“Parson,” came the voice of a nearby pastor in the parson's denomination. “You holding up okay?”
The day before the area of Northwest Georgia in which the parson lived had been hit by a devastating tornado. The storm had wrecked havoc to the area around the parson's church. The nearby public school campus, hosting an elementary, a middle, and a high school, had been missed by the tornado's funnel by only fifty yards. Miraculously, no one in the parson's county had died, but the destruction was massive.
“I'm doing good,” the parson replied. “How about you?”
“I'm a bit frustrated, to tell you the truth,” said the pastor.
“Frustrated about what?” the parson asked.
“The lack of response.”
“The lack of response; what are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about our denomination. I haven't seen one single representative of our denomination in the area assessing the damage and preparing to move in to assist.”
“What exactly do you want them to do?” the parson asked. He didn't mention that a representative of the denomination's disaster relief team had called within an hour of the tornado touching down.
“Well, I would think they'd get up here an coordinate the relief effort. How are we to know what to do unless they get up here and direct things?”
The parson didn't say anything.
“You know, Parson, I'm seriously thinking about getting in my car and riding down to the headquarters and ask them when they're going to tell us how they want this relief coordinated.”
The parson didn't respond.
“I was wondering if you'd like to go with me. Some of those folks know you. They might listen to you.”
“Actually, I'm not able to go right now,” the parson explained. “I'm a little tied up.”
“With all due respect, Parson. What are you doing that's more important than getting someone to coordinate this relief effort?”
“Well,” the parson said as he adjusted the apron tied about his waist, “I'm at my church. We're preparing lunch for the relief workers and volunteers.”