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. One recent Sunday Jill Boyer read the scripture in service. Reading from the Bible in front of a church full of people was slightly more terrifying to Jill than taking a honey bath in the bear habitat at the zoo. But when church secretary Tammy Billings approached her, clipboard in hand, during coffee hour and asked her to read, Jill swallowed her fear and accepted. She felt turning down such a request from Tammy would be akin to turning down a request from God.
Jill practiced her passage from the thirty-seventh chapter of Genesis repeatedly in the days leading up to her performance. She always tripped on the same word: “Midianite.” Joseph of the many-colored coat fame was sold to Midianite traders by his brothers. However when Jill read the passage Joseph’s owners always became “Midnight traders.”
Jill’s husband Kevin was sympathetic to his wife’s nervousness and did his best to be supportive. That is until he realized his favorite football team, the Green Bay Packers, were playing a game at noon on the Sunday in question. He suggested maybe Jill would want to trade for a different Sunday to do her reading.
“I’ve practiced this passage fifty times and now you want me to switch?” Jill asked.
Kevin noted the tone in her voice and wisely decided that he did not want her to trade Sundays after all. Instead, he laid careful plans to leave church immediately after the service was over so he could get home in time for kickoff.
He instructed his two daughters, Mary and Susie, to be ready as soon as Sunday school ended. Normally it was pointless to rely on the little girls’ sense of responsibility for anything, but they had long ago learned the dangers of interfering with Daddy’s football viewing.
When they arrived at church, Kevin parked right beside the exit of the parking lot.
“Why are you parking so far away?” Jill asked.
“So I don’t get stuck in a line of cars on the way out,” Kevin told her.
“That’s sill--hic.” The color drained from Jill’s face.
“Did you just hiccup?” Kevin asked.
Jill answered his question by hiccupping again. She often got the hiccups when she was nervous.
“Okay, don’t panic,” Kevin told her. “We have ten minutes until church starts. Go hold your nose and drink a glass of water. I’ll take the girls to Sunday school.”
Kevin dropped Mary and Susie off at the Sunday school classroom and climbed the stairs to the social hall. He saw Jill, her back turned to him, and got an idea. Scaring people was supposed to cure hiccups, right? He tiptoed up behind her, clamped both hands on her waist and yelled, “BOO!”
Nobody said it was a good idea.
Jill jumped and screamed. Then she turned slowly toward Kevin. She had a furious look in her eye and a big red stain on the front of her blouse.
“They didn’t have the water out yet,” she said, “so I was holding my nose and drinking punch.” She crumpled the now empty paper cup in her fist and hiccupped.
Stupid old wives tales, Kevin thought.
“What (hic) am I going to do?” Jill said. “I can’t go up there to read the scripture looking like this (hic)! The service is going to start in a couple minutes!”
“I have an idea,” Kevin said and ran toward the door. He returned moments later proudly carrying a sweatshirt. “I had this in the car. Lucky, huh?”
Jill held up the sweatshirt. It was emblazoned with a Green Bay Packers logo. “Yeah, (hic). Lucky.”
But Jill had few options at that point. She put the sweatshirt on over her stained blouse and they raced into the sanctuary just as head usher Ralph Billings was closing the door. “I don’t know if I can let you in wearing that!” Ralph said with a wink.
You see, Normal, Pennsylvania didn’t have its own pro football team, but due to its proximity to Pittsburgh most of the locals were Steelers fans.
Jill and Kevin took seats in the back. As it got closer to her time to read, her hiccups seemed to get worse. Finally, the choir finished the anthem and sat down. The big moment had arrived.
Jill walked up the center aisle to the lectern. When she stepped up to the microphone a ripple of whispers went through the congregation. Her gaze fell on Kevin. If looks could kill Pastor O’Donnell would have been doing a funeral service that afternoon. But the good news was Jill’s hiccups had stopped. In fact, the cold fury that flowed through her veins so calmed her, she even pronounced “Midianite” correctly. However if Kevin thought she’d thank him for that, he was more foolish than Jill looked.
When she returned to the pew, Kevin leaned over and whispered, “great job, Honey.”
“Thank you,” Jill replied.
“Are you mad?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
As soon as service ended, Kevin grabbed Jill’s hand and made a bolt for the door. As they left the sanctuary and headed toward the Sunday school rooms, however, Jill held him back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“To get the girls. The game starts in fifteen minutes.”
“We ought to at least stop by coffee hour,” Jill said.
“But…kick off…”
Jill shot him another near fatal look. Kevin resisted the urge to duck. “Okay, but can we make it quick?”
“Sure,” she lied again.
For the next hour Jill was the most vivacious social butterfly at coffee hour. She elicited long stories from nearly everyone present. When the Boyers finally made it back to the car they were among the last ones left in the parking lot. “Guess you didn’t need to park so close to the exit, Daddy,” Mary said.
In the end, Kevin had ensconced himself on the couch by the middle of the second quarter. Jill felt a little bad for delaying him and made some hot wings for him to snack on during the game. And the Packers won, so as far as Kevin was concerned, it had been a great day.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
The Miracles: Game One
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed organized a church softball team called The Miracles to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League.
The Miracles first game was against a Presbyterian mega-church located in downtown Normal. The Presbyterian’s team was called The Shepherds. They had won the league trophy three of the past four years due to the large pool of young, athletic congregants. This game would be a real test of the Miracles’ readiness.
The Miracles hit first. Shane, the leadoff batter, stepped up to the plate. As he stared down the pitcher, he noticed one of the Shepherds’ secret weapons: their second baseman, Kelly.
Kelly was a pretty, twenty-five year-old blonde with perfect skin who jumped up and down and clapped before every pitch. Since her position placed her behind and just to the right of the pitcher, this energetic display of team spirit caught Shane’s eye. Shane was noting just how perfectly straight and white Kelly’s teeth were as the first pitch sailed by him.
Shane blushed and tightened his grip on the bat. He tried to focus on the pitcher and ignore the bouncing blonde. He managed to actually take a swing at the second pitch. Unfortunately it was way outside the strike zone and would have been a ball had he let it go. As it was, he missed by a good eight inches. Strike two.
By now Shane was completely discombobulated. He did manage to connect with the next pitch but he had reached for another poor throw and grounded straight to the first baseman.
