Passing on the Potluck

Due to my husband's present ministry assignment as a district superintendent, every Sunday, we worship in a different church somewhere across East Ohio. David typically preaches. Then, more often than not, after the service we share a potluck dinner with the congregation. In the past five years my husband has served in this role, I believe I've gained about forty pounds. I blame potluck dinners for this added and most unwelcome girth. Something's gotta give.

Yesterday was no exception to my Potluck Predicament. As the church-declared "honored guests" of the day, David and I were ushered to the head of the line and expected to fill our plates while everyone else watched to make sure we tried the dish they brought. Even when I adhere to my self emposed one-spoonful-per-item rule, one plate is never enough to hold the multiple choices of cheesy potato casseroles, the plethora of pasta salads, the melee of meat dishes. . .not to mention a dessert deluge--with enough collective sugar to induce a hyperglycemic coma.

I hate to disappoint any of the church's culinary saints, but I simply can't keep up this potluck pace. I must learn to "just say no. "

I hate to disappoint authors, too. The one (and only) part of my job I thoroughly dislike is that of issuing rejections. I wish I had the resources to acquire every good submission that comes across my desk. Alas, there is a limit to the number of manuscripts I can acquire--even good ones. I simply can't afford the luxury of gluttony in regards to food OR manuscripts. When my slate is full to overflowing, I must force myself to say no to even the most delectible literary treats. Please try to understand if I must pass on your contribution to the publishing pot. And cheer me on as I strive to shake a few of these potluck pounds!