Car Trouble

Welcome to the 100th Little Church Story!  Hope you've enjoyed them as much as I have.

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. Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell has been driving the same car for seven years. His teenage daughter, Katie, often bugs him to get a new one, usually when he’s dropping her off somewhere in front of her friends. And Henry always responds by lecturing Katie on the value of a dollar saved.

Henry’s father would have been proud of him. The old man was a child of the Great Depression and had worked hard to instill a sense of thriftiness in Henry and his siblings. Henry’s father would not have been so proud of Henry’s carelessness in maintaining the old vehicle. Henry just couldn’t seem to keep track of when it was time to change the car’s oil. The consequences of this lack of diligence arrived last Tuesday when the engine seized up as Henry was pulling into the church parking lot.

One advantage of being a pastor, however, was that members of the congregation often stepped in to assist in such situations. Upon learning about Henry’s problem, head usher Ralph Billings referred him to his mechanic buddy, Stan Pike. “I’ll talk to Stan and get you a discount,” Ralph assured Henry.

So Henry had the car towed to Stan’s shop. Stan was a short, thick man who continually rubbed his greasy hands on an even greasier rag. Stan’s analysis of the car was not good. The engine would have to be completely replaced. “But I’ll tell you what,” Stan said, “I’ll do the job for cost.”

“Really?” Henry asked. “That’s very generous.”

“Always glad to help a man of the cloth. Figure it’ll make up some for me never getting to church on Sundays. My poor, sick Mama can’t really be left alone, and Sunday is the nurse’s day off, so I have to stay with her.”

“I’m sure God understands,” Henry said. “But I do appreciate the discount. How long will it take?”

“Not long once I get the parts. Maybe two days,” Stan said.

“Great,” Henry replied. Even with the discount, the repair was going to take a hefty bite out of his savings account. For two days he was sure he could find people to give him rides, and that way he wouldn’t have to rent a car.

Once again, Ralph came to his rescue. Ralph’s wife, Tammy, was the church secretary and Ralph typically drove her to and from work every day. It wasn’t much out of their way to pick up Henry.

Wednesday the arrangement worked beautifully. But when they got to the office Thursday morning, Tammy discovered a message on the voicemail from Carrie Winslow. It seemed her mother, Karen, was in the hospital. Karen was in remission from leukemia and had begun feeling ill. They were worried she might be relapsing. Fortunately, Ralph had time to take Henry over to the hospital to sit with the Winslows.

Even better, it turned out Karen had simply come down with a case of the flu. As Ralph drove Henry back to the church, Henry noticed that it was almost 2 p.m. and he still hadn’t had lunch. He suggested they swing by a fast food drive through.

Ralph was aghast. “You know how bad that fast food is for you?” he exclaimed. “Why it’s chock full of sodium and saturated fats and cholesterol. You know what frying potatoes does to them? It makes them carcinogenic!”

“But I’m hungry and I don’t have time for a real meal,” Henry protested.

“I’ll drop you off at the church and then go get you a healthy organic salad,” Ralph said as they whizzed past the fast food restaurant. Henry looked longingly back at the colorful pictures of chicken wings and soda on the windows.

As Henry was picking at the salad in his office, he called Stan Pike to see if his car was ready. “Taking a little longer than I expected,” Stan told him. “But as the Bible says, ‘patience is a virtue.’” Henry knew that proverb didn’t actually come from the Bible, but didn’t bother to correct the man. “Just be a couple more days,” Stan said. “Give me a call Monday.”

On Friday, Henry’s wife informed him that she had to work late and asked if he could get his own supper. Henry assured her he could. He knew just what he wanted: a rack of baby backs from Big Tommy’s Rib Shack. But then he remembered that Ralph would be driving him home. He suspected Ralph might object to a stop at Big Tommy’s.

Henry decided perhaps he ought to make a follow up call to the Winslows. Carrie answered. “Mom’s fine,” she said. “She’s taking a nap right now so I don’t want to wake her, but I know she’s grateful you came out to the hospital yesterday. Sorry if we wasted your time.”