As Shane slumped sullenly back to the dugout, Del Winslow went up to hit. Shane was not surprised to see Del whiff at his first pitch as well, then pop up an easy ball to the third baseman for a quick out. He suspected Del’s concentration may also have been affected.
Shane was not about to let a similar fate befall Thad Wheeling who was warming up for his at-bat. Shane jogged over to warn Thad about the distraction at second base.
“Don’t worry,” said Thad. “I won’t let her get to me.”
“It’s the smile that does it,” Shane explained.
“They probably put her there just for that purpose,” Thad said. “I bet she can’t field at all. I’ll hit it right to her.”
Thad was as good as his word, sending the first pitch on a line drive right between the first baseman and Kelly. Thad took off along the first base line with a confident smirk.
Then the most amazing thing happened. Kelly launched herself into the air, stretching parallel to the ground, and snagged the ball as it sailed past. She tucked and rolled back to her feet as if she hadn’t just performed the most acrobatic catch in the history of religious sports leagues. Thad stood halfway to first base, mouth agape, as the Shepherds headed in and Kelly casually tossed the ball to the umpire.
The Miracles took the field. Well, most of them. The two teenage girls on the team, Katie and Tabitha, were locked in a heated discussion. Another girl at their school had spread a mean and only partly true rumor about Katie burping uncontrollably in fifth period Friday. They were so involved in dissecting the scandal that they didn’t even realize the inning was over until Shane called to them by name.
While the girls took the field, Missy Moore, the Miracles’ catcher, introduced herself to the umpire, a young man in his twenties with a goatee. As Missy settled into her crouch, she commented, “that blonde girl on the other team is really good.”
“Yeah,” the umpire agreed. “She played softball on scholarship in college. She’s the best player in the league.” Kelly was not the Shepherds’ secret weapon because of her attractiveness.
The first batter for the Shepherds hit a pop fly out to center field - an easy catch for the Miracles’ center fielder, Tabitha. Except Tabitha wasn’t there. She had slid over to right field so she could continue planning “burp-gate” damage control with Katie. By the time Pastor O’Donnell chased down the ball from left field and made a wayward toss toward third, the Shepherds had scored their first run.
Shane tried to keep his cool as he walked over to Tabitha. “Why don’t you switch positions with Pastor O’Donnell,” he said as evenly as he could.
Tabitha pouted as she trudged over to left field and the pastor took his place in center between the two teenage girls. Didn’t Shane understand that Katie’s high school reputation had been jeopardized? Who cared about a silly softball game in the face of such disaster.
The next batter hit a pop fly to right field, right to Katie.
It bounced at her feet and rolled by. Katie was too busy using her cell phone to send Tabitha a text message to notice. The Shepherds went up 2-0.
Then Kelly stepped up to the plate. Shane tried to focus on the game as she got into her batting stance with a little hip wiggle. Kevin tossed the first pitch in.
Kelly uncoiled and pounded the ball. It sizzled right past Kevin before he could even raise his glove, leaving a smell of burning ozone hanging in the air.
The ball rocketed straight toward Shane’s head. He stuck his glove out, relying more on an instinctive reflex for self-preservation than any athletic skill. The ball hit the glove but the force of the impact drove the glove back into Shane’s nose.
The next thing Shane saw was Kelly’s pretty face framed by blue sky. She looked like an angel, he thought.
“No, I’m a Shepherd,” she said. “The Angels are playing on the next field over.”
Shane realized he might have been thinking out loud. It also occurred to him that he was laying on his back.
“Are you all right?” Kelly asked.
“I think so,” Shane said, and sat up. “Did I get you out?”
“No. The ball rolled out of your glove when you fell,” she told him. “But good reflexes.”
After staunching the flow of blood from his wounded nose, Shane returned to his position. Thanks to Kevin’s pitching, they finally managed to get out of the inning having given up a mere ten runs. Shane said a little prayer of gratitude that the league games only went seven innings.
The Miracles did start to gel a little bit in the next inning and handled themselves respectably thereafter. As the game came to a merciful end in the quickly fading evening light, the Normal Miracles were relieved that the final score was only Shepherds 34, Miracles 2.
Afterwards, Shane sat in the bleachers icing his sore nose. He held the ice bag in his glove hand, since that palm had been bruised by the force of Kelly’s line drive. His mood brightened a little when Kelly came over to see how he was.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Shane said, striking what he hoped was an air of masculine nonchalance. Kelly was worried that he might have a concussion but she needn’t have been. Shane’s goofy smile was not a result of his injury. Then the umpire came over.
“Ready to go, Babe?” he said.
“Yeah,” Kelly replied and gave him a quick kiss. They walked off toward a giant, black pick-up truck holding hands.
Del was sitting nearby. “She’s dating the umpire?” he snorted. “That’s not fair!”
“No, it isn’t,” Shane agreed. But they weren’t talking about the same thing.
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed organized a church softball team called The Miracles to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League.
The Miracles first game was against a Presbyterian mega-church located in downtown Normal. The Presbyterian’s team was called The Shepherds. They had won the league trophy three of the past four years due to the large pool of young, athletic congregants. This game would be a real test of the Miracles’ readiness.
The Miracles hit first. Shane, the leadoff batter, stepped up to the plate. As he stared down the pitcher, he noticed one of the Shepherds’ secret weapons: their second baseman, Kelly.
Kelly was a pretty, twenty-five year-old blonde with perfect skin who jumped up and down and clapped before every pitch. Since her position placed her behind and just to the right of the pitcher, this energetic display of team spirit caught Shane’s eye. Shane was noting just how perfectly straight and white Kelly’s teeth were as the first pitch sailed by him.
Shane blushed and tightened his grip on the bat. He tried to focus on the pitcher and ignore the bouncing blonde. He managed to actually take a swing at the second pitch. Unfortunately it was way outside the strike zone and would have been a ball had he let it go. As it was, he missed by a good eight inches. Strike two.
By now Shane was completely discombobulated. He did manage to connect with the next pitch but he had reached for another poor throw and grounded straight to the first baseman.
