by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. During services, Pastor Henry O’Donnell likes to use a lavalier mic, a type of radio microphone that clips to his tie, so he can walk around unencumbered by cables and still be easily heard. He feels it made his sermons more dynamic - and a little razzle dazzle helps get the message across.
Last Sunday morning, however, when he stepped to the front of the sanctuary to welcome everyone, Pastor O’Donnell discovered he’d forgotten to put the lavalier mic on.
It was an annoyance but hardly a disaster. He would just have to use the pulpit microphone or the microphone on the stand by the piano that was used for announcements or special music. It would limit his movement, but he would just have to make up for the reduction in showmanship with more forceful preaching.
Things proceeded fairly smoothly until the pastor’s prayer. Pastor O’Donnell moved the microphone on the stand out to the center of the dais and delivered what he thought was one of his more eloquent prayers. Then, as was his custom, he said, “now we move to a time of silent prayer.” The sanctuary fell quiet as the congregation made their private requests of God.
And then Katie O’Donnell’s voice broke the silence, filling the sanctuary. “Is my Dad boring or what?” she said.
O’Donnell was startled. He looked up to the balcony where his fifteen year old daughter Katie normally sat with her friend Tabitha so they could worship away from all the stodgy grown ups. But they weren’t there.
“I need some coffee if I’m going to sit through any more of that,” came Tabitha’s voice, loud and clear. Pastor O’Donnell realized the voices were coming over the speaker system. And that’s when he remembered where he’d left his lavalier mic.
Right before service, Ralph Billings, the head usher, had asked the pastor to help him move the large table into position for coffee hour. O’Donnell had taken off his sports coat and the lavalier mic to do so. The whole process had taken longer than expected due to a misadventure with a wobbly table leg and a stray nectarine. O’Donnell had to rush to make it up to the sanctuary by the start of service. He must have left the microphone in the lounge, where it was now picking up the conversation between Katie and Tabitha who were apparently playing hooky from the service.
O’Donnell found the congregation was staring at him. “Amen,” he said, since it appeared everyone had run out of things to pray silently about.
“I can’t believe your Dad is letting you go to the concert with Joe on Friday,” Tabitha said.
“It’s only so I won’t tell Mom what happened when he was giving me a ride home the other night.”
Pastor O’Donnell’s face went pale. He lunged for the small door at the back of the dais where the audio controls were kept. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the unaccustomed microphone cord trailing behind him. He tripped and fell flat on his face, banging his knee badly.
“What happened,” Tabitha asked Katie in a conspiratorial tone that was still plenty audible over the speakers.
O’Donnell leaped to his feet and raced for the audio controls, ignoring his throbbing knee.
“He was talking on the cell phone and drove through a stop sign. Of course there was a cop waiting right there,” Katie said.
O’Donnell made it to the door and threw it open, slamming it on his thumb.
Katie continued her story. “My Dad tried to argue with him and the cop gave him a ticket for speeding as well as for running the stop sign.”
O’Donnell hit the switch for the lavalier receiver. Tabitha’s voice was cut off in mid “wow.”
O’Donnell glanced over at Shane, the choir director. Shane was furiously chewing his lips in a desperate attempt not to laugh. “Start the anthem,” O’Donnell hissed.
As Shane directed the choir to stand, Henry slipped back to his seat behind the pulpit. When the choir reached the second verse of the anthem, he ventured a peek out at the congregation. He located his wife Jennifer in the middle of the left section of pews. She was staring straight at him with a furious look. O’Donnell ducked back behind the pulpit.
O’Donnell suspected he was going to be in for quite a lecture after the service. But he had a more immediate problem.
His sermon topic was honesty.
On the ride home, Jennifer informed Katie that she would not be going to the concert with Joe.
“But Dad promised!” Katie shouted.
“I know about the deal you made. You and your Dad will be spending Friday night cleaning out the garage.”
“It’s not fair,” Katie pouted.
Henry turned back with a severe glare. “Serves you right for ducking out of church,” he said.
But the distraction caused him to miss the stop sign just ahead. And unfortunately there was a motorcycle officer waiting to cross in the other direction.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
White Board Heat
Hear the story read by author Douglas Eboch
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. It’s a quiet little church…or so it seemed until she walked into his office one drizzly gray Monday morning. She looked like trouble with her white-gold curls and her floral print dress. “We’ve got a problem,” she said, confirming his fears. She was Tammy Billings, church secretary, and she was about to drop a family size can of worms in his lap. Who was he? O’Donnell. Pastor O’Donnell.
“The white board in the choir room is missing,” Tammy told him. “And we need it for the Finance Committee meeting tonight.”
O’Donnell supposed the white board could have miraculously grown legs and decided to relocate to nicer digs on its own. Only problem was, O’Donnell didn’t believe in miracles. Okay, actually he did, but not when it came to ambulatory furniture. No, he was fairly certain this inanimate object had flesh and blood help vacating its premises.
The solitaire program on O’Donnell’s computer would have to wait. He had a more dangerous game to play.
O’Donnell’s first call was to the choir director, Shane Reed. The kid had a voice like an angel but that didn’t mean there was a halo over his head. O’Donnell wanted to see what kind of song he’d sing.
“The white board was there after the service yesterday,” Shane told him.
“Was the door locked when you left?” O’Donnell asked.
“No,” Shane said. “Walter’s stuff was in there. He said he had a few chores to take care of and he’d lock up after he was done.”
Walter was Walter Tibble, the church organist. During the week, he made his nut by teaching piano to squirrelly kids. O’Donnell reached him at home where one of the animals was murdering a long dead composer in the background. That particular tune was not music to O’Donnell’s ears.
Walter said he couldn’t remember if the white board was still in the choir room when he locked the door. “Did you see anyone unusual at the church when you left?” O’Donnell asked.
“The only people I saw were the women’s group. They were having their monthly tea.”
A few members of the women’s group definitely qualified as unusual. O’Donnell also suspected he knew what Walter’s “chores” were.
“What kind of cookies did they serve,” O’Donnell asked.
“Chocolate chip and peanut butter,” Walter said without thinking. Suspicions confirmed.
Tammy was a member of the women’s group and would have remembered if they borrowed the white board for their meeting. He asked her who else attended. As she went down the list, one name jumped out at him like a cat in a horror movie: Jill Boyer.
“Were her girls with her,” O’Donnell asked.
“No. I think Kevin was watching them downstairs,” Tammy said.
Jill and her husband Kevin had two little girls, Susie, age two and Mary, age four. Mary and O’Donnell went way back. At least as far back as you could go with a four-year-old. She had the face of a cherub and the personality of a sociopathic anarchist. They say good things come in small packages. Mary was proof that chaos comes in a pretty small package as well.
O’Donnell placed a call to Kevin. Kevin told him that he let Mary and Susie play in their Sunday school classroom during the Women’s Group meeting.
“Were you watching them the whole time,” O’Donnell asked?
“Of course,” Kevin said.
It had been quite a while since O’Donnell took a tumble from a truck of turnips. “Are you sure,” he pressed.
Kevin cracked like a glass trampoline. “Well, I was in the room right across the hall. There was a baseball game on the radio and the girls were being really loud. They didn’t break anything too valuable, did they?”
“Not that we’ve discovered yet,” O’Donnell told him and hung up.
The classroom was just two doors down from the choir room. Even Mary’s short legs could make that journey in less time than it took a professional ball player to round four bases. O’Donnell went to investigate.
The classroom looked like a couple bombs had gone off in it. O’Donnell guessed these bombs were named Mary and Susie. They’d constructed some kind of fort in the middle of the room out of desks, chairs and blankets. Apparently, the defenses were good enough to repel anyone who had asked them to clean up after themselves.
O’Donnell grabbed one of the blankets and pulled. Just as he suspected – the central support for the construction was the choir room white board.
O’Donnell returned the white board and went back to his office. He put his feet up on his desk and poured himself a shot of herbal tea. He doubted this would be the last time he’d be cleaning up after one of Mary’s messes. But that’s just the way the sugar cookie crumbled in the mean halls of the little church. He drank his tea. Case closed.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. It’s a quiet little church…or so it seemed until she walked into his office one drizzly gray Monday morning. She looked like trouble with her white-gold curls and her floral print dress. “We’ve got a problem,” she said, confirming his fears. She was Tammy Billings, church secretary, and she was about to drop a family size can of worms in his lap. Who was he? O’Donnell. Pastor O’Donnell.
“The white board in the choir room is missing,” Tammy told him. “And we need it for the Finance Committee meeting tonight.”
O’Donnell supposed the white board could have miraculously grown legs and decided to relocate to nicer digs on its own. Only problem was, O’Donnell didn’t believe in miracles. Okay, actually he did, but not when it came to ambulatory furniture. No, he was fairly certain this inanimate object had flesh and blood help vacating its premises.
The solitaire program on O’Donnell’s computer would have to wait. He had a more dangerous game to play.
O’Donnell’s first call was to the choir director, Shane Reed. The kid had a voice like an angel but that didn’t mean there was a halo over his head. O’Donnell wanted to see what kind of song he’d sing.
“The white board was there after the service yesterday,” Shane told him.