“Not at all,” Henry said. “But you should thank Ralph Billings, too. He’s been driving me around while my car is in the shop. I’m afraid I’ve been taking advantage of his good nature. And I’m going to have to impose again tonight because the repair is taking longer than expected.”

“I could give you a ride home tonight,” Carrie said.

Henry smiled. “Oh, that would be great. And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you mind stopping by Big Tommy’s so I can pick up some dinner?”

“My pleasure,” Carrie replied.

Henry was packing up his briefcase at the end of the day when he heard what sounded like a bunch of sirens in the distance. As they got closer, he wondered if a nearby building was on fire. They continued to get even closer. It almost sounded like they were right outside in the front office. Henry peeked out to see what was going on.

What he mistook for sirens were actually the cries of Carrie’s baby boy, Scott. “He’s teething,” Carrie shouted over the wailing. “I decided to get him out of the house so my Mom could rest. He usually falls asleep in the car.”

Scott did not fall asleep in the car this time.

Fortunately they arrived at Big Tommy’s in record time, helped by several cars pulling over to let them pass, apparently having mistaken them for some kind of emergency vehicle. Henry wasn’t sure the ribs would be worth his temporary hearing loss, but once he was inside Big Tommy’s, the smell of barbecue revitalized him.

When Carrie dropped him off, she asked if he might need any rides in the future. “No thank you,” Henry shouted. He had a meeting across town on Tuesday but Stan had said his car would be ready by then.

Unfortunately, when he called Stan on Monday he got more bad news. “See, since I’m not charging you for labor, I was gonna do the work myself instead of giving it to one of my guys,” Stan explained. “We got busy Friday so I was gonna come in on Saturday. But my poor Mama took a turn and we had to spend the day at the urgent care. She’s fine now, God bless her.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Henry said.

“Give me a couple more days,” Stan told him.

That meant Henry needed a ride to his meeting. Since it ended at noon and he would have to get lunch after, he ruled out Ralph. Henry just didn’t think salad qualified as a meal. And since Scott would not likely be done teething yet, he ruled out Carrie.

Missy Moore saved him when she swung by the church to pick up a sweater she’d forgotten Sunday morning. When she asked Henry how he was doing, he couldn’t help unloading to her about his transportation tribulations. “I could give you a ride tomorrow,” Missy said.

Henry thanked her and promised to buy her lunch at a nearby burger joint in return. “I love that place!” Missy exclaimed. Henry grinned.

The next day Missy was right on time. Henry slid into the passenger seat once she moved a stack of papers and fast food wrappers to the back. Missy started the car and Henry almost jumped through the windshield as a blast of heavy metal music exploded from the speakers.

“This is a great song!” Missy exclaimed and began singing along as she screeched out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a passing car. Two minutes later Missy turned the music down. But only because she got a call on her cell phone. Perhaps some people are actually capable of driving safely while talking on the phone, but Missy was not one of them. By the time they reached the meeting, Henry was trembling so badly he could barely walk. The ride back was even worse.

On Wednesday Henry called Stan again. “Ran into a little trouble,” Stan began.

“How much longer?” Henry sighed.

“Couple days. Patience is a virtue.” Henry buried his head in his arms so Tammy wouldn’t hear him weep.

Ten days later Henry’s car was finally ready. As he wrote out a check, Henry wavered between wanting to kiss Stan and wanting to punch him in the face.

Henry’s first stop after leaving the garage was a fast food drive through. As he was pulling away, he accidentally squeezed his soda cup a little too hard. Apparently the kid working the window hadn’t fully secured the top, because it popped off and icy cola splattered onto Henry’s lap. He jumped, jerking the wheel involuntarily. The car hopped the curb and hit a tree.

Henry didn’t tell anyone about the mishap. Not because he was embarrassed, but because he was afraid they’d get him a discount with their mechanic. He took the car to a garage he’d never heard of and agreed to pay full price. “How long will it take,” Henry asked.

“Couple days,” the mechanic replied.

Baked Goods

Listen to the story read by the author.