As Shane slumped sullenly back to the dugout, Del Winslow went up to hit. Shane was not surprised to see Del whiff at his first pitch as well, then pop up an easy ball to the third baseman for a quick out. He suspected Del’s concentration may also have been affected.
Shane was not about to let a similar fate befall Thad Wheeling who was warming up for his at-bat. Shane jogged over to warn Thad about the distraction at second base.
“Don’t worry,” said Thad. “I won’t let her get to me.”
“It’s the smile that does it,” Shane explained.
“They probably put her there just for that purpose,” Thad said. “I bet she can’t field at all. I’ll hit it right to her.”
Thad was as good as his word, sending the first pitch on a line drive right between the first baseman and Kelly. Thad took off along the first base line with a confident smirk.
Then the most amazing thing happened. Kelly launched herself into the air, stretching parallel to the ground, and snagged the ball as it sailed past. She tucked and rolled back to her feet as if she hadn’t just performed the most acrobatic catch in the history of religious sports leagues. Thad stood halfway to first base, mouth agape, as the Shepherds headed in and Kelly casually tossed the ball to the umpire.
The Miracles took the field. Well, most of them. The two teenage girls on the team, Katie and Tabitha, were locked in a heated discussion. Another girl at their school had spread a mean and only partly true rumor about Katie burping uncontrollably in fifth period Friday. They were so involved in dissecting the scandal that they didn’t even realize the inning was over until Shane called to them by name.
While the girls took the field, Missy Moore, the Miracles’ catcher, introduced herself to the umpire, a young man in his twenties with a goatee. As Missy settled into her crouch, she commented, “that blonde girl on the other team is really good.”
“Yeah,” the umpire agreed. “She played softball on scholarship in college. She’s the best player in the league.” Kelly was not the Shepherds’ secret weapon because of her attractiveness.
The first batter for the Shepherds hit a pop fly out to center field - an easy catch for the Miracles’ center fielder, Tabitha. Except Tabitha wasn’t there. She had slid over to right field so she could continue planning “burp-gate” damage control with Katie. By the time Pastor O’Donnell chased down the ball from left field and made a wayward toss toward third, the Shepherds had scored their first run.
Shane tried to keep his cool as he walked over to Tabitha. “Why don’t you switch positions with Pastor O’Donnell,” he said as evenly as he could.
Tabitha pouted as she trudged over to left field and the pastor took his place in center between the two teenage girls. Didn’t Shane understand that Katie’s high school reputation had been jeopardized? Who cared about a silly softball game in the face of such disaster.
The next batter hit a pop fly to right field, right to Katie.
It bounced at her feet and rolled by. Katie was too busy using her cell phone to send Tabitha a text message to notice. The Shepherds went up 2-0.
Then Kelly stepped up to the plate. Shane tried to focus on the game as she got into her batting stance with a little hip wiggle. Kevin tossed the first pitch in.
Kelly uncoiled and pounded the ball. It sizzled right past Kevin before he could even raise his glove, leaving a smell of burning ozone hanging in the air.
The ball rocketed straight toward Shane’s head. He stuck his glove out, relying more on an instinctive reflex for self-preservation than any athletic skill. The ball hit the glove but the force of the impact drove the glove back into Shane’s nose.
The next thing Shane saw was Kelly’s pretty face framed by blue sky. She looked like an angel, he thought.
“No, I’m a Shepherd,” she said. “The Angels are playing on the next field over.”
Shane realized he might have been thinking out loud. It also occurred to him that he was laying on his back.
“Are you all right?” Kelly asked.
“I think so,” Shane said, and sat up. “Did I get you out?”
“No. The ball rolled out of your glove when you fell,” she told him. “But good reflexes.”
After staunching the flow of blood from his wounded nose, Shane returned to his position. Thanks to Kevin’s pitching, they finally managed to get out of the inning having given up a mere ten runs. Shane said a little prayer of gratitude that the league games only went seven innings.
The Miracles did start to gel a little bit in the next inning and handled themselves respectably thereafter. As the game came to a merciful end in the quickly fading evening light, the Normal Miracles were relieved that the final score was only Shepherds 34, Miracles 2.
Afterwards, Shane sat in the bleachers icing his sore nose. He held the ice bag in his glove hand, since that palm had been bruised by the force of Kelly’s line drive. His mood brightened a little when Kelly came over to see how he was.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Shane said, striking what he hoped was an air of masculine nonchalance. Kelly was worried that he might have a concussion but she needn’t have been. Shane’s goofy smile was not a result of his injury. Then the umpire came over.
“Ready to go, Babe?” he said.
“Yeah,” Kelly replied and gave him a quick kiss. They walked off toward a giant, black pick-up truck holding hands.
Del was sitting nearby. “She’s dating the umpire?” he snorted. “That’s not fair!”
“No, it isn’t,” Shane agreed. But they weren’t talking about the same thing.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Spider
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 rather large but perfectly harmless spider has made his home in the rafters of the little church’s sanctuary where he keeps himself fat and happy catching flies and mosquitoes. Last Sunday however, the spider decided to take a trip down to the floor. Perhaps the hunting had been bad in the rafters of late or perhaps he was moved by the hymn the choir was singing. Who can really understand the mind of a spider, after all.
Kevin and Jill Boyer were seated behind Henrietta Miggins that morning. Kevin had dozed off, as he frequently did during church service. Since he wasn’t snoring, Jill let him sleep. Meanwhile, Henrietta, a dignified and dour sixty-nine year-old wearing a wide brimmed hat topped by three large fake flowers, frowned at the hymn selection. Choir director Shane Reed favored bouncy, jazzy hymns. Henrietta thought “bouncy” and “jazzy” were attributes more suited to cheap dance clubs than to church service.
As Henrietta frowned and Jill tapped her feet happily to the music, the spider descended on his thin strand of web. His trajectory took him a few inches in front of Jill’s face. Jill was not a fan of spiders. When it came into her field of view, she jumped, barely managing to stifle a small squeal.
The spider continued his decent unperturbed. Jill shimmied and gyrated like a gymnast having a seizure to avoid the little arachnid. Her flailing right hand bumped the brim of Henrietta’s hat, tilting it at a rakish angle. Henrietta turned with an icy stare. She was not rakish and did not appreciate such an adjustment to her headwear.