“Was the door locked when you left?” O’Donnell asked.
“No,” Shane said. “Walter’s stuff was in there. He said he had a few chores to take care of and he’d lock up after he was done.”
Walter was Walter Tibble, the church organist. During the week, he made his nut by teaching piano to squirrelly kids. O’Donnell reached him at home where one of the animals was murdering a long dead composer in the background. That particular tune was not music to O’Donnell’s ears.
Walter said he couldn’t remember if the white board was still in the choir room when he locked the door. “Did you see anyone unusual at the church when you left?” O’Donnell asked.
“The only people I saw were the women’s group. They were having their monthly tea.”
A few members of the women’s group definitely qualified as unusual. O’Donnell also suspected he knew what Walter’s “chores” were.
“What kind of cookies did they serve,” O’Donnell asked.
“Chocolate chip and peanut butter,” Walter said without thinking. Suspicions confirmed.
Tammy was a member of the women’s group and would have remembered if they borrowed the white board for their meeting. He asked her who else attended. As she went down the list, one name jumped out at him like a cat in a horror movie: Jill Boyer.
“Were her girls with her,” O’Donnell asked.
“No. I think Kevin was watching them downstairs,” Tammy said.
Jill and her husband Kevin had two little girls, Susie, age two and Mary, age four. Mary and O’Donnell went way back. At least as far back as you could go with a four-year-old. She had the face of a cherub and the personality of a sociopathic anarchist. They say good things come in small packages. Mary was proof that chaos comes in a pretty small package as well.
O’Donnell placed a call to Kevin. Kevin told him that he let Mary and Susie play in their Sunday school classroom during the Women’s Group meeting.
“Were you watching them the whole time,” O’Donnell asked?
“Of course,” Kevin said.
It had been quite a while since O’Donnell took a tumble from a truck of turnips. “Are you sure,” he pressed.
Kevin cracked like a glass trampoline. “Well, I was in the room right across the hall. There was a baseball game on the radio and the girls were being really loud. They didn’t break anything too valuable, did they?”
“Not that we’ve discovered yet,” O’Donnell told him and hung up.
The classroom was just two doors down from the choir room. Even Mary’s short legs could make that journey in less time than it took a professional ball player to round four bases. O’Donnell went to investigate.
The classroom looked like a couple bombs had gone off in it. O’Donnell guessed these bombs were named Mary and Susie. They’d constructed some kind of fort in the middle of the room out of desks, chairs and blankets. Apparently, the defenses were good enough to repel anyone who had asked them to clean up after themselves.
O’Donnell grabbed one of the blankets and pulled. Just as he suspected – the central support for the construction was the choir room white board.
O’Donnell returned the white board and went back to his office. He put his feet up on his desk and poured himself a shot of herbal tea. He doubted this would be the last time he’d be cleaning up after one of Mary’s messes. But that’s just the way the sugar cookie crumbled in the mean halls of the little church. He drank his tea. Case closed.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Photo Directory
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every few years they do a photo directory of all the members. A company sends a photographer to take everyone’s portraits. The photography is free, the company making their money by selling portrait packages to the participants. The whole process takes three long Saturdays.
Church secretary Tammy Billings was in charge of signing everyone up for a time slot. She met the photography people at 8 a.m. on the first Saturday with a neatly printed schedule for the day. The photographer this year was an energetic young man named Marcus. He was accompanied by a considerably less energetic young saleswoman named Kelly.
Marcus asked Tammy to pose as a stand-in on the stool while he set up his lights and backdrop. He took his job very seriously, as though he was shooting the cover of a national magazine. Kelly, on the other hand, simply set her laptop on a folding table and began playing computer solitaire. As Marcus was trying different colored gels on the backlight, he told Tammy she had lovely bone structure and asked if she’d ever been a model. Tammy giggled and reminded herself that she was a married woman.
At 9 a.m. the first subject arrived. Marcus declared himself ready to start shooting at 9:30.
Tammy liked Marcus’s spirit. She did not like the fact that he was an hour behind by 11:30 a.m. The lounge was filling up with people waiting for their turn.
The Boyer family had been scheduled at 11:00 a.m. They arrived twenty minutes late, which would have annoyed Tammy if everything weren’t already so far behind schedule. Tammy informed Kevin and Jill Boyer of the delay and asked them to take a seat.
They sat next to Henrietta Miggins, age 69, who was scheduled just ahead of them. Henrietta did not like to be kept waiting and she was not the type to keep her displeasure to herself. Approximately every five minutes Henrietta went to Tammy’s check-in table to ask about the delay.
The Boyer girls, Mary, age 4 and Susie, age 2, were not good at waiting patiently either. Mary decided to amuse herself by poking Susie in the arm. Susie did not find the game nearly as amusing. Jill separated them and begged them to sit still and not mess up their nice clothes before the picture could be taken. She also had to throw an occasional beg Kevin’s way as he fiddled with his tie.
Without a little sister within striking distance, Mary became fascinated by the fake flowers on Henrietta’s hat. She suggested Henrietta put perfume in them to make them smell pretty. Henrietta gave the girl a severe glare then went to check with Tammy on Marcus’s progress again.
Missy Moore had been there longer than any of them, but she waited patiently and cheerfully. Missy was excited to have her picture taken. She’d worn her favorite pink dress and was in the bathroom reapplying her make-up for the third time that morning when the Boyers arrived.
Missy loved kids, though she had none of her own. When she came out of the bathroom and saw Mary and Susie, she squealed with delight. “Oh don’t you two just look precious in your pretty little dresses!” she exclaimed and gave them a big hug, one wrapped in each arm. Henrietta rolled her eyes, though she was thankful for the relief from Mary’s attentions.
Marcus finished taking Walter Tibble’s portrait and said he was ready for Missy. Kelly the saleswoman salivated as Missy checked herself in the mirror one last time. She suspected this woman would order lots of pictures.
Missy beamed as Marcus complimented her rosy cheeks and cheerful smile while he posed her atop the stool. He stepped back and said, “gorgeous.” Missy blushed.
Marcus went behind the digital camera and took hold of the shutter release cord that allowed him to take a picture without jostling the camera. “Big smile,” he said. Missy smiled her biggest. And just as Marcus depressed the shutter, a naked two-year-old girl ran past.
Susie had taken advantage of a distraction caused by Mary inadvertently yanking one of the fake flowers out of Henrietta’s hat. Susie slithered out of the frilly yellow dress her mother had wedged her into that morning and made a break for the door.
Missy was so startled by the diminutive streaker that she nearly fell off the stool. “That’s okay,” Marcus said, “We’ll just take that one again.” Marcus repositioned Missy on the chair as Jill ran by in pursuit of her daughter, spilling apologies.
Marcus returned to the camera. “Got another one of those ravishing smiles in you,” he asked with a wink.
Missy grinned. Marcus pushed down on the shutter release.
And got a great picture of the backdrop falling on Missy.
Mary was standing on the other side, giggling. Jill ran up with Susie under her arm, looking mortified. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you all right?”
Missy clambered out from under the backdrop. “I’m fine,” she assured Jill.
Jill turned on Mary and unleashed a tirade of anger on the rambunctious girl, saving a few choice words for her husband for not keeping closer watch. Missy stepped in before Mary started crying. “It’s okay, really!” Missy said. Then she knelt and pinched Mary’s cheek. “You’re just bored, aren’t you? This is no fun for a little girl like you. Maybe we can get you something to play with.”
“I’ve got something,” Marcus volunteered. He always brought toys with him to get his younger subjects to smile. He handed a plastic horse with a long pink tail to Mary, whose face lit up.
“Thank you,” Jill said, with as much relief as gratitude. “Come on, we have to put Susie’s dress back on.” She led the two girls away.
Marcus regarded Missy. Her precisely arranged hairdo had been completely undone by its encounter with the backdrop. “Would you like a minute to get yourself back together,” he asked.
“Oh yes, please.” Missy said.
Missy hurried off to the bathroom. Tammy suggested maybe they better go ahead and shoot the next person on the list while Missy cleaned up. “That’s me,” Henrietta said, striding over to the table.
Tammy peeked around her at the frazzled Boyer family. Mary and Susie were fighting over who got to play with the plastic horse. “Henrietta, do you think maybe we could let the Boyers go first?” she asked.
Henrietta fixed her with a steely gaze. “Who’s next on your list,” she demanded.
“You are,” Tammy sighed. Henrietta nodded triumphantly and strode over to the stool.
Marcus went to position Henrietta. “Don’t touch me,” Henrietta snapped. “You ought to show some respect for a lady, young man.”
“Okay,” Marcus said slowly. “Just put your hand in your lap then. And tilt your chin up.” Henrietta complied. “Now smile,” Marcus said.
Henrietta did not smile.
“Smile,” Marcus repeated louder.
“I’m not deaf,” Henrietta said. “I just prefer not to grin like a fool in my picture.”
“Don’t you want to look happy in your directory?”
“I’d rather look dignified.”
Marcus turned on the charm. “Come on, I bet you have a really pretty smile.”
“Mighty fresh, aren’t you,” Henrietta responded.
Marcus decided to try a joke. “What did the blue jay say to the robin,” he asked.