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm.  Like most churches, this one has coffee hour every Sunday after service.  The various church groups rotate responsibility for hosting.  Some, like the women’s group, bring elaborate homemade treats.  Others, like the young parents, put out a more humble spread of store bought snacks.  Most of the congregation barely notices as long as the coffee is hot and strong.  But when the men’s group hosted recently, their refreshments had unintended consequences.

Ralph Billings got blamed for the trouble.  Ralph considered himself a health food advocate.  Many in the congregation preferred the term “health nut.”  Whenever a group he was part of was scheduled to host coffee hour, Ralph would loudly lobby everyone to bring nutritional snacks.  Usually he was ignored.  Ralph would bring a heaping platter of fruits and vegetables, most of which would remain uneaten while the cookies, donuts and coffee cake others brought were reduced to plates of crumbs. 

This bothered Ralph.  So when the men’s group came up in the host rotation a few weeks ago, he hatched a plan to change things.

Choir director Shane Reed, also an active member of the men’s group, had his own agenda for coffee hours. Most of the men in the group brought store bought items if they brought anything.  Shane liked to bring something special that would surprise and delight people.

This time he decided to bring something themed toward St. Patrick’s Day, which was a few days earlier.  He found a recipe for chocolate mint cheesecake online.  It even had instructions for creating a green shamrock decoration on the top.  Shane was an excellent cook.  He wasn’t stingy either – he made two cheesecakes so nobody would be left out.

When Shane unveiled his creation to the other men while they were setting up before service, everyone oohed and ahhed jealously.  Ralph seemed to be most interested, questioning Shane at length about the recipe.  Then Ralph went away briefly and returned with an index card on which he’d written, “Chocolate Mint Cheesecake – 650 calories and 25g saturated fat per slice.”  He stuck it next to the cheesecakes.

“What’s this?” Shane asked.

“The nutritional information for your lovely desert,” Ralph said.  “I think it’s helpful that people know what they’re eating, don’t you?”

Shane couldn’t really think of a good objection, though he tried hard.  As other people put out their snacks, Ralph noted the nutritional content of each on an index card.  He got the information either from the packaging of store bought items or by consulting a big book of food statistics.  Of course Ralph’s plate of carrot sticks, celery and grapes fared best.

When the congregation poured into the social hall after the service, Missy Moore was one of the first in line.  “Your cheesecake looks gorgeous,” she told Shane.

“You’ll have to let me know how it tastes,” he said.

“Oh, I can’t,” Missy replied.  “Have to watch my waistline, you know.”  She then piled a plate high with carrot sticks and crackers.

Jill Boyer herded her daughters Mary, age four, and Susie, age two, into the refreshment line.  When Mary saw the cheesecake, her eyes got big and she reached out to swipe a finger through the shamrock decoration.  Jill grabbed her hand and said, “Mary, don’t.  I’ll get you some.”

Four year-old Sierra Smith and her father Arthur were in line behind them.  “May I have some cake?” Sierra asked. 

Arthur looked at the index card.  “I’m sorry, honey.  It’s not good for you.  Have some grapes.”

Jill’s face reddened.  Arthur had this strange ability to continually make her feel like a bad parent.  But she had already cut a piece and couldn’t very well deny her girls at this point without inducing a nuclear level tantrum.  So she cut the slice in half and split it between two plates.  She then piled carrots onto the plates and instructed the girls to eat the vegetables before the cheesecake.  They did not follow her instructions, but by then Arthur and Sierra had moved on so it didn’t really matter.

One person who didn’t care about the nutritional content of the cheesecake was Pastor Henry O’Donnell.  Unfortunately his wife Jennifer was not so blasé.  Henry was positioning the knife to cut a nice big slice when she cleared her throat behind him.  “Remember your diet,” she said.  Henry sighed and moved the knife over an inch.  Jennifer cleared her throat again.  Henry slid the knife over even further.  The wafer of cheesecake was so thin it fell apart as he lifted it onto a plate.

“Whose brilliant idea was it to set out those index cards?” Henry grumbled.

“Mine,” Ralph said proudly.  He happened to be standing near the end of the table.  “Isn’t it great?  I’m going to do the same thing with the women’s group bake sale next week.”