Jill leaned in to apologize, being careful to give the spider a wide berth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “there’s a…”
“Shush!” Henrietta hissed, cutting Jill off. Henrietta believed one should sit and listen respectfully in church no matter how outlandish the musical selection was.
The spider had reached the floor. Jill pulled her knees up to her chest to keep her feet away from it. She elbowed Kevin in the arm.
Kevin awoke with a snort and looked over at her. “What?” he hissed.
Henrietta turned and gave the Boyers another “shush.” When she turned back, Kevin stuck his tongue out at her.
Jill pointed frantically down at the floor where the spider was meandering around exploring this new territory. Kevin rolled his eyes and stepped on the spider.
The spider managed to slip into the small space between Kevin’s sole and heel, thus avoiding being crushed. The near death experience got the little creature’s arachnid adrenaline pumping on all cylinders. As soon as Kevin lifted his foot, it scurried forward as fast as it could.
Jill gestured frantically for Kevin to finish the job. The spider had vanished under the pew in front of them. Kevin rolled up the bulletin and slipped down on his hands and knees to pursue. He could see the spider crawling along the edge of Henrietta’s shoe. He reached forward to smack it with the bulletin.
He missed.
However he did manage to swat Henrietta’s foot. She looked down and saw his hand, but did not see the spider. She did not know what kind of shenanigans he was up to, but she was certain they were quite rude and inappropriate. She placed her foot on his hand, not firmly enough to cause pain, but firmly enough to trap him. Then she turned back to Jill with an expression that said a great many things, none of them particularly nice.
Jill opened her mouth to explain. Henrietta shushed her.
Thinking the issue resolved for the time being, Henrietta released Kevin’s hand. When she placed her foot back onto the floor, however, the spider climbed on to her shoe.
The spider did not stop there. He climbed up onto her ankle. Henrietta felt the ticklish pull on her panty hose and looked down.
Henrietta was no more a fan of spiders than Jill. The sight of the eight-legged creature crawling up her shin caused her to jump to her feet with a yelp.
The choir had just completed the hymn, so Henrietta’s outburst happened as the sanctuary fell quiet. Everyone looked at her. Startled and embarrassed, Henrietta did the only thing she could think of. She raised her hands and said “Hallelujah.” Then she quickly sat back down.
Choir Director Shane Reed smiled. He knew Henrietta was not the type to express enthusiasm in church, or anywhere else for that matter. He figured she must have really loved the hymn to do something so uncharacteristic. He made a mental note to pick similar upbeat music in the future.
Meanwhile, the spider had jumped off Henrietta’s leg and was scurrying toward a pillar to return to the rafters. He’d had enough of exploring the lower parts of the sanctuary to last him quite a while.
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 rather large but perfectly harmless spider has made his home in the rafters of the little church’s sanctuary where he keeps himself fat and happy catching flies and mosquitoes. Last Sunday however, the spider decided to take a trip down to the floor. Perhaps the hunting had been bad in the rafters of late or perhaps he was moved by the hymn the choir was singing. Who can really understand the mind of a spider, after all.
Kevin and Jill Boyer were seated behind Henrietta Miggins that morning. Kevin had dozed off, as he frequently did during church service. Since he wasn’t snoring, Jill let him sleep. Meanwhile, Henrietta, a dignified and dour sixty-nine year-old wearing a wide brimmed hat topped by three large fake flowers, frowned at the hymn selection. Choir director Shane Reed favored bouncy, jazzy hymns. Henrietta thought “bouncy” and “jazzy” were attributes more suited to cheap dance clubs than to church service.
As Henrietta frowned and Jill tapped her feet happily to the music, the spider descended on his thin strand of web. His trajectory took him a few inches in front of Jill’s face. Jill was not a fan of spiders. When it came into her field of view, she jumped, barely managing to stifle a small squeal.
The spider continued his decent unperturbed. Jill shimmied and gyrated like a gymnast having a seizure to avoid the little arachnid. Her flailing right hand bumped the brim of Henrietta’s hat, tilting it at a rakish angle. Henrietta turned with an icy stare. She was not rakish and did not appreciate such an adjustment to her headwear.
Jill leaned in to apologize, being careful to give the spider a wide berth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “there’s a…”
“Shush!” Henrietta hissed, cutting Jill off. Henrietta believed one should sit and listen respectfully in church no matter how outlandish the musical selection was.
The spider had reached the floor. Jill pulled her knees up to her chest to keep her feet away from it. She elbowed Kevin in the arm.
Kevin awoke with a snort and looked over at her. “What?” he hissed.
Henrietta turned and gave the Boyers another “shush.” When she turned back, Kevin stuck his tongue out at her.
Jill pointed frantically down at the floor where the spider was meandering around exploring this new territory. Kevin rolled his eyes and stepped on the spider.
The spider managed to slip into the small space between Kevin’s sole and heel, thus avoiding being crushed. The near death experience got the little creature’s arachnid adrenaline pumping on all cylinders. As soon as Kevin lifted his foot, it scurried forward as fast as it could.
Jill gestured frantically for Kevin to finish the job. The spider had vanished under the pew in front of them. Kevin rolled up the bulletin and slipped down on his hands and knees to pursue. He could see the spider crawling along the edge of Henrietta’s shoe. He reached forward to smack it with the bulletin.
He missed.
However he did manage to swat Henrietta’s foot. She looked down and saw his hand, but did not see the spider. She did not know what kind of shenanigans he was up to, but she was certain they were quite rude and inappropriate. She placed her foot on his hand, not firmly enough to cause pain, but firmly enough to trap him. Then she turned back to Jill with an expression that said a great many things, none of them particularly nice.
Jill opened her mouth to explain. Henrietta shushed her.
Thinking the issue resolved for the time being, Henrietta released Kevin’s hand. When she placed her foot back onto the floor, however, the spider climbed on to her shoe.
The spider did not stop there. He climbed up onto her ankle. Henrietta felt the ticklish pull on her panty hose and looked down.
Henrietta was no more a fan of spiders than Jill. The sight of the eight-legged creature crawling up her shin caused her to jump to her feet with a yelp.
The choir had just completed the hymn, so Henrietta’s outburst happened as the sanctuary fell quiet. Everyone looked at her. Startled and embarrassed, Henrietta did the only thing she could think of. She raised her hands and said “Hallelujah.” Then she quickly sat back down.