“I hate people who waste time telling stupid jokes?”
Marcus sighed. He was about to give up and take the picture when suddenly the plastic horse flew in and hit him in the groin. Marcus grunted and fell to his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He looked at Henrietta who appeared as startled as he was. Then she bursts out laughing. Instinctively, Marcus pushed the plunger on the shutter release.
When the camera clicked, Henrietta stopped laughing. “Did you just take my picture?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said through clenched teeth. He checked the results on his laptop screen. Henrietta looked joyful and free spirited. Anyone who knew her would claim the photo didn’t capture her true nature at all.
“It’s great,” Marcus said. “Next!”
“Wait, wait,” Henrietta demanded, but it was too late. The Boyer family appeared and the two girls engaged in a game of tag around her. Kelly took Henrietta’s arm and led her away. When Henrietta saw the portrait, she was horrified.
“Would you like to order any photos,” Kelly asked.
“Certainly not,” Henrietta sniffed and walked out.
When the directory came out two months later, it contained the first picture of Henrietta smiling in church directory history.
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every few years they do a photo directory of all the members. A company sends a photographer to take everyone’s portraits. The photography is free, the company making their money by selling portrait packages to the participants. The whole process takes three long Saturdays.
Church secretary Tammy Billings was in charge of signing everyone up for a time slot. She met the photography people at 8 a.m. on the first Saturday with a neatly printed schedule for the day. The photographer this year was an energetic young man named Marcus. He was accompanied by a considerably less energetic young saleswoman named Kelly.
Marcus asked Tammy to pose as a stand-in on the stool while he set up his lights and backdrop. He took his job very seriously, as though he was shooting the cover of a national magazine. Kelly, on the other hand, simply set her laptop on a folding table and began playing computer solitaire. As Marcus was trying different colored gels on the backlight, he told Tammy she had lovely bone structure and asked if she’d ever been a model. Tammy giggled and reminded herself that she was a married woman.
At 9 a.m. the first subject arrived. Marcus declared himself ready to start shooting at 9:30.
Tammy liked Marcus’s spirit. She did not like the fact that he was an hour behind by 11:30 a.m. The lounge was filling up with people waiting for their turn.
The Boyer family had been scheduled at 11:00 a.m. They arrived twenty minutes late, which would have annoyed Tammy if everything weren’t already so far behind schedule. Tammy informed Kevin and Jill Boyer of the delay and asked them to take a seat.
They sat next to Henrietta Miggins, age 69, who was scheduled just ahead of them. Henrietta did not like to be kept waiting and she was not the type to keep her displeasure to herself. Approximately every five minutes Henrietta went to Tammy’s check-in table to ask about the delay.
The Boyer girls, Mary, age 4 and Susie, age 2, were not good at waiting patiently either. Mary decided to amuse herself by poking Susie in the arm. Susie did not find the game nearly as amusing. Jill separated them and begged them to sit still and not mess up their nice clothes before the picture could be taken. She also had to throw an occasional beg Kevin’s way as he fiddled with his tie.
Without a little sister within striking distance, Mary became fascinated by the fake flowers on Henrietta’s hat. She suggested Henrietta put perfume in them to make them smell pretty. Henrietta gave the girl a severe glare then went to check with Tammy on Marcus’s progress again.
Missy Moore had been there longer than any of them, but she waited patiently and cheerfully. Missy was excited to have her picture taken. She’d worn her favorite pink dress and was in the bathroom reapplying her make-up for the third time that morning when the Boyers arrived.
Missy loved kids, though she had none of her own. When she came out of the bathroom and saw Mary and Susie, she squealed with delight. “Oh don’t you two just look precious in your pretty little dresses!” she exclaimed and gave them a big hug, one wrapped in each arm. Henrietta rolled her eyes, though she was thankful for the relief from Mary’s attentions.
Marcus finished taking Walter Tibble’s portrait and said he was ready for Missy. Kelly the saleswoman salivated as Missy checked herself in the mirror one last time. She suspected this woman would order lots of pictures.
Missy beamed as Marcus complimented her rosy cheeks and cheerful smile while he posed her atop the stool. He stepped back and said, “gorgeous.” Missy blushed.
Marcus went behind the digital camera and took hold of the shutter release cord that allowed him to take a picture without jostling the camera. “Big smile,” he said. Missy smiled her biggest. And just as Marcus depressed the shutter, a naked two-year-old girl ran past.
Susie had taken advantage of a distraction caused by Mary inadvertently yanking one of the fake flowers out of Henrietta’s hat. Susie slithered out of the frilly yellow dress her mother had wedged her into that morning and made a break for the door.
Missy was so startled by the diminutive streaker that she nearly fell off the stool. “That’s okay,” Marcus said, “We’ll just take that one again.” Marcus repositioned Missy on the chair as Jill ran by in pursuit of her daughter, spilling apologies.
Marcus returned to the camera. “Got another one of those ravishing smiles in you,” he asked with a wink.
Missy grinned. Marcus pushed down on the shutter release.
And got a great picture of the backdrop falling on Missy.
Mary was standing on the other side, giggling. Jill ran up with Susie under her arm, looking mortified. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you all right?”
Missy clambered out from under the backdrop. “I’m fine,” she assured Jill.
Jill turned on Mary and unleashed a tirade of anger on the rambunctious girl, saving a few choice words for her husband for not keeping closer watch. Missy stepped in before Mary started crying. “It’s okay, really!” Missy said. Then she knelt and pinched Mary’s cheek. “You’re just bored, aren’t you? This is no fun for a little girl like you. Maybe we can get you something to play with.”
“I’ve got something,” Marcus volunteered. He always brought toys with him to get his younger subjects to smile. He handed a plastic horse with a long pink tail to Mary, whose face lit up.
“Thank you,” Jill said, with as much relief as gratitude. “Come on, we have to put Susie’s dress back on.” She led the two girls away.
Marcus regarded Missy. Her precisely arranged hairdo had been completely undone by its encounter with the backdrop. “Would you like a minute to get yourself back together,” he asked.
“Oh yes, please.” Missy said.
Missy hurried off to the bathroom. Tammy suggested maybe they better go ahead and shoot the next person on the list while Missy cleaned up. “That’s me,” Henrietta said, striding over to the table.
Tammy peeked around her at the frazzled Boyer family. Mary and Susie were fighting over who got to play with the plastic horse. “Henrietta, do you think maybe we could let the Boyers go first?” she asked.
Henrietta fixed her with a steely gaze. “Who’s next on your list,” she demanded.
“You are,” Tammy sighed. Henrietta nodded triumphantly and strode over to the stool.
Marcus went to position Henrietta. “Don’t touch me,” Henrietta snapped. “You ought to show some respect for a lady, young man.”
“Okay,” Marcus said slowly. “Just put your hand in your lap then. And tilt your chin up.” Henrietta complied. “Now smile,” Marcus said.
Henrietta did not smile.
“Smile,” Marcus repeated louder.
“I’m not deaf,” Henrietta said. “I just prefer not to grin like a fool in my picture.”
“Don’t you want to look happy in your directory?”
“I’d rather look dignified.”
Marcus turned on the charm. “Come on, I bet you have a really pretty smile.”
“Mighty fresh, aren’t you,” Henrietta responded.
Marcus decided to try a joke. “What did the blue jay say to the robin,” he asked.
“I hate people who waste time telling stupid jokes?”
Marcus sighed. He was about to give up and take the picture when suddenly the plastic horse flew in and hit him in the groin. Marcus grunted and fell to his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He looked at Henrietta who appeared as startled as he was. Then she bursts out laughing. Instinctively, Marcus pushed the plunger on the shutter release.
When the camera clicked, Henrietta stopped laughing. “Did you just take my picture?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said through clenched teeth. He checked the results on his laptop screen. Henrietta looked joyful and free spirited. Anyone who knew her would claim the photo didn’t capture her true nature at all.
“It’s great,” Marcus said. “Next!”
“Wait, wait,” Henrietta demanded, but it was too late. The Boyer family appeared and the two girls engaged in a game of tag around her. Kelly took Henrietta’s arm and led her away. When Henrietta saw the portrait, she was horrified.
“Would you like to order any photos,” Kelly asked.
“Certainly not,” Henrietta sniffed and walked out.
When the directory came out two months later, it contained the first picture of Henrietta smiling in church directory history.
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Work Party
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A recent rain storm had done extensive damage to the basement classroom used by the “Guppies,” the pre-school Sunday school class, and the hall outside. So the church held a work party one Saturday to replaces some damaged dry wall, repaint and re-carpet the affected areas. Using volunteer labor from the congregation for such tasks helped the church save money. Nobody ever thought to consider the cost in emotional stress until after the events were over.
The work party had been listed in the bulletin and mentioned in the announcements during the three previous services. Pastor Henry O’Donnell had also reminded everyone he talked to during coffee hour the week before. Yet he was still not surprised when he showed up Saturday morning to discover only Ralph Billings, his wife Tammy, and Del Winslow in the lounge.
“Just us?” Del asked.
“Looks like it,” Ralph said.
“Are you helping,” Henry asked Tammy.
