Dr. Herb
Marlow About 500 words
P.O. Box 395
Ben Wheeler, TX
75754
903-963-1442
Holy Bluff
By
Herb Marlow
The café was nearly full as we entered, but we settled into the one open booth, ordering our breakfasts and talking about the trip from my parents’ house in Columbus, Nebraska our home to Itasca, Texas, where I served as a pastor.
Suddenly, raucous laughter and loud voices rose from a table where eight men were seated – all farmers from their dress. I smiled at their good spirits until I heard their words.
Now I was no stranger to profanity, but these men were way beyond coarse. They seemed to be vying with each other to see who could talk the loudest and use the foulest language.
If I’d been alone I would probably have let it pass, but with my wife and children in the booth I knew that I had to do something. Looking around at the other patrons of the place I noticed red faces and eyes cast down. Obviously, the group-of-eight was disturbing everyone in the room.
Almost without thought I rose to my feet and approached the men. At their table, I leaned down and said in a low voice, “I’m going into the restroom, and when I return I don’t want to see any of you foul-mouthed men in this café.”
The table behind me was silent as I went on to the restroom, but once inside I began to reflect on what I’d said. The words were easy enough to say, but what if when I went back out the men were still there? I certainly couldn’t force them out physically. Even if I wanted to engage in a brawl in front of my children – and I certainly didn’t – there was only one of me against eight of them. It appeared that I had let my principles overrule my common sense.
I suppose not many people see a café restroom as a prayer chapel, but that morning the surroundings didn’t inhibit me from praying fervently, “Lord, I know I’ve gotten myself into this mess, and I probably don’t have any right to ask, but could You please help me out here?”
I washed my hands several times to delay my return, but finally, ashamed to wait any longer, I took a deep breath and walked through the door. There was the table right in front of me, and it was – empty! Not one of the eight sat there! The waitress cleaning the table touched my arm as I walked by and said, “Mister, I don’t know what you said to those men, but thanks for running them out of here.” I smiled at her, not trusting my voice enough to speak.
At our booth breakfast had arrived, and we were all soon busy eating. “Boy,” my son said, “it sure is a lot quieter in here since those loud men left.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I replied. “Now, let’s eat up and get on the road. We’ve got a lot miles ahead of us today.”
Silently I thanked the Lord for backing my holy bluff.
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