If you really have to know,

here's what I did on my summer vacation

Ministers get

asked odd questions. For example, a recent question I received was, "What

do ministers do when they go on vacation?" Not, you will notice,

"What did you do on vacation?"

Well, the question

deserves an answer, I suppose. When ministers go on vacation, since they

are out of the sight of nosey church members, they go to the dog track

in the mornings, watch the Playboy channel in the afternoon, go to the

bar in the early evening and, to cap the night off, take in a strip joint

or two. No, not really.

No, when ministers

go on vacation, they go to a secluded place, perhaps to a monastery, arise

at 4 a.m. each morning to pray for several hours, read at least 15 chapters

from the Bible before breakfast, fast the rest of the day, spend the afternoon

handing out religious leaflets at the beach and, to cap the night off,

go to a revival service or a church meeting. No, not really.

I have no idea

what "ministers" do when they go on vacation any more than I

know what "accountants" or "school teachers" do when

they go on vacation. However, for those who are terminally curious, I

offer a bit of information regarding how I spent my vacation last June.

First of all,

I needed this vacation. It had been a long, full year since my

previous time away. During the past year, I finished the last course in

my doctoral program, saw the completion of our new church building, rejoiced

when a new grandchild was born, taught a seminar in California, spent

two weeks in Australia, preached around 75 sermons, attended two convocations

and three retreats, was present at the births of several children, preached

a number of funerals, had gall bladder surgery, and lost my mother to

death and preached her funeral. Then there was the normal load of church

work, duties in the diocese, and police chaplaincy responsibilities. By

the time my wife and I left for Florida, I was mentally exhausted, spiritually

depleted, and physically spent.

After a six-hour

drive, we arrived at Cape San Blas, near Port St. Joe, and went to bed.

The next five days were spent reading, resting, napping, and avoiding

the telephone. In fact, for the first five days, I didn't even go to the

swimming pool or walk to the beach, which was only about 30 yards away.

I mostly read and watched some television. And I ate seafood. Lots and

lots of seafood.

Somewhere in

that first week, we drove the 60 miles to Panama City and spent a small

fortune at Books A Million. My wife is a voracious reader and can go through

a book or two a day. She bought a zillion books and I went to the rare

coin shop and purchased some genuine Confederate money printed in 1864.

If the South ever rises again, I am now prepared.

I also wrote,

every other day, to our church members who are serving in Iraq, to a lady

from our church on assignment for four months in India, to one of our

young men in Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island, and to my son in

the U. S. Air Force.

I bought some

books, too. In fact, I read six books during that 12 days away, including

"Father Mychal Judge" by Michael Ford; "Fresh Wind, Fresh

Fire" by Jim Cymbala; "One Holy Fire" by Nicky Cruz; "Wild

at Heart" by John Eldredge; "Territorial Spirits and World Evangelisation"

I studiously avoided newspapers and news broadcasts. I figured the world

would still be there at the end of my vacation. I did watch dozens of

reruns of "M*A*S*H*."

On the sixth

day, I began to pray again. Truthfully, I was so tired that, for the first

five days, I kind of "waved at God" just so he would know that

I knew that he was still there. Mostly, I prayed for the members of my

family and for the members of the church family, by name. After the fifth

day, I also began venturing down to the pool and began to walk on the

beach. I even tried surf fishing twice, with no success.

During the

second week, I made a few telephone calls, worked on a sermon, and wrote

three articles for this newspaper. Oh, and I slept. I slept at least six

to eight hours a night, a rarity for me, and dozed from time to time on

the screened-in deck on the fourth floor of the place we were staying.

It rained 10

of the 12 days we were in Florida but I didn't mind at all. I've always

said, "A bad day at the beach is better than a good day almost anywhere

else." Besides, the rain helped me to sleep.

of the 12 days, I was ready to get