Dancing Fool

So a bunch of us went to Mississippi in October. We were there to help people recover after the hurricane. When we arrived at the volunteer camp, they gave my wife a power drill and they gave me a clipboard. That summarizes our abilities. While she went out to do construction, they sent me to talk to people.

One of the people that I visited was a man whose house was swamped in mud. Jack is a professional musician and he lost everything except his guitar, which he found floating on top of his refrigerator. Fourteen months later, he was still pretty upset about it. Who wouldn't be?

On our last night down there, as a sign of support, we dropped by the little place where he was playing. Within ten seconds, everybody knew who we were. Jack was up there rocking and rolling, and this lady in a red sequin shirt comes up to me. “Is it true you’re a preacher?” Yes, ma’am, I am.

She said, “My daddy was a preacher, and my son is a preacher.” Is that right, ma’am?

She said, “I’ve never danced with a preacher before.” Well, then, maybe we'd better dance.

I looked back at my group, kind of sheepishly. My wife whispered, “Keep your arms down.”