“Oh no,” said Tammy, who was the church secretary. “I’ve got work to do in the office.”
The three men started downstairs when a cheery, “Good morning” stopped them. Missy Moore strode into the room wearing brand new blue overalls, a pink tool belt, and a broad smile. “Is this where we’re meeting for the work party?” she asked.
The men looked at each other. They weren’t quite sure what to make of this development. “I brought donuts,” Missy added, holding up a box.
The men grinned. “This is the place,” Henry told her.
After fortifying themselves with a donut each, the first thing they did was remove all the furnishings and toys from the classroom. They moved everything upstairs into the lounge, carrying supplies and tools down on the trips back. They set up a staging area in a classroom across the hall from the Guppies’ damaged classroom.
The next task was to tear out the old, water damaged carpet. Ralph cut the carpet into four strips with a carpet knife. The floor under the carpet was cement so it had been glued down. Whoever did it had used liberal amounts of glue and hadn’t limited the adhesive to the edges of the room. Each of them took a strip and began peeling it back.
When Henry had about three quarters of his carpet strip free, he hit a particularly stubborn patch of glue in the middle of the floor. He adjusted his grip on the loose carpet and leaned back. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then, the carpet jerked up with a tearing sound - and Henry lost his balance. He fell back and his elbow went through the wall behind him.
“Are you all right, Pastor?” Ralph asked.
“Uh huh,” Henry said, yanking his elbow out of the wall.
“Good thing we’re doing some drywalling today,” Ralph said. “We’ll add that spot to the list.”
Perhaps because of this mishap, Ralph suggested that he and Del hang the drywall in the classroom while Henry started painting the hall. Henry might have felt insulted but the truth was he knew he wasn’t particularly handy. Painting seemed like something he could handle.
“What should I do?” Missy asked.
“Well,” Ralph said, “the legs of the furniture upstairs need to be cleaned off. Maybe you could start on that.”
Missy seemed a little disappointed, but headed upstairs to work on the furniture while Roger and Del began replacing the drywall under the window where water had leaked in. Henry, meanwhile, prepared to paint the hall.
Karen Winslow, the Sunday school teacher, had suggested painting the walls yellow and the baseboard and trim white to brighten up the classroom areas. Everyone agreed it was a good idea at the time. But Henry noted that Karen hadn’t shown up to execute her wonderful plan. It meant he couldn’t just paint over the water damage on the lower few inches of the previously white walls. He was going to have to paint the whole thing.
He was using a roller to apply yellow paint on the first section of the wall when Del came out of the classroom to get some more drywall nails. “What are you doing?” Del asked. “You should paint the baseboards and trim before you paint the walls. That way it doesn’t matter if you slop over onto the walls because you can just paint over it.”
“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put the roller down and got out the white paint and a brush. Del nodded his approval and returned to the drywalling.
Henry bent over to begin painting the baseboard and heard a ripping sound. He reached back and discovered his old work jeans had split in a most embarrassing spot. He was not having a good day. He found a carpenter’s apron among the tools and tied it backwards around his waist. Then his eyes fell on the donuts. He decided he could use another to lift his spirits.
While Henry enjoyed a jelly filled pastry, Missy came downstairs to check on the boys. When she entered the hall, she was shocked to see that Henry had stopped painting the wall before covering a complete section and hadn’t smoothed the edges of the paint or the drips. She grabbed a brush and did it herself so there would be no bumps or seams in the finished paint job. Then she noticed nobody had removed the switch plates or socket plates. Fortunately, she had a screwdriver in her tool belt and took care of that detail in no time.
By the time Henry came out licking jelly from his fingers, she had returned to the lounge. He didn’t even notice what she’d done as he returned to his work on the baseboards.
Then Ralph came out to get drywall tape. “What are you doing?” He asked. “You should paint the walls before the trim.”
“Del told me to do it this way,” Henry said.
“Del doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Ralph snorted. “Paint rollers create a fine spray. It’ll spot your trim if you do it last.”
“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put down the brush and returned to the roller.
About twenty minutes later Del came out. “What are you doing,” he started to say.
“Just let me do it my way,” Henry snapped.
Finally, Henry finished painting the walls. He figured he’d earned another donut and selected one covered in powdered sugar. Refortified, he returned to the hall licking powdered sugar from his fingers and began painting the trim.
Upstairs, Tammy was meeting a young couple who was considering getting married in the church. She took them to see the sanctuary, then asked if they’d like to meet the pastor. “He’s downstairs working on some remodeling,” she told them.
In fact, Henry had just finished with the hallway trim. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Unfortunately, he stepped right into the roller pan and his feet shot out from under him in the slippery paint. He fell hard on his rear, splitting his pants even more. The brush flew out of his hand, bounced off the wall, and hit him square in the face leaving him with a mouthful of paint.
It was the last straw. He spit out the paint and let loose with a string of profanity. He stopped mid-word when he looked to his left.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs were Tammy and the young engaged couple who appeared quite shocked at his monologue. O’Donnell opened his mouth but found he didn’t know what to say…which was uncommon for him.
Tammy had no such problem. “This is our janitor,” she said, gesturing at Henry. “I don’t see the pastor anywhere. Do you know where he is?”
Henry shrugged.
“Oh well, you’ll just have to meet him another time,” Tammy told the couple and guided them back toward the stairs. “Let me show you the bride’s room.”
Henry went to get cleaned up, then treated himself to a chocolate covered donut to wash the paint taste out of his mouth. He was just coming out licking chocolate frosting from his fingers when Del and Ralph emerged from the classroom.
“This man knows nothing about hanging drywall,” Del said.
“Me? I don’t know where you got your crazy ideas,” Ralph responded.
“Well, it’s done anyway. We were going to sneak out for a beer before we paint the classroom. Wanna join us, Pastor?”
Henry nodded. A beer sounded pretty good. They headed upstairs where Missy was finishing up with the furnishings.
“We’re going for a beer,” Del told her. “Do you want to come?”
“I don’t care for beer,” she responded. “But Tammy and I are going to have tea in a little bit. You go on and I’ll finish up here.”
The men headed out. Missy went downstairs to have a donut. She was surprised to find the box nearly empty. She also noticed that Henry had missed a few spots with his roller.. She grabbed it and smoothed over the paint job. Then she touched up some areas where he’d gone a little off course with his trim brush. Her father had been a contractor and she knew all about painting and drywall. She was a little disappointed her skills hadn’t been needed today.
The men returned after Missy and Tammy had left for tea. They stopped in the hallway and admired Henry’s work.
“Wow,” Ralph said. “You really did a good job.”
“Thank you,” Henry beamed.
Then they went to paint the classroom. Though first Ralph and Del had to argue for half an hour over whether to start with the walls or the trim.
(For Norma. Feel better soon.)
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A recent rain storm had done extensive damage to the basement classroom used by the “Guppies,” the pre-school Sunday school class, and the hall outside. So the church held a work party one Saturday to replaces some damaged dry wall, repaint and re-carpet the affected areas. Using volunteer labor from the congregation for such tasks helped the church save money. Nobody ever thought to consider the cost in emotional stress until after the events were over.
The work party had been listed in the bulletin and mentioned in the announcements during the three previous services. Pastor Henry O’Donnell had also reminded everyone he talked to during coffee hour the week before. Yet he was still not surprised when he showed up Saturday morning to discover only Ralph Billings, his wife Tammy, and Del Winslow in the lounge.
“Just us?” Del asked.
“Looks like it,” Ralph said.
“Are you helping,” Henry asked Tammy.
“Oh no,” said Tammy, who was the church secretary. “I’ve got work to do in the office.”
The three men started downstairs when a cheery, “Good morning” stopped them. Missy Moore strode into the room wearing brand new blue overalls, a pink tool belt, and a broad smile. “Is this where we’re meeting for the work party?” she asked.
The men looked at each other. They weren’t quite sure what to make of this development. “I brought donuts,” Missy added, holding up a box.
The men grinned. “This is the place,” Henry told her.
After fortifying themselves with a donut each, the first thing they did was remove all the furnishings and toys from the classroom. They moved everything upstairs into the lounge, carrying supplies and tools down on the trips back. They set up a staging area in a classroom across the hall from the Guppies’ damaged classroom.
The next task was to tear out the old, water damaged carpet. Ralph cut the carpet into four strips with a carpet knife. The floor under the carpet was cement so it had been glued down. Whoever did it had used liberal amounts of glue and hadn’t limited the adhesive to the edges of the room. Each of them took a strip and began peeling it back.
When Henry had about three quarters of his carpet strip free, he hit a particularly stubborn patch of glue in the middle of the floor. He adjusted his grip on the loose carpet and leaned back. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then, the carpet jerked up with a tearing sound - and Henry lost his balance. He fell back and his elbow went through the wall behind him.
“Are you all right, Pastor?” Ralph asked.
“Uh huh,” Henry said, yanking his elbow out of the wall.
“Good thing we’re doing some drywalling today,” Ralph said. “We’ll add that spot to the list.”
Perhaps because of this mishap, Ralph suggested that he and Del hang the drywall in the classroom while Henry started painting the hall. Henry might have felt insulted but the truth was he knew he wasn’t particularly handy. Painting seemed like something he could handle.