Choir Director Shane Reed smiled. He knew Henrietta was not the type to express enthusiasm in church, or anywhere else for that matter. He figured she must have really loved the hymn to do something so uncharacteristic. He made a mental note to pick similar upbeat music in the future.
Meanwhile, the spider had jumped off Henrietta’s leg and was scurrying toward a pillar to return to the rafters. He’d had enough of exploring the lower parts of the sanctuary to last him quite a while.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Practice Makes Miracles
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed organized a church softball team called The Miracles to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League.
On a sunny Sunday afternoon The Miracles gathered at a city park for their first practice. Shane arrived early with a cooler of water and sports drinks. Del Winslow, a heavyset sixty-two year-old member of the choir, was already waiting for him.
“Great day for playing ball, eh coach?” Del called out as he approached.
“Sure is,” Shane agreed.
Del swung his arms vigorously from side to side to loosen up. “If you need any help today, I was captain of my college intramural baseball team, you know.”
Shane did know. Del had told him on at least three occasions. Shane thanked Del for his generous offer.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s car pulled into the parking lot. Henry, his fifteen year-old daughter Katie, her boyfriend Joe and her best friend Tabitha piled out. Katie and Tabitha looked excited to be there. Henry did not. Joe looked sullen and bored, but then he was a teenage boy so Shane figured that was probably his normal expression.
Del noticed the shiny, unblemished mitts the newcomers were carrying. “Are those new?” he asked Henry.
“Yeah,” Henry replied. “We swung by a sporting goods store on the way over.”
“Make sure you oil them,” Del instructed, “And tonight put a ball in each one and put rubber bands around them. It will help shape them.”
“Will do,” Henry said, but in fact the mitts would spend the night forgotten in the trunk of his car.
Before long the rest of the team had arrived: hard core amateur athlete Kevin Boyer, his new coworker Thad Wheeling, and bubbly, rotund Missy Moore. Missy brought homemade brownies to celebrate their first practice. As a result, they didn’t get started quite as quickly as Shane had planned.
“All right, let’s warm up,” Shane called out when the pan of brownies was reduced to a pan of crumbs. “Pair up and toss the ball around.”
As the players began warming up, Shane got his first look at his team’s skills. There was some cause for concern. Katie was playing catch with Tabitha. Katie could throw the ball okay, but whenever Tabitha threw it back, Katie would squeal and dodge instead of catching it. Shane had the two girls move closer together and instructed Tabitha to throw underhand until Katie wasn’t as afraid of the ball.
As he turned away from them, he noticed that Del was red-faced and sweating. “You all right, Del?” Shane asked.
“Oh sure, Coach,” Del responded. “Bit warm today, isn’t it?”
Shane actually thought it was pleasantly cool but he agreed with Del’s assessment just to be polite.
Kevin and Thad were a bright spot, making crisp, clean throws back and forth. And Joe looked like he might be pretty decent, even if his method of communication consisted mostly of annoyed grunts.
After twenty minutes or so, Shane called for a break. Del hustled over to the cooler and downed a bottle of bright red sports drink. After he finished, he whispered to Shane, “We’ve got some work to do to get this team in shape, eh coach?”
Shane smiled and nodded, then called for everyone to gather around. “We’ll take it easy since it’s our first practice,” Shane told them. “Let’s take the field and we’ll rotate through hitting.” He then assigned them each positions.
Shane put himself on second base. Del had insisted on playing first base as he had in college. They jogged out to their places. When Del reached first base, he bent over, hands on his knees, and sucked in big gulps of air.
“You okay, Del?” Shane called out.
“Fine,” Del responded, quickly straightening up. “Boy, I’ve missed the ol’ ball park.”
Pastor O’Donnell came running up to Shane.
“You’re supposed to be in right field,” Shane told him.
“I know, but there’s a bee hive over there,” the pastor said.
“Don’t be a wimp,” Del said between gasps, “bees won’t sting unless provoked. Don’t bother
them, they won’t bother you.”
Pastor O’Donnell didn’t look convinced but he returned to his position.
They each took turns going up to bat. Kevin, the pitcher, threw in pitches until each batter hit one, at which time the fielders practiced throwing to the correct base. Usually that base was first which meant Del was getting quite a workout. Shane grew more concerned as Del’s face grew more red. “Do you need a break,” he called over.
“Me?” Del asked. “No, no. I’m just beginning to get into the groove.” He flashed Shane a thumbs up and grinned as sweat dripped from his nose.
Most batters got a hit within two or three pitches. Then came Katie’s turn.
Katie’s fear of the ball was not just limited to catching it. Kevin took it easy on her, tossing pitches in as gently as he could. Still, she yelped and ducked every time. After a few dozen attempts, Shane could tell the team’s patience was wearing thin.
Shane jogged over to Katie. She was clearly embarrassed.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just relax. Kevin’s going to pitch nice and slow. The ball won’t hurt you. Just try to keep your eye on it and swing when it gets close. Think you can do that for me?”
Katie looked into Shane’s big blue eyes. Shane didn’t know it, but Katie had a little crush on him. She nodded.
Shane jogged back to second. Katie took a deep breath and planted her feet firmly. She was going to swing at this pitch no matter what. Kevin tossed the gentlest, slowest lob he could manage. Katie closed her eyes and swung.
Amazingly, the bat connected right in the sweet spot. Katie hit a nifty line drive right down the first base line. Del waved his glove half-heartedly toward it, but it skipped past him. Katie opened her eyes and asked Missy, the catcher, “what happened?”
“You hit it!” Missy shouted. “Run!” Katie took off toward third base.
Meanwhile, the ball bounced toward pastor O’Donnell. He scrambled forward to catch it. It rolled between his legs. He reached back, snagged it, and turned to throw toward first. But as he released the ball, his legs got tangled and he fell on his backside. The ball sailed off in a completely unintended direction - right toward the bee hive.
The ball struck the beehive and it exploded in a shower of honeycomb and bees. The buzzing of the angry swarm could be heard across the entire field as the bees spread out in an insect mob looking for vengeance.
“Run!” Shane shouted, though he needn’t have bothered. Every player was already dashing for the cars. Even Del.
