Free Home to Harmony by Philip Gulley

run. We squeaked out a one-run victory, just barely.
    It wasn’t until Dale Hinshaw phoned to ask why our revival ad wasn’t in the Herald that I figured out that Call B.M. regarding B.B. meant “Call Bob Miles regarding Billy Bundle.” I explained to Dale what had happened, then suggested that if I had a secretary these mistakes could be avoided.
    The reason I didn’t have a secretary was because every time I mentioned needing one, Dale shot it down. He had read somewhere, though he couldn’t remember where, that 26 percent of church pastors ran off with their secretaries. Because it was in print, Dale believed it. Plus, his brother-in-law’s pastor had run off with his secretary, which meant, of course, that if I had a secretary I would do the same.
    â€œLead us not into temptation,” Dale intoned whenever I raised the subject of hiring a secretary.
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    F or as long as I had known Dale, he had taken his vacation the first week of July. Every year Dale and his wife went to the same place, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, where they rented a cabin and fished. Dale had two bumper stickers on his car. One read, Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers…” and the other read, Work is for people who don’t know how to fish.
    With Dale in Fond du Lac, July was the one month we got things done in the church. We saved all our important business for the July elders’ meeting, which was when I brought up the subject of Harmony FriendsMeeting hiring a secretary to help me write the newsletter, print the bulletins, and answer the phone.
    Even with Dale gone, it was a spirited discussion. Asa Peacock mentioned that we’d never had a secretary before. Why start now?
    Miriam Hodge asked if he’d had indoor plumbing growing up. Asa shook his head no.
    She said, “Well, Asa, since you’d never had it, why did you bother getting it?” In one fell swoop, Miriam Hodge killed the venerable we’ve-never-done-it-this-way-before argument. It was a thing of beauty to behold.
    Then Harvey Muldock waded in with the time-honored we-can’t-afford-it argument, to which Miriam replied, “It seems a waste of money to pay Sam to do secretarial work when we could hire it done cheaper.”
    With all the arguments exhausted, they formed a hiring committee, and since Dale Hinshaw was gone, they appointed him to chair it.
    I was the one who had to tell him. I scribbled on my to-do list, Talk with Dale Hinshaw about sec. I’d learned my lesson and used his full name.
    Dale took it better than I thought.
    He said, “I can see how having a secretary could be a help. I guess we can trust you to behave yourself.”
    The next week he hired a seventy-year-old secretary. His name was Frank. Frank was a widower. His wife had just died, and Dale thought making Frank our secretary would boost his spirits.
    I was leery at first, but in fairness to Frank, it’s worked out better than I anticipated. Frank was a bookkeeper during the Korean War, where he developed a knack for organization. Each morning he tells me my schedule. He keeps my pencils sharpened and arranges my books alphabetically. If I have a church meeting, Frank attends and takes notes. His only drawback is that he is farsighted, so he can’t see well. He blames it on the war.
    â€œIt was all that squinting. But what with people getting shot at, I didn’t think I should complain about not being able to see.”
    Some men gave their lives for freedom. Frank gave his 20/20 eyesight. He wears thick glasses that slip down his nose. He spends a lot of time looking at people over his glasses.
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    I t has been said that patience comes with age. Whoever said that never met Frank. He does not entertain fools gladly. When Fern Hampton called to complain about our worship service, Frank listened for one minute, then hung up the phone.
    Complaining about the service was a weekly ritual for Fern,