“What should I do?” Missy asked.
“Well,” Ralph said, “the legs of the furniture upstairs need to be cleaned off. Maybe you could start on that.”
Missy seemed a little disappointed, but headed upstairs to work on the furniture while Roger and Del began replacing the drywall under the window where water had leaked in. Henry, meanwhile, prepared to paint the hall.
Karen Winslow, the Sunday school teacher, had suggested painting the walls yellow and the baseboard and trim white to brighten up the classroom areas. Everyone agreed it was a good idea at the time. But Henry noted that Karen hadn’t shown up to execute her wonderful plan. It meant he couldn’t just paint over the water damage on the lower few inches of the previously white walls. He was going to have to paint the whole thing.
He was using a roller to apply yellow paint on the first section of the wall when Del came out of the classroom to get some more drywall nails. “What are you doing?” Del asked. “You should paint the baseboards and trim before you paint the walls. That way it doesn’t matter if you slop over onto the walls because you can just paint over it.”
“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put the roller down and got out the white paint and a brush. Del nodded his approval and returned to the drywalling.
Henry bent over to begin painting the baseboard and heard a ripping sound. He reached back and discovered his old work jeans had split in a most embarrassing spot. He was not having a good day. He found a carpenter’s apron among the tools and tied it backwards around his waist. Then his eyes fell on the donuts. He decided he could use another to lift his spirits.
While Henry enjoyed a jelly filled pastry, Missy came downstairs to check on the boys. When she entered the hall, she was shocked to see that Henry had stopped painting the wall before covering a complete section and hadn’t smoothed the edges of the paint or the drips. She grabbed a brush and did it herself so there would be no bumps or seams in the finished paint job. Then she noticed nobody had removed the switch plates or socket plates. Fortunately, she had a screwdriver in her tool belt and took care of that detail in no time.
By the time Henry came out licking jelly from his fingers, she had returned to the lounge. He didn’t even notice what she’d done as he returned to his work on the baseboards.
Then Ralph came out to get drywall tape. “What are you doing?” He asked. “You should paint the walls before the trim.”
“Del told me to do it this way,” Henry said.
“Del doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Ralph snorted. “Paint rollers create a fine spray. It’ll spot your trim if you do it last.”
“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put down the brush and returned to the roller.
About twenty minutes later Del came out. “What are you doing,” he started to say.
“Just let me do it my way,” Henry snapped.
Finally, Henry finished painting the walls. He figured he’d earned another donut and selected one covered in powdered sugar. Refortified, he returned to the hall licking powdered sugar from his fingers and began painting the trim.
Upstairs, Tammy was meeting a young couple who was considering getting married in the church. She took them to see the sanctuary, then asked if they’d like to meet the pastor. “He’s downstairs working on some remodeling,” she told them.
In fact, Henry had just finished with the hallway trim. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Unfortunately, he stepped right into the roller pan and his feet shot out from under him in the slippery paint. He fell hard on his rear, splitting his pants even more. The brush flew out of his hand, bounced off the wall, and hit him square in the face leaving him with a mouthful of paint.
It was the last straw. He spit out the paint and let loose with a string of profanity. He stopped mid-word when he looked to his left.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs were Tammy and the young engaged couple who appeared quite shocked at his monologue. O’Donnell opened his mouth but found he didn’t know what to say…which was uncommon for him.
Tammy had no such problem. “This is our janitor,” she said, gesturing at Henry. “I don’t see the pastor anywhere. Do you know where he is?”
Henry shrugged.
“Oh well, you’ll just have to meet him another time,” Tammy told the couple and guided them back toward the stairs. “Let me show you the bride’s room.”
Henry went to get cleaned up, then treated himself to a chocolate covered donut to wash the paint taste out of his mouth. He was just coming out licking chocolate frosting from his fingers when Del and Ralph emerged from the classroom.
“This man knows nothing about hanging drywall,” Del said.
“Me? I don’t know where you got your crazy ideas,” Ralph responded.
“Well, it’s done anyway. We were going to sneak out for a beer before we paint the classroom. Wanna join us, Pastor?”
Henry nodded. A beer sounded pretty good. They headed upstairs where Missy was finishing up with the furnishings.
“We’re going for a beer,” Del told her. “Do you want to come?”
“I don’t care for beer,” she responded. “But Tammy and I are going to have tea in a little bit. You go on and I’ll finish up here.”
The men headed out. Missy went downstairs to have a donut. She was surprised to find the box nearly empty. She also noticed that Henry had missed a few spots with his roller.. She grabbed it and smoothed over the paint job. Then she touched up some areas where he’d gone a little off course with his trim brush. Her father had been a contractor and she knew all about painting and drywall. She was a little disappointed her skills hadn’t been needed today.
The men returned after Missy and Tammy had left for tea. They stopped in the hallway and admired Henry’s work.
“Wow,” Ralph said. “You really did a good job.”
“Thank you,” Henry beamed.
Then they went to paint the classroom. Though first Ralph and Del had to argue for half an hour over whether to start with the walls or the trim.
(For Norma. Feel better soon.)
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Miracle of the Pancake
by Douglas J. Eboch
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A recent rain storm had done extensive damage to the classroom used by the “Guppies,” the pre-school Sunday school class. Needing money for repair, the church resorted to a time honored source of fundraising: a pancake breakfast.
They held the breakfast before church one Sunday and sold tickets for two dollars. Church secretary Tammy Billings organized the event while her husband Ralph served as head pancake chef. Also volunteering in the kitchen were Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer and daughter Katie, and Missy Moore, a woman of relentlessly sunny disposition.
Missy liked to wear bright colored dresses and matching hats to church and she made no exception the morning of the pancake breakfast. So she was very careful to make sure her apron was properly arranged to protect her outfit. Her job was to mix up pancake batter with Jennifer.
The social hall quickly filled with hungry congregants as organist Walter Tibble played Bach between large doses of coffee. Walter was not a morning person. A basket for additional donations had been set by the door, seeded with a few dollars from Ralph to get things going. Everyone helped themselves to coffee and orange juice as the smell of pancakes wafted in from the kitchen.
When Tammy indicated that the first batch was ready, Pastor O’Donnell gave a blessing. He made it quick because he was looking forward to a nice, big breakfast. And with Jennifer working in the kitchen she wouldn’t be giving him disapproving looks when he took seconds. Or thirds.
When the pastor finished, Katie and Tammy served big platters of pancakes to each table. Ralph didn’t disappoint - each one was warm, fluffy and delicious.
Pastor O’Donnell was seated at a table with Del and Karen Winslow and choir director Shane Reed. The four of them made quick work of the first platter of pancakes. When Tammy brought them a second one, they each tried to be patient as the others helped themselves in turn. When Shane plopped his second helping on his plate, he let out a little gasp.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing at the top pancake with his fork. In the center of the light tan pancake was a slightly raised bubble with a darker brown image on it. “It kind of looks like…well, it kind of looks like a woman’s face.”
They all stared at the pancake not sure what to say. Then Karen voiced what they were all thinking. “It looks like the Virgin Mary,” she said.
“It’s a miracle,” Del whispered. Then, “isn’t it?”
They all looked at Pastor O’Donnell. He shifted uncomfortably in his metal folding chair. He was a man of faith so of course he believed in miracles. But he was more comfortable with the kind of miracles where someone comes along to help you out when you get a flat tire on a deserted road. He tended toward skepticism when it came to showy miracles like religious imagery appearing in food.
He studied the pancake closely. It sure looked like an image of the Virgin Mary. “I don’t know,” he said. It might be.”
Del stood up and tapped his orange juice glass with his fork. “Excuse me folks,” he said in his commanding baritone, “you’ve gotta see this.”
People gathered around. The hubbub of conversation grew from whispered questioning to bubbling excitement. And everyone was looking to their pastor to interpret this miracle.
So O’Donnell did his best. “God has clearly blessed this pancake breakfast,” he said. “We ought to respond by digging deep and giving all we can toward the repair of the Guppies’ classroom.”
It was simple but effective. In no time the donation basket was overflowing with bills. And not just singles, but tens and twenties. It would turn out to be the most successful pancake breakfast fundraiser in the little church’s history.
Katie, a typically cynical teenager, had studied the pancake at length. She didn’t know what it meant theologically, but it was certainly cool. She remembered the people back in the kitchen and went to tell them the news so they could see it themselves.
“You’ll never believe what happened,” she said as she entered. Then she noticed Missy down on all fours feeling under the work tables. “What are you doing,” Katie asked.
“I lost my brooch,” Missy replied.
“What did it look like?”
“It was the Virgin Mary. My grandmother gave it to me when I was confirmed.”
Back in the Social Hall, Shane had set the miracle pancake aside. “You’re going to be rich,” Del told him. “People will pay to see stuff like that.”
“Wait a minute,” Pastor O’Donnell interrupted, “Why is he going to be rich? The pancake belongs to the church.”
“No it doesn’t,” Del said. “Shane paid for pancakes and he took that one. It’s his pancake.”
“It doesn’t matter who took the pancake. When a miracle happens in the church, the church deserves the benefit.”