Shane dived into Kevin’s car because it was closer than his. As they sat there catching their breath, they saw Del open the door to his car, lean out, and throw up red sports drink.
“I guess practice is over,” Shane said. “But I think we got off to a good start for our first time.”
“We’re gonna get killed,” Kevin muttered.
“It’s only a church league. Maybe all the teams start out like this.”
All the teams did not start out like that as they were soon to discover.
The Little Church Stories will take a break from the Miracles, but they’ll be back soon for “Game One.”
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed organized a church softball team called The Miracles to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League.
On a sunny Sunday afternoon The Miracles gathered at a city park for their first practice. Shane arrived early with a cooler of water and sports drinks. Del Winslow, a heavyset sixty-two year-old member of the choir, was already waiting for him.
“Great day for playing ball, eh coach?” Del called out as he approached.
“Sure is,” Shane agreed.
Del swung his arms vigorously from side to side to loosen up. “If you need any help today, I was captain of my college intramural baseball team, you know.”
Shane did know. Del had told him on at least three occasions. Shane thanked Del for his generous offer.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s car pulled into the parking lot. Henry, his fifteen year-old daughter Katie, her boyfriend Joe and her best friend Tabitha piled out. Katie and Tabitha looked excited to be there. Henry did not. Joe looked sullen and bored, but then he was a teenage boy so Shane figured that was probably his normal expression.
Del noticed the shiny, unblemished mitts the newcomers were carrying. “Are those new?” he asked Henry.
“Yeah,” Henry replied. “We swung by a sporting goods store on the way over.”
“Make sure you oil them,” Del instructed, “And tonight put a ball in each one and put rubber bands around them. It will help shape them.”
“Will do,” Henry said, but in fact the mitts would spend the night forgotten in the trunk of his car.
Before long the rest of the team had arrived: hard core amateur athlete Kevin Boyer, his new coworker Thad Wheeling, and bubbly, rotund Missy Moore. Missy brought homemade brownies to celebrate their first practice. As a result, they didn’t get started quite as quickly as Shane had planned.
“All right, let’s warm up,” Shane called out when the pan of brownies was reduced to a pan of crumbs. “Pair up and toss the ball around.”
As the players began warming up, Shane got his first look at his team’s skills. There was some cause for concern. Katie was playing catch with Tabitha. Katie could throw the ball okay, but whenever Tabitha threw it back, Katie would squeal and dodge instead of catching it. Shane had the two girls move closer together and instructed Tabitha to throw underhand until Katie wasn’t as afraid of the ball.
As he turned away from them, he noticed that Del was red-faced and sweating. “You all right, Del?” Shane asked.
“Oh sure, Coach,” Del responded. “Bit warm today, isn’t it?”
Shane actually thought it was pleasantly cool but he agreed with Del’s assessment just to be polite.
Kevin and Thad were a bright spot, making crisp, clean throws back and forth. And Joe looked like he might be pretty decent, even if his method of communication consisted mostly of annoyed grunts.
After twenty minutes or so, Shane called for a break. Del hustled over to the cooler and downed a bottle of bright red sports drink. After he finished, he whispered to Shane, “We’ve got some work to do to get this team in shape, eh coach?”
Shane smiled and nodded, then called for everyone to gather around. “We’ll take it easy since it’s our first practice,” Shane told them. “Let’s take the field and we’ll rotate through hitting.” He then assigned them each positions.
Shane put himself on second base. Del had insisted on playing first base as he had in college. They jogged out to their places. When Del reached first base, he bent over, hands on his knees, and sucked in big gulps of air.
“You okay, Del?” Shane called out.
“Fine,” Del responded, quickly straightening up. “Boy, I’ve missed the ol’ ball park.”
Pastor O’Donnell came running up to Shane.
“You’re supposed to be in right field,” Shane told him.
“I know, but there’s a bee hive over there,” the pastor said.
“Don’t be a wimp,” Del said between gasps, “bees won’t sting unless provoked. Don’t bother
them, they won’t bother you.”
Pastor O’Donnell didn’t look convinced but he returned to his position.
They each took turns going up to bat. Kevin, the pitcher, threw in pitches until each batter hit one, at which time the fielders practiced throwing to the correct base. Usually that base was first which meant Del was getting quite a workout. Shane grew more concerned as Del’s face grew more red. “Do you need a break,” he called over.
“Me?” Del asked. “No, no. I’m just beginning to get into the groove.” He flashed Shane a thumbs up and grinned as sweat dripped from his nose.
Most batters got a hit within two or three pitches. Then came Katie’s turn.
Katie’s fear of the ball was not just limited to catching it. Kevin took it easy on her, tossing pitches in as gently as he could. Still, she yelped and ducked every time. After a few dozen attempts, Shane could tell the team’s patience was wearing thin.
Shane jogged over to Katie. She was clearly embarrassed.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just relax. Kevin’s going to pitch nice and slow. The ball won’t hurt you. Just try to keep your eye on it and swing when it gets close. Think you can do that for me?”
Katie looked into Shane’s big blue eyes. Shane didn’t know it, but Katie had a little crush on him. She nodded.
Shane jogged back to second. Katie took a deep breath and planted her feet firmly. She was going to swing at this pitch no matter what. Kevin tossed the gentlest, slowest lob he could manage. Katie closed her eyes and swung.
Amazingly, the bat connected right in the sweet spot. Katie hit a nifty line drive right down the first base line. Del waved his glove half-heartedly toward it, but it skipped past him. Katie opened her eyes and asked Missy, the catcher, “what happened?”
“You hit it!” Missy shouted. “Run!” Katie took off toward third base.
Meanwhile, the ball bounced toward pastor O’Donnell. He scrambled forward to catch it. It rolled between his legs. He reached back, snagged it, and turned to throw toward first. But as he released the ball, his legs got tangled and he fell on his backside. The ball sailed off in a completely unintended direction - right toward the bee hive.
The ball struck the beehive and it exploded in a shower of honeycomb and bees. The buzzing of the angry swarm could be heard across the entire field as the bees spread out in an insect mob looking for vengeance.
“Run!” Shane shouted, though he needn’t have bothered. Every player was already dashing for the cars. Even Del.
