Ever Done Something Dumb?

The year was 1978. I had published a book on drug abuse which had received national publicity. I had also opened a drug prevention center in High Street (a poor choice of street names for a drug center). So it was no surprise when I was suddenly heralded as an expert, and found myself on panels explaining the dangers of drug abuse (see the whole story in Out of the Comfort Zone).

On one occasion I was on a panel with a well-known doctor and the local drug squad in front of six hundred locals. After the experts had spoken and answered questions, the meeting came to an end.

That’s when one concerned mother approached me with her two young boys. Unbeknown to me, at the conclusion of the meeting, the drug squad lit a marijuana joint so that parents could become familiar with the smell of pot, and it was being passed around so that the smell would be widespread. As I answered the dear lady’s questions, her two boys looked on admiringly. I guess I was their hero—fighting the evils of illicit drug use.

As I talked to her, someone tapped me on the shoulder and handed me the still smoking joint. I was so caught up in the conversation I hardly gave any thought to what was being passed to me. I simply took the joint in my hand, and while I was still talking . . . took one quick puff, and passed it on.

Do you find yourself doing dumb things? I do. Almost daily, I bruise people, smash things, get lost, accidentally delete files, and embarrass myself. I have caught myself on fire, boarded the wrong planes, accidentally stolen cars, showed up at the wrong church to preach, and entered the wrong house one night. I also sneeze so loud, strangers stare at me.

Just last week I cooked dinner for Sue and placed a plastic colander on the gas stove (the stove had been turned off for a minute or so—I’m not stupid). But when I tried to lift the colander off, the dimwitted thing was stuck to the still-hot surface. Sue rolled her eyes as usual, and I mumbled something about her knowing what she was getting when she married me. She said she didn’t.

Mark Spence, the Dean of our “School of Biblical Evangelism,” has witnessed me do so many dumb things, he is dumbfounded. When he witnesses yet another, he simply shakes his head and says, “Behold, the Lord’s anointed.”

Recently, just before Kirk and I were due to go on live TV, he gave me a gift of cookies from his mom, and a card. When I entered the set during the broadcast, I accidentally knocked his notes off the stool beside him, and whispered, “Sorry, Kirk. I just knocked your notes onto the floor.” He didn’t miss a beat. He swooped down, picked them up and whispered, “I’m used to it.”

After the broadcast, he said an enthusiastic, “Good job!” When I responded, “I was just praying that I wouldn’t embarrass you,” he inquired, “Did you open the card?” I hadn’t; so I then opened it and read, “Thank you for not embarrassing me. Your pal, Kirk.” Of course he was just kidding. Sure.

We are planning to film an episode of our program in Death Valley. There was no response from the production team when I kindly offered to be in charge of drinking water and the map home.

People tend to look up to those who preach from pulpits. They put us on a pedestal, as though we were something special. They tend to do the same thing with authors and TV show hosts. So if you are tempted to think that I’m something I’m not, just remember that I do dumb things so often that my Arab son-in-law (EZ) wrote a song about it. The tune is catchy, and the words stay in your head forever. It goes like this: “When everything is breaking, and everyone’s left aching, then there is no mistaking, Ray Comfort’s in town. When you hear a thunderous sneeze, and someone saying, ‘Did you get one of these,’ when a Jew befriends a Lebanese, then Ray Comfort’s in town” (he also put “Hell’s Best Kept Secret” to music—it’s very funny).

He keeps mumbling something about one day the earth being knocked off its axis, then crashing into other planets, destroying the entire universe . . . and he says he knows that it will all be my fault.

So, if you can identify with me and know that you would easily qualify for a chapter in Everyday Living—for Dummies, take Comfort. God speaks through donkeys, and rejoice with me as I near the completion of my studies to be a brain surgeon.