000 square foot apartment. My deacon chairman’s wife came downstairs, armed with some sort of masking aerosol, leaving the room to smell like methane and roses.

God gave me a gracious and down-to-earth deacon chairman who did not judge us by our first impression, but I fretted over the experience. “If I can’t even drive into town correctly, how could I ever pastor the church?” God had me exactly where He wanted me to be: helpless. He was teaching me before I even got in the pulpit that the best pastors are those that constantly acknowledge they are utterly helpless to be great pastors. The same is true regardless of your calling or profession. The key to being a happy, joyful follower of Jesus is to be constantly aware of your helplessness to be righteous and his graciousness to give you His Son’s righteousness.


Rob Tims is a Christ-follower, husband, and father of three and lives in Nashville, TN. With more than 20 years of ministry experience in the local church, Rob now works at Lifeway Christian Resources on a team that provides trustworthy, customized Bible studies for individual churches. He also is an Associate Professor for Liberty University Online and enjoys preaching and teaching in various venues throughout the year. His first book, Southern Fried Faith: Confusing Christ and Culture in the Bible Belt, is available exclusively on Amazon for Kindle or in print. Rob blogs at SouthernFriedFaith.com and you can follow him on Twitter @robertltjr.

Photo credit: chuckp via photopin cc

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