Shane dived into Kevin’s car because it was closer than his. As they sat there catching their breath, they saw Del open the door to his car, lean out, and throw up red sports drink.
“I guess practice is over,” Shane said. “But I think we got off to a good start for our first time.”
“We’re gonna get killed,” Kevin muttered.
“It’s only a church league. Maybe all the teams start out like this.”
All the teams did not start out like that as they were soon to discover.
The Little Church Stories will take a break from the Miracles, but they’ll be back soon for “Game One.”
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Normal Miracles
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed proposed organizing a church softball team to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League. Pastor Henry O’Donnell thought it was a fine idea as long as he didn’t have to play. When Henry was a boy he’d gotten his exercise chasing the ice cream truck. As a teen, he’d stayed in shape by running from bullies. But as an adult he’d become completely sedentary.
The deadline to register teams was just over a week away. Shane had two tasks to accomplish before then: Find a minimum of nine players and come up with a team name. He focused first on recruiting.
After announcing the team in church, Shane quickly got three people to sign up during coffee hour. First was Kevin Boyer. Unlike Pastor O’Donnell, Kevin loved sports. He was already on a city league softball team, not to mention tennis and flag football teams. Any leisure time Kevin couldn’t fill by playing sports, he tried to occupy by watching sports on TV.
Second was Del Winslow, who despite being 62 and a few dozen pounds overweight, assured Shane that he was an expert first baseman. “I was the captain of my college intramural baseball team,” Del informed him, leaving out the additional information that the team had finished next to last every year but one. That year it had actually finished last.
The third was Missy Moore, a rotund, energetic woman who said she’d be delighted to play, though she admitted she wasn’t very good. Shane gladly signed her up mostly because the league required three women on the field for each team. He figured she could be the catcher.
Four people wasn’t enough to make a basketball team, let alone a softball team. Shane cornered a few other congregants but he wasn’t having much luck. Then Katie O’Donnell, the pastor’s fifteen year-old daughter, and her friend Tabitha skipped over. “Hi Shane,” they said simultaneously in singsong voices. “Whatcha doing?”
“Signing up people for the church softball team. You two wouldn’t be interested, would you?”
The girls looked at each other with knowing smiles. “Sure,” Katie said.
“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed.
Shane hid his surprise and handed them permission slips for their parents to sign.
As the girls walked away, Katie whispered to Tabitha, “Mr. Reed’s hot, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed. “I wonder if he’ll take his shirt off at practice if it’s warm.” The girls giggled and went to get coffee.
That still left Shane three players short of a full team with the league kick-off meeting the following Sunday afternoon. Kevin helped by recruiting a new co-worker named Thad Wheeling who had just transferred to town. With two open spots to go, Shane started making phone calls.
He was nearing the end of his list with no success when he dialed organist Walter Tibble’s number. Walter hadn’t participated in anything resembling organized sports in thirty years but he owed Shane a favor for helping him move an old refrigerator a few weeks earlier. Walter had inadvertently dropped the refrigerator on Shane’s foot increasing the size of the debt. Shane poured on the guilt trying to overcome Walter’s reluctance.
And just as he thought Walter might be wavering, Shane’s call waiting beeped.
It was Kevin. “Jill says I can’t join the team,” Kevin told him. “She says I spend too much time playing sports while she has to watch the kids by herself.”
Shane knew Kevin and Jill’s two daughters and could understand Jill’s feelings. But his primary concern was the potential loss of his most promising player. “Can we discuss this,” he asked.
“Sure, but Jill’s the one you have to convince,” Kevin told him. “Maybe if you could find her a baby sitter. We seem to have trouble keeping them.”
“Okay. I’ve got Walter on the other line. Let me finish up with him, then I’ll…” Shane trailed off. He was getting an idea. “I’ll call you right back,” Shane said.
He clicked over to Walter. “Walter,” he said, “I’ve thought of another way you can pay me back for helping with the refrigerator. How about giving a couple kids piano lessons for me during the games so their father is free to play ball?”
Walter jumped at the chance to avoid regular exercise. “I could do that. Who are the kids?”
“Mary and Susie Boyer.”
“Oh no!” Walter howled. Mary and Susie were legendary around the church and not for lady like behavior or childish adorableness. Shane had to throw in washing Walter’s car after every game to get him to reconsider.
After an hour of back and forth phone negotiations that would have made the United Nations proud, Shane brokered a complicated three way deal. He managed to overcome Walter’s objections that the girls were really too young for piano lessons and that the Boyers didn’t have a piano for them to practice on. Jill assured Walter she didn’t expect the girls to achieve any actual musical proficiency. The truth was, she just wanted a few hours for herself. With the girls tormenting Walter, she didn’t particularly mind that her husband wouldn’t be around. Visions of long bubble baths danced in her head.
Shane was relieved he’d averted that crisis, but he was still two players down when he arrived at church Sunday morning.
Katie solved half his problem by informing him that her boyfriend Joe wanted to play. Katie was clearly delighted at Joe’s taking interest in one of her activities. What she didn’t know was that he had overheard Katie and Tabitha talking about Shane’s muscular forearms and figured he better protect his territory.
Still, when Pastor Henry O’Donnell saw Shane at coffee hour and asked him how the team was coming together, Shane was despondent. “I’m still one player short and the registration deadline is in an hour,” he told the pastor “It’s going to take a miracle to make this work.”
Unfortunately for Henry, his wife Jennifer was standing next to them. “Why don’t you play?” she asked.
“I’d love to but I’m too busy,” Henry told her, shrugging apologetically at Shane.
“Please,” Jennifer scoffed. “It’ll do you good to get some exercise. Besides, Katie’s on the team. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some father-daughter time with her?”
“But honey…” Henry started to protest.
“Sign him up,” Jennifer told Shane. Shane looked at the pastor, unsure what to do. Henry sighed and nodded his agreement.
“Great!” Shane said. “We could still use an alternate. Do you want to play, too, Jennifer? Then it would be family time.”
“Oh no,” Jennifer said. “I’m way too busy for softball.” She hurried off before her husband could come up with a snide comment.
“Guess you got your miracle,” Henry muttered.
