A Fist Pump

He knows in his heart he was as good as it gets in the pulpit,
but other clergy friends never heard him or just heard him
once or twice and thought his preaching was nice, which is
what clergy are prone to say about other clergy — it was nice
(not great), nice, a damning compliment because it is just too
threatening and personal and so he was voted just okay by
peers and while some parishioners jumped up and down with
praise, that praise echoed from relatively small congregations
and not big city, tall steeple churches and now in retirement
he gets mail from the denomination to the right address but
the wrong first name. His wife says, “This is for you, Michael.”
The good news is that he knows how good he was and he,
on occasion, gives himself a fist pump.

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