The Best Looking Guy in the Whole SBC

The official business sessions of the convention began on Tuesday and continued on through Wednesday.  In between presentations from various departments of the SBC, we heard motions, we heard people speaking to the motions, we heard support for amendments to the motions, etc, etc, etc.  It was at this point, during all of this tedious discussion and laborious exposition from people throughout the convention hall that I confirmed something I had long suspected.

I, Jenn Faulk, am married to the best looking preacher in the entire Southern Baptist Convention. 

Truth, y’all.  I am!  (And I’m sad to say that this is the most recent picture I have of him without the beard.  And it’s a picture of him with a gun.  Oh, well, if he was fifty pounds heavier and holding a Bible in one hand, he would fit a good majority of every Southern Baptist pastor stereotype out there, wouldn’t he?)

Okay, so clearly, I was having a hard time really focusing in on the business meeting. (And clearly, I’m having a hard time focusing on writing this blog.)  But can you blame me?  It was a draining morning, especially after the crazy gridlock traffic we’d been through and the near accident we’d gotten into, thanks to a driver who slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a bird, making the guy behind us nearly slam into our tiny car with his giant Jeep.  (As Wes yelled, “A BIRD!  MY LIFE FOR A BIIIIIRRRRRDDD!”  Yep, he’s the best looking preacher in the SBC, but that doesn’t keep him from an irrational fear and murderous intent towards all feathered creatures.)

Anyway.

During a break, I convinced Wes to go upstairs with me to go through the women’s ministry exhibits.  He was thrilled to do so.  And by that I mean that he did it with much grumbling.  But he did it!  After chatting up several, excited, enthusiastic ministry ladies (eeeee!!!!) about very exciting, enthusiasm-generating ministries to ladies (eeeee!!!!!), I gave him a smooch and sent him on to the luncheon he was scheduled to attend.  He praised God that he was getting away from the women’s ministry exhibits, and I sauntered into the ballroom for the pastors’ wives’ luncheon, where a big bag full of free books was sitting there in my chair, waiting for me.  How awesome is that?  Made me want to say “eeeeee!!!!” all over again.  Which I may have done.

In all seriousness, though, I was very excited to get to go to the luncheon.  I missed the memo last year that this was something worth attending, so I made sure to get a ticket for this year well in advance.  And I was so glad I did!  The speaker was great, and I got to meet a whole lot of ladies from different states and one who lives about ten minutes down the road from me.  For real!  (Her husband pastors a church in LaPorte.  Small Southern Baptist world, y’all.)  The best part of the whole thing, though, was when I was asked, by the women at the table, “Is your husband a church planter?”   I answered with, “No, he’s a pastor.” They smiled and asked, “Oh, a youth pastor?”  And I responded with, “No, he’s the senior pastor.”  They didn’t say anything for a moment… then said, “Really?!”  I refrained from saying, “Yeah, and he’s HOTT!” since it was clear that they were already thinking I was younger (and likely more immature) than I actually am.  No need to add fuel to the fire… even if my husband is indeed HOTT.

The rest of the convention, basically, was more of the same — presentations and motions.  Presentations and motions, interspersed with preaching and worship.  We heard from the seminaries, we heard from the mission boards, we heard from committees we didn’t even know existed, and we heard from more wacky cousins with more strange amendments to even stranger motions.  We ate a lot of Lebanese food.  (Seriously, nothing was ever open downtown!)  We stood in really, really long lines for Starbucks.  Oh, and we discovered that there are a surprising number of Eagle Scouts in our midst in the SBC.  So many, in fact, that as we discussed a motion regarding the Boy Scouts of America, I wanted to make a motion that every man standing up and proclaiming himself an Eagle Scout should be forced to build us a fire using nothing but ballots and the metal pointy things on the nametag holders.  (Which are SHARP, by the way.) 

Clearly, I was having a hard time staying focused.

Anyway, one of the best parts of the whole convention happened right before the very last session when we ran into a missionary who had been on the field in Namibia at the same time I had been.  Their son was five at the time, and when I asked how he was doing, I was told that he was at home so that he could DRIVE his mother to a doctor’s appointment.  I stopped myself from saying, “How can he drive if he’s only five?”

Yes, Jenn, it’s been that long since you’ve been in Namibia.  And, yes, you’re officially old.

It was a good conclusion to the convention. 

Thank you, MBC for allowing us to attend this year!  Can’t wait for next year!

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