Shane rushed off to the kick-off meeting before anyone could bail out. When he handed the coordinator his form, she pointed out that he had neglected to fill in a team name. In all the chaos of recruiting he had forgotten to think of one. Shane smiled. “Put down The Miracles,” he told her.
Coming soon: The Normal Miracles have their first practice.
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. This year, choir director Shane Reed proposed organizing a church softball team to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League. Pastor Henry O’Donnell thought it was a fine idea as long as he didn’t have to play. When Henry was a boy he’d gotten his exercise chasing the ice cream truck. As a teen, he’d stayed in shape by running from bullies. But as an adult he’d become completely sedentary.
The deadline to register teams was just over a week away. Shane had two tasks to accomplish before then: Find a minimum of nine players and come up with a team name. He focused first on recruiting.
After announcing the team in church, Shane quickly got three people to sign up during coffee hour. First was Kevin Boyer. Unlike Pastor O’Donnell, Kevin loved sports. He was already on a city league softball team, not to mention tennis and flag football teams. Any leisure time Kevin couldn’t fill by playing sports, he tried to occupy by watching sports on TV.
Second was Del Winslow, who despite being 62 and a few dozen pounds overweight, assured Shane that he was an expert first baseman. “I was the captain of my college intramural baseball team,” Del informed him, leaving out the additional information that the team had finished next to last every year but one. That year it had actually finished last.
The third was Missy Moore, a rotund, energetic woman who said she’d be delighted to play, though she admitted she wasn’t very good. Shane gladly signed her up mostly because the league required three women on the field for each team. He figured she could be the catcher.
Four people wasn’t enough to make a basketball team, let alone a softball team. Shane cornered a few other congregants but he wasn’t having much luck. Then Katie O’Donnell, the pastor’s fifteen year-old daughter, and her friend Tabitha skipped over. “Hi Shane,” they said simultaneously in singsong voices. “Whatcha doing?”
“Signing up people for the church softball team. You two wouldn’t be interested, would you?”
The girls looked at each other with knowing smiles. “Sure,” Katie said.
“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed.
Shane hid his surprise and handed them permission slips for their parents to sign.
As the girls walked away, Katie whispered to Tabitha, “Mr. Reed’s hot, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed. “I wonder if he’ll take his shirt off at practice if it’s warm.” The girls giggled and went to get coffee.
That still left Shane three players short of a full team with the league kick-off meeting the following Sunday afternoon. Kevin helped by recruiting a new co-worker named Thad Wheeling who had just transferred to town. With two open spots to go, Shane started making phone calls.
He was nearing the end of his list with no success when he dialed organist Walter Tibble’s number. Walter hadn’t participated in anything resembling organized sports in thirty years but he owed Shane a favor for helping him move an old refrigerator a few weeks earlier. Walter had inadvertently dropped the refrigerator on Shane’s foot increasing the size of the debt. Shane poured on the guilt trying to overcome Walter’s reluctance.
And just as he thought Walter might be wavering, Shane’s call waiting beeped.
It was Kevin. “Jill says I can’t join the team,” Kevin told him. “She says I spend too much time playing sports while she has to watch the kids by herself.”
Shane knew Kevin and Jill’s two daughters and could understand Jill’s feelings. But his primary concern was the potential loss of his most promising player. “Can we discuss this,” he asked.
“Sure, but Jill’s the one you have to convince,” Kevin told him. “Maybe if you could find her a baby sitter. We seem to have trouble keeping them.”
“Okay. I’ve got Walter on the other line. Let me finish up with him, then I’ll…” Shane trailed off. He was getting an idea. “I’ll call you right back,” Shane said.
He clicked over to Walter. “Walter,” he said, “I’ve thought of another way you can pay me back for helping with the refrigerator. How about giving a couple kids piano lessons for me during the games so their father is free to play ball?”
Walter jumped at the chance to avoid regular exercise. “I could do that. Who are the kids?”
“Mary and Susie Boyer.”
“Oh no!” Walter howled. Mary and Susie were legendary around the church and not for lady like behavior or childish adorableness. Shane had to throw in washing Walter’s car after every game to get him to reconsider.
After an hour of back and forth phone negotiations that would have made the United Nations proud, Shane brokered a complicated three way deal. He managed to overcome Walter’s objections that the girls were really too young for piano lessons and that the Boyers didn’t have a piano for them to practice on. Jill assured Walter she didn’t expect the girls to achieve any actual musical proficiency. The truth was, she just wanted a few hours for herself. With the girls tormenting Walter, she didn’t particularly mind that her husband wouldn’t be around. Visions of long bubble baths danced in her head.
Shane was relieved he’d averted that crisis, but he was still two players down when he arrived at church Sunday morning.
Katie solved half his problem by informing him that her boyfriend Joe wanted to play. Katie was clearly delighted at Joe’s taking interest in one of her activities. What she didn’t know was that he had overheard Katie and Tabitha talking about Shane’s muscular forearms and figured he better protect his territory.
Still, when Pastor Henry O’Donnell saw Shane at coffee hour and asked him how the team was coming together, Shane was despondent. “I’m still one player short and the registration deadline is in an hour,” he told the pastor “It’s going to take a miracle to make this work.”
Unfortunately for Henry, his wife Jennifer was standing next to them. “Why don’t you play?” she asked.
“I’d love to but I’m too busy,” Henry told her, shrugging apologetically at Shane.
“Please,” Jennifer scoffed. “It’ll do you good to get some exercise. Besides, Katie’s on the team. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some father-daughter time with her?”
“But honey…” Henry started to protest.
“Sign him up,” Jennifer told Shane. Shane looked at the pastor, unsure what to do. Henry sighed and nodded his agreement.
“Great!” Shane said. “We could still use an alternate. Do you want to play, too, Jennifer? Then it would be family time.”
“Oh no,” Jennifer said. “I’m way too busy for softball.” She hurried off before her husband could come up with a snide comment.
“Guess you got your miracle,” Henry muttered.
Shane rushed off to the kick-off meeting before anyone could bail out. When he handed the coordinator his form, she pointed out that he had neglected to fill in a team name. In all the chaos of recruiting he had forgotten to think of one. Shane smiled. “Put down The Miracles,” he told her.
Coming soon: The Normal Miracles have their first practice.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Open Mic Night
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.
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, 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
