Bring Your Own Padlock
Years ago, my late husband and I were pastoring a small church in Silver City, New Mexico. We lived in a two bedroom, one bath house. Our three children all slept in one room. I think kids not having their own room might be considered child abuse now, but that was a different time.
A visiting preacher and his wife were staying with us.
We gave the guests our king-size bed, and we slept in the living room on the pull-out. Practically sleep walking, I got up in the night to go to the bathroom.
When I left the bathroom, instead of going back to the hide-a-bed, I went to our bedroom and started to crawl into bed with the couple. I probably would have cuddled up to someone and slept there all night, if I hadn’t heard them giggling.
Needless to say, I was suddenly wide-awake. Without a word, I slipped out and went back to the living room.
Breakfast was rather awkward.
The man and wife became great friends of ours in spite of my intrusion. The preacher told everyone that if they spent the night with the Thompson’s, they should bring their own padlock.
I never lived that one down