The argument was about to get heated when Katie walked up and plunged her fingers into the pancake.
“HEY,” O’Donnell, Del and Shane all shouted simultaneously.
Then Katie pulled Missy’s Virgin Mary brooch out of the pancake. She turned to Missy who was standing in the door of the kitchen. “I found it,” Katie told her.
“It’s a miracle!” Missy said.
(In loving memory of Evie Austin)
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A recent rain storm had done extensive damage to the classroom used by the “Guppies,” the pre-school Sunday school class. Needing money for repair, the church resorted to a time honored source of fundraising: a pancake breakfast.
They held the breakfast before church one Sunday and sold tickets for two dollars. Church secretary Tammy Billings organized the event while her husband Ralph served as head pancake chef. Also volunteering in the kitchen were Pastor O’Donnell’s wife Jennifer and daughter Katie, and Missy Moore, a woman of relentlessly sunny disposition.
Missy liked to wear bright colored dresses and matching hats to church and she made no exception the morning of the pancake breakfast. So she was very careful to make sure her apron was properly arranged to protect her outfit. Her job was to mix up pancake batter with Jennifer.
The social hall quickly filled with hungry congregants as organist Walter Tibble played Bach between large doses of coffee. Walter was not a morning person. A basket for additional donations had been set by the door, seeded with a few dollars from Ralph to get things going. Everyone helped themselves to coffee and orange juice as the smell of pancakes wafted in from the kitchen.
When Tammy indicated that the first batch was ready, Pastor O’Donnell gave a blessing. He made it quick because he was looking forward to a nice, big breakfast. And with Jennifer working in the kitchen she wouldn’t be giving him disapproving looks when he took seconds. Or thirds.
When the pastor finished, Katie and Tammy served big platters of pancakes to each table. Ralph didn’t disappoint - each one was warm, fluffy and delicious.
Pastor O’Donnell was seated at a table with Del and Karen Winslow and choir director Shane Reed. The four of them made quick work of the first platter of pancakes. When Tammy brought them a second one, they each tried to be patient as the others helped themselves in turn. When Shane plopped his second helping on his plate, he let out a little gasp.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing at the top pancake with his fork. In the center of the light tan pancake was a slightly raised bubble with a darker brown image on it. “It kind of looks like…well, it kind of looks like a woman’s face.”
They all stared at the pancake not sure what to say. Then Karen voiced what they were all thinking. “It looks like the Virgin Mary,” she said.
“It’s a miracle,” Del whispered. Then, “isn’t it?”
They all looked at Pastor O’Donnell. He shifted uncomfortably in his metal folding chair. He was a man of faith so of course he believed in miracles. But he was more comfortable with the kind of miracles where someone comes along to help you out when you get a flat tire on a deserted road. He tended toward skepticism when it came to showy miracles like religious imagery appearing in food.
He studied the pancake closely. It sure looked like an image of the Virgin Mary. “I don’t know,” he said. It might be.”
Del stood up and tapped his orange juice glass with his fork. “Excuse me folks,” he said in his commanding baritone, “you’ve gotta see this.”
People gathered around. The hubbub of conversation grew from whispered questioning to bubbling excitement. And everyone was looking to their pastor to interpret this miracle.
So O’Donnell did his best. “God has clearly blessed this pancake breakfast,” he said. “We ought to respond by digging deep and giving all we can toward the repair of the Guppies’ classroom.”
It was simple but effective. In no time the donation basket was overflowing with bills. And not just singles, but tens and twenties. It would turn out to be the most successful pancake breakfast fundraiser in the little church’s history.
Katie, a typically cynical teenager, had studied the pancake at length. She didn’t know what it meant theologically, but it was certainly cool. She remembered the people back in the kitchen and went to tell them the news so they could see it themselves.
“You’ll never believe what happened,” she said as she entered. Then she noticed Missy down on all fours feeling under the work tables. “What are you doing,” Katie asked.
“I lost my brooch,” Missy replied.
“What did it look like?”
“It was the Virgin Mary. My grandmother gave it to me when I was confirmed.”
Back in the Social Hall, Shane had set the miracle pancake aside. “You’re going to be rich,” Del told him. “People will pay to see stuff like that.”
“Wait a minute,” Pastor O’Donnell interrupted, “Why is he going to be rich? The pancake belongs to the church.”
“No it doesn’t,” Del said. “Shane paid for pancakes and he took that one. It’s his pancake.”
“It doesn’t matter who took the pancake. When a miracle happens in the church, the church deserves the benefit.”
The argument was about to get heated when Katie walked up and plunged her fingers into the pancake.
“HEY,” O’Donnell, Del and Shane all shouted simultaneously.
Then Katie pulled Missy’s Virgin Mary brooch out of the pancake. She turned to Missy who was standing in the door of the kitchen. “I found it,” Katie told her.
“It’s a miracle!” Missy said.
(In loving memory of Evie Austin)
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Barry's Ark
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. On a recent Sunday, Normal was battered by a ferocious wind and rain storm. The weather couldn’t dampen Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s spirits, though. It was a very special day for him. A reporter from the district newsletter was coming to do a profile of the church. They had done one on his old seminary classmate Pastor Robert Sanchez’s church last year with a picture of Robert looking oh-so-smug leaning against his classic 1970 Aston Martin. Henry was going to have his picture taken holding his Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. Sanchez wasn’t the only cool pastor in the district.
When Pastor O’Donnell arrived at the church he discovered head usher Ralph Billings standing over a large, muddy puddle forming at the entrance to the parking lot. Branches and debris had clogged a drainage pipe, Ralph informed him.
“See if you can fix it,” O’Donnell said. “A reporter’s coming today and we want the place to look good. When Henry got inside he told church secretary Tammy Billings, Ralph’s wife, to let him know when the reporter arrived. In the meantime he went into the restroom to fix his windblown hair.
When he came out, Tammy was waiting for him. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” she said. “The reporter’s here. But her car stalled in the puddle in the parking lot.”
The color drained from Henry’s face. He ran out to assess the situation. The “puddle” was now more like a small pond. And in the middle of the pond was a subcompact car mired to the base of its doors. And in the driver’s seat of the car was a very anxious looking middle aged woman.
Henry waded out to the car, ignoring the mud that filled his shoes. He stuck his hand in the open window. “Pastor Henry O’Donnell,” he said.
“Miriam Smith,” the woman replied.
Henry gave Miriam his best “don’t worry” smile and pulled Ralph aside. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”
“I tried pushing the car out,” Ralph told him. “The wheels are buried in mud. Maybe she could climb out the window.”
“I’m not having her wade through this!” Henry shot back.
“Maybe we could carry her.”
Henry thought about it. They only had a few minutes before the service was supposed to start. There was no time to waste. He explained the plan to Miriam and she was game. She shimmied through her car window, one arm around Henry’s shoulder and one around Ralph’s. They made a kind of seat for her with their hands and carried her to relatively dry ground.
“Thank you,” she said, looking a little embarrassed.
“You’re welcome,” Henry replied. “Ralph will keep working on getting your car out. You just enjoy the service and we’ll do the interview and photo afterward.”
Miriam headed into the sanctuary and Henry rushed back to his office. He exchanged his soaked shoes and socks with a pair of old running shoes that was in the clothing donation box. They looked funny with his suit, but he figured he could stay behind the pulpit most of the service.
Meanwhile, the storm had given Sunday school teacher Karen Winslow an idea for a fun project for her preschool class known as the “Guppies.” First, she gathered the kids in a circle and told them the story of Noah’s ark. Then, she told them the class was going to build its own ark out of that children’s craft staple, Popsicle sticks. Normally, any Guppies class project was an adventure due to the imaginative design variations little Mary Boyer always conceived. But this one went surprisingly well, perhaps because Mary glued her sleeve to the table early on and Karen took her time freeing the little girl.
Outside, the puddle had grown from a pond to a small lake and Ralph decided he’d better get that blockage out of the drain pipe. He got a shovel from the tool shed and waded in. He stabbed the shovel into the packed debris over and over, using all his weight.
And then suddenly on the fourteenth hit the blockage crumbled. Water gushed into the pipe and then sprayed out into a runoff ditch a dozen feet away. But the sudden deluge was too much for the ditch. The water overflowed and spilled down the gently sloping lawn toward the church building.
“Uh oh,” Ralph thought.
Inside, services were coming to an end and the Guppies were finishing their project. The Popsicle stick ark was impressive - over three feet long and a foot wide. Karen set it on the floor and had the kids fill it with every animal toy and stuffed animal they could find.
“Mrs. Winslow,” Sierra Smith said, tugging on her pant leg, “all the stuffed animals under the window are wet.
The classroom was in the basement level of the church with a couple of small windows up by the ceiling. Karen was shocked to see muddy water seeping in around the edge of one of those windows and running down the wall. Even more alarming, all that was visible through the glass was more water. The window was completely submerged.
“Okay, kids, line up by the door,” Karen ordered. She had no sooner wrangled the Guppies into line when there was a loud crack and the flooded window gave out. Water poured into the room, spilling out across the carpet. “Go, go,” Karen shouted, “get upstairs!”
“Mrs. Winslow, what about Barry?” Sierra asked as they jogged down the hall. Barry the Bunny was the class’s pet rabbit. Karen had completely forgotten about him. She turned back to rescue the poor animal only to discover water was now flowing out of the class room door.
“Barry’s okay,” Mary called out. “I put him in the ark.”
And just at that moment the ark floated out of the classroom, Barry’s head poking out and his nose twitching in curiosity. The muddy flow pushed it down the hall away from the cheering kids.
Upstairs, the service was over and Tammy Billings was giving Miriam a tour of the church while Pastor O’Donnell greeted the exiting congregation. Tammy and Miriam were coming down the stairs at the far end of the hall when the flood waters rushed up to meet them, carrying Barry the Bunny in his Popsicle stick ark. Both Tammy and Miriam were too stunned to speak. All Miriam could think to do was snap a photo of the strange sight.
A few minutes later Pastor O’Donnell found them. “I’m ready to do the interview - oh my,” he said, noticing the flooded hallway. Visions of fundraisers and work parties flashed through his head. The next few months were going to be a pain.
But Henry kept his composure enough to give Miriam a glowing interview and have his picture taken in the sanctuary holding his prized guitar like a pudgy, self-conscious Jimmy Page.
When the next issue of the district newsletter arrived a few weeks later, Henry opened it excitedly. But to his shock, rather than a picture of him with his guitar, the story was topped by a shot of Barry and his ark, along with the headline, “Normal Church Finds Unique Lesson in Bible Story.”
The phone rang. It was Pastor Sanchez. “Upstaged by a rabbit,” Sanchez said sympathetically. Then he laughed and laughed.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. On a recent Sunday, Normal was battered by a ferocious wind and rain storm. The weather couldn’t dampen Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s spirits, though. It was a very special day for him. A reporter from the district newsletter was coming to do a profile of the church. They had done one on his old seminary classmate Pastor Robert Sanchez’s church last year with a picture of Robert looking oh-so-smug leaning against his classic 1970 Aston Martin. Henry was going to have his picture taken holding his Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. Sanchez wasn’t the only cool pastor in the district.
When Pastor O’Donnell arrived at the church he discovered head usher Ralph Billings standing over a large, muddy puddle forming at the entrance to the parking lot. Branches and debris had clogged a drainage pipe, Ralph informed him.
“See if you can fix it,” O’Donnell said. “A reporter’s coming today and we want the place to look good. When Henry got inside he told church secretary Tammy Billings, Ralph’s wife, to let him know when the reporter arrived. In the meantime he went into the restroom to fix his windblown hair.
When he came out, Tammy was waiting for him. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” she said. “The reporter’s here. But her car stalled in the puddle in the parking lot.”
The color drained from Henry’s face. He ran out to assess the situation. The “puddle” was now more like a small pond. And in the middle of the pond was a subcompact car mired to the base of its doors. And in the driver’s seat of the car was a very anxious looking middle aged woman.
Henry waded out to the car, ignoring the mud that filled his shoes. He stuck his hand in the open window. “Pastor Henry O’Donnell,” he said.
“Miriam Smith,” the woman replied.
Henry gave Miriam his best “don’t worry” smile and pulled Ralph aside. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”
“I tried pushing the car out,” Ralph told him. “The wheels are buried in mud. Maybe she could climb out the window.”
“I’m not having her wade through this!” Henry shot back.
“Maybe we could carry her.”
Henry thought about it. They only had a few minutes before the service was supposed to start. There was no time to waste. He explained the plan to Miriam and she was game. She shimmied through her car window, one arm around Henry’s shoulder and one around Ralph’s. They made a kind of seat for her with their hands and carried her to relatively dry ground.
“Thank you,” she said, looking a little embarrassed.
“You’re welcome,” Henry replied. “Ralph will keep working on getting your car out. You just enjoy the service and we’ll do the interview and photo afterward.”
Miriam headed into the sanctuary and Henry rushed back to his office. He exchanged his soaked shoes and socks with a pair of old running shoes that was in the clothing donation box. They looked funny with his suit, but he figured he could stay behind the pulpit most of the service.
Meanwhile, the storm had given Sunday school teacher Karen Winslow an idea for a fun project for her preschool class known as the “Guppies.” First, she gathered the kids in a circle and told them the story of Noah’s ark. Then, she told them the class was going to build its own ark out of that children’s craft staple, Popsicle sticks. Normally, any Guppies class project was an adventure due to the imaginative design variations little Mary Boyer always conceived. But this one went surprisingly well, perhaps because Mary glued her sleeve to the table early on and Karen took her time freeing the little girl.
Outside, the puddle had grown from a pond to a small lake and Ralph decided he’d better get that blockage out of the drain pipe. He got a shovel from the tool shed and waded in. He stabbed the shovel into the packed debris over and over, using all his weight.
And then suddenly on the fourteenth hit the blockage crumbled. Water gushed into the pipe and then sprayed out into a runoff ditch a dozen feet away. But the sudden deluge was too much for the ditch. The water overflowed and spilled down the gently sloping lawn toward the church building.
“Uh oh,” Ralph thought.
Inside, services were coming to an end and the Guppies were finishing their project. The Popsicle stick ark was impressive - over three feet long and a foot wide. Karen set it on the floor and had the kids fill it with every animal toy and stuffed animal they could find.
“Mrs. Winslow,” Sierra Smith said, tugging on her pant leg, “all the stuffed animals under the window are wet.
The classroom was in the basement level of the church with a couple of small windows up by the ceiling. Karen was shocked to see muddy water seeping in around the edge of one of those windows and running down the wall. Even more alarming, all that was visible through the glass was more water. The window was completely submerged.
“Okay, kids, line up by the door,” Karen ordered. She had no sooner wrangled the Guppies into line when there was a loud crack and the flooded window gave out. Water poured into the room, spilling out across the carpet. “Go, go,” Karen shouted, “get upstairs!”
“Mrs. Winslow, what about Barry?” Sierra asked as they jogged down the hall. Barry the Bunny was the class’s pet rabbit. Karen had completely forgotten about him. She turned back to rescue the poor animal only to discover water was now flowing out of the class room door.
“Barry’s okay,” Mary called out. “I put him in the ark.”
And just at that moment the ark floated out of the classroom, Barry’s head poking out and his nose twitching in curiosity. The muddy flow pushed it down the hall away from the cheering kids.
Upstairs, the service was over and Tammy Billings was giving Miriam a tour of the church while Pastor O’Donnell greeted the exiting congregation. Tammy and Miriam were coming down the stairs at the far end of the hall when the flood waters rushed up to meet them, carrying Barry the Bunny in his Popsicle stick ark. Both Tammy and Miriam were too stunned to speak. All Miriam could think to do was snap a photo of the strange sight.
A few minutes later Pastor O’Donnell found them. “I’m ready to do the interview - oh my,” he said, noticing the flooded hallway. Visions of fundraisers and work parties flashed through his head. The next few months were going to be a pain.
But Henry kept his composure enough to give Miriam a glowing interview and have his picture taken in the sanctuary holding his prized guitar like a pudgy, self-conscious Jimmy Page.
When the next issue of the district newsletter arrived a few weeks later, Henry opened it excitedly. But to his shock, rather than a picture of him with his guitar, the story was topped by a shot of Barry and his ark, along with the headline, “Normal Church Finds Unique Lesson in Bible Story.”
The phone rang. It was Pastor Sanchez. “Upstaged by a rabbit,” Sanchez said sympathetically. Then he laughed and laughed.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The Greeter
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every month, church secretary Tammy Billings finds a member or two from the congregation to serve as greeter, welcoming people as they arrive for the service and handing them the bulletin. Though the job isn’t hard, Tammy found many people were hesitant to commit to arriving early every Sunday for a whole month. So she generally has to recruit from the same small pool of volunteers.
One month, however, Tammy was having difficulty finding a regular who was available. Then at coffee hour she noticed one of the newer members of the church, a woman named Missy Moore, munching on a cookie by herself. Missy was a heavy set woman (she preferred to say she was plump) of forty-four (she preferred to say she was celebrating the fifth anniversary of her thirty-ninth birthday).
Tammy approached holding her clipboard behind her back. People quickly learned that someone approaching them at church with a clipboard was probably looking for a volunteer for something. “Good morning, Missy,” she said.
“Hi!” Missy exclaimed. “You look like you could use a hug!” And Missy threw her arms around Tammy.
“Thank you,” Tammy said. “Listen, I’m in charge of finding greeters for church. Would you be interested?”
“Why sure!” Missy said.
Tammy was relieved. Maybe Missy would join her pool of regulars. Normally Tammy paired first timers with someone more experienced, but Missy was so resolutely optimistic and cheerful that Tammy figured she’d be able to handle the job on her own.
When Tammy arrived at the sanctuary on Missy’s first Sunday as greeter, she was a little surprised to find Missy was hugging each person as they entered. Tammy was well aware that Missy was a hugger, but she thought even Missy would tire of hugging every single person who came to church. Tammy underestimated Missy’s pep.
Though Tammy wasn’t the only one who was startled by Missy’s embrace, most people discovered they were in fact cheered up by the hugs and entered the service smiling. One person who was not cheered up, however, was Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta found Missy’s behavior unbecoming. “No wonder she never found a man,” Henrietta thought as she stiffly endured Missy’s warm squeeze.
When Henrietta strode toward Tammy during coffee hour, Tammy had little doubt about what was coming. “You have to tell that woman to stop groping people!” Henrietta sniffed.
If it had been anyone else complaining Tammy probably would have agreed and gently asked Missy to refrain from hugging while she was acting as official greeter. But Henrietta complained with such regularity that Tammy resented any criticism from her before it was even offered. “It’s just Missy’s style,” Tammy said.
“Well it’s disgraceful. Is this a church or some kind of foreign massage parlor?”
“If you don’t like the way she does it, you could always volunteer to be greeter next month,” Tammy shot back.
“Fine. I will,” Henrietta said.
That was not the response Tammy expected. She immediately regretted making the offer.
That regret only grew when she arrived at church the first Sunday of Henrietta’s month.
There was a short line waiting to get in. Tammy walked up just in time to hear Henrietta greet Jennifer O’Donnell, the pastor’s wife, who was wearing slacks. “I would have thought the pastor would want his wife to dress a little more feminine,” Henrietta told her.
“I’m old enough to dress myself,” Jennifer said as she snatched the bulletin from Henrietta.
Next in line were Jill Boyer and her two daughters, Mary and Susie, ages four and two respectively. Henrietta handed Jill a bulletin and asked, “where’s your husband today, Mrs. Boyer?”
“He’s not feeling well,” Jill said.
“Let me guess. Some kind of sporting event on TV?” Henrietta asked. Jill was too flustered to respond. She simply hustled her daughters inside.
Tammy was appalled but she figured yelling at Henrietta would only make it worse. So she forced herself to smile as she entered and said, “You’re doing a great job, Henrietta, but it might be nice if you complimented people when they came in.”
“You let Missy greet people with her hugs. This is my style.” Henrietta said.
“Yes, but you’re supposed to make people feel welcome. Not guilty.”
“Fine. I’ll do it your way,” Henrietta sniffed.
The next week Tammy loitered near the entrance to the sanctuary for a while so she could eavesdrop on Henrietta’s greetings.
Henrietta welcomed Florence Barker with a big smile and said, “It’s so good to see you here on time for a change!”
As Florence gave Henrietta the stink eye and strode inside, Henrietta glanced over at Tammy with a self-satisfied smirk. Heat rose in Tammy’s cheeks. She had tried to be nice, but now Henrietta was just goading her.
Before Tammy could intervene, though, the entire Boyer family arrived. Henrietta made a big point of looking Kevin Boyer up and down. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. “How nice that you feel comfortable enough to dress so casually for church. In my day that would have been considered disrespectful,” Henrietta told him.
Little Mary sidled close to her father and asked, “is she really a witch, Daddy?” Jill’s cheeks reddened and she shushed Mary. But Kevin nodded in the affirmative.
Henrietta’s jaw went tight but she kept smiling. She leaned down close and pinched Mary’s cheek. “Well, you aren’t shy at all, are you? It’s so wonderful how your parents’ generation encourages self expression instead of discipline in their children. We were always taught to honor our elders but I guess that kind of thing is old fashioned these days.”
“Your breath smells like fish,” Mary informed her.
That actually stunned Henrietta speechless. She stood up quickly and covered her mouth. Jill also covered her mouth, but failed to stifle a giggle. “Come on, girls,” Kevin said and led the family inside.
Henrietta pulled herself together and turned to greet the next person in line.
It was Missy Moore.
“You look like you could use a hug,” Missy said, and threw her arms around Henrietta, practically lifting her from the ground.
For the rest of the month Henrietta restricted her greetings to “welcome” and “good morning.”
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every month, church secretary Tammy Billings finds a member or two from the congregation to serve as greeter, welcoming people as they arrive for the service and handing them the bulletin. Though the job isn’t hard, Tammy found many people were hesitant to commit to arriving early every Sunday for a whole month. So she generally has to recruit from the same small pool of volunteers.
One month, however, Tammy was having difficulty finding a regular who was available. Then at coffee hour she noticed one of the newer members of the church, a woman named Missy Moore, munching on a cookie by herself. Missy was a heavy set woman (she preferred to say she was plump) of forty-four (she preferred to say she was celebrating the fifth anniversary of her thirty-ninth birthday).
Tammy approached holding her clipboard behind her back. People quickly learned that someone approaching them at church with a clipboard was probably looking for a volunteer for something. “Good morning, Missy,” she said.
“Hi!” Missy exclaimed. “You look like you could use a hug!” And Missy threw her arms around Tammy.
“Thank you,” Tammy said. “Listen, I’m in charge of finding greeters for church. Would you be interested?”
“Why sure!” Missy said.
Tammy was relieved. Maybe Missy would join her pool of regulars. Normally Tammy paired first timers with someone more experienced, but Missy was so resolutely optimistic and cheerful that Tammy figured she’d be able to handle the job on her own.
When Tammy arrived at the sanctuary on Missy’s first Sunday as greeter, she was a little surprised to find Missy was hugging each person as they entered. Tammy was well aware that Missy was a hugger, but she thought even Missy would tire of hugging every single person who came to church. Tammy underestimated Missy’s pep.
Though Tammy wasn’t the only one who was startled by Missy’s embrace, most people discovered they were in fact cheered up by the hugs and entered the service smiling. One person who was not cheered up, however, was Henrietta Miggins. Henrietta found Missy’s behavior unbecoming. “No wonder she never found a man,” Henrietta thought as she stiffly endured Missy’s warm squeeze.
When Henrietta strode toward Tammy during coffee hour, Tammy had little doubt about what was coming. “You have to tell that woman to stop groping people!” Henrietta sniffed.
If it had been anyone else complaining Tammy probably would have agreed and gently asked Missy to refrain from hugging while she was acting as official greeter. But Henrietta complained with such regularity that Tammy resented any criticism from her before it was even offered. “It’s just Missy’s style,” Tammy said.
“Well it’s disgraceful. Is this a church or some kind of foreign massage parlor?”
“If you don’t like the way she does it, you could always volunteer to be greeter next month,” Tammy shot back.
“Fine. I will,” Henrietta said.
That was not the response Tammy expected. She immediately regretted making the offer.
That regret only grew when she arrived at church the first Sunday of Henrietta’s month.
There was a short line waiting to get in. Tammy walked up just in time to hear Henrietta greet Jennifer O’Donnell, the pastor’s wife, who was wearing slacks. “I would have thought the pastor would want his wife to dress a little more feminine,” Henrietta told her.
“I’m old enough to dress myself,” Jennifer said as she snatched the bulletin from Henrietta.
Next in line were Jill Boyer and her two daughters, Mary and Susie, ages four and two respectively. Henrietta handed Jill a bulletin and asked, “where’s your husband today, Mrs. Boyer?”
“He’s not feeling well,” Jill said.
“Let me guess. Some kind of sporting event on TV?” Henrietta asked. Jill was too flustered to respond. She simply hustled her daughters inside.
Tammy was appalled but she figured yelling at Henrietta would only make it worse. So she forced herself to smile as she entered and said, “You’re doing a great job, Henrietta, but it might be nice if you complimented people when they came in.”
“You let Missy greet people with her hugs. This is my style.” Henrietta said.
“Yes, but you’re supposed to make people feel welcome. Not guilty.”
“Fine. I’ll do it your way,” Henrietta sniffed.
The next week Tammy loitered near the entrance to the sanctuary for a while so she could eavesdrop on Henrietta’s greetings.
Henrietta welcomed Florence Barker with a big smile and said, “It’s so good to see you here on time for a change!”
As Florence gave Henrietta the stink eye and strode inside, Henrietta glanced over at Tammy with a self-satisfied smirk. Heat rose in Tammy’s cheeks. She had tried to be nice, but now Henrietta was just goading her.
Before Tammy could intervene, though, the entire Boyer family arrived. Henrietta made a big point of looking Kevin Boyer up and down. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt. “How nice that you feel comfortable enough to dress so casually for church. In my day that would have been considered disrespectful,” Henrietta told him.
Little Mary sidled close to her father and asked, “is she really a witch, Daddy?” Jill’s cheeks reddened and she shushed Mary. But Kevin nodded in the affirmative.
Henrietta’s jaw went tight but she kept smiling. She leaned down close and pinched Mary’s cheek. “Well, you aren’t shy at all, are you? It’s so wonderful how your parents’ generation encourages self expression instead of discipline in their children. We were always taught to honor our elders but I guess that kind of thing is old fashioned these days.”
“Your breath smells like fish,” Mary informed her.
That actually stunned Henrietta speechless. She stood up quickly and covered her mouth. Jill also covered her mouth, but failed to stifle a giggle. “Come on, girls,” Kevin said and led the family inside.
Henrietta pulled herself together and turned to greet the next person in line.
It was Missy Moore.
“You look like you could use a hug,” Missy said, and threw her arms around Henrietta, practically lifting her from the ground.
For the rest of the month Henrietta restricted her greetings to “welcome” and “good morning.”
(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch
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