As word of this pronouncement spread, it was not well received.  The women’s group bake sale was among the church’s biggest mission fundraisers of the year.  With coffee hour winding down, everyone took note of how Shane’s cheesecakes remained mostly uneaten while Ralph’s vegetables were completely gone.  Obviously Ralph had succeeded in his goal.  Knowledge was power.

An informal huddle of the women’s group convened in a corner of the social hall.  There was some question as to whether Ralph had the authority to stick his nose into the bake sale.  This was countered, however, by the concern that if they tried to stop him it would look like they were hiding something.

“I guess we’d better make healthy items this year,” Missy said.  “People don’t want fattening deserts anymore.  Just look at the refreshment table.”

Seventy-year-old Henrietta Miggins, president of the women’s group, harrumphed. “We’ll see,” she growled.  She had nothing against nutrition but she was not about to let Ralph Billings control her.  She went to get a nice big slice of cheesecake to prove her point.

The next week Henrietta was not present when the women were setting up for the bake sale.  This caused considerable concern.  It was unlike Henrietta to shirk her responsibilities.  Someone was even dispatched to her house to make sure she was all right, but there was no sign of her.

After service, the congregation perused the selection of bran muffins, sugarless oatmeal cookies and low fat brownies the women had made.  Ralph was true to his word, calculating the calories and fat in each item based on the ingredients.  The results indicated that everything was indeed quite healthy, though it’s possible a few of the bakers may have fudged the amounts of butter or sugar used – inadvertently, of course.

Sales, however, were slow.  Jill’s whole wheat pineapple cake just didn’t draw the enthusiasm of the double chocolate peanut butter brownies she’d brought last year.

Missy, who was manning the cash register, muttered, “This is a disaster.”

“Must be the economy,” Ralph observed.

“Looks like Henrietta was right,” Jill sighed.  “People do prefer the unhealthy baked goods.”

Ralph decided he better do something if he wanted the nutritional information to become a regular feature of church events.  He wandered along the table loudly admiring all the items.  He stopped at Missy’s vegan pumpkin cookies.

“Only seventy-five calories each and no fat!” he exclaimed.  “And they look so good.  I’ll take ‘em.”  As soon as he’d paid, he pulled back the plastic wrap and popped a cookie in his mouth.

“Mmmmm…” he said as he chewed.  “Delicious.”  He smiled, but there were suspicious tears forming in the corners of his eyes.  He swallowed.  “So good I’m going to save the rest for later.”

Then Henrietta arrived carrying a large box.

“Where were you?” Missy asked.  “We were worried.”

Henrietta didn’t answer.  Instead, she opened the box and took out six apple tarts, twice the number she usually brought for the bake sale.

“What’s in those,” Ralph asked.  “I need to calculate the nutritional information.”

“This is a secret family recipe,” Henrietta huffed.

“But all the items for sale have their nutritional information listed,” Ralph protested.

“These won’t,” Henrietta said.

There was a murmur of excitement among the gathered crowd.  Missy asked, “How much are we charging for them?”

“That depends,” Henrietta replied.  “This year I think I’ll auction them to the highest bidder.”

That proved a brilliant move.  All the tarts went for many times their usual price.  Pastor O’Donnell paid the most – $105.00 for a single tart.  It was for a good cause, he reasoned.  In the end, the women’s group raised more total money with this year’s bake sale than ever before.

The following Sunday the young adult bible study hosted coffee hour.  There was no nutritional information provided.  Ralph was not part of the bible study and besides, after the bake sale he had been unable to find his nutrition book.

Shane Reed was part of the bible study and he brought homemade fudge.  It was gone in twenty minutes.  Pastor O’Donnell had twelve pieces.  Shane was glad there were no leftovers.  He still had an entire cheesecake in his freezer.

A note to my readers:  I have traditionally published a Little Church Story on this blog every two weeks.  From this point forward I am reducing my blog publication schedule to once a month.  This is in order for me to spend more time on other Little Church projects like The Christmas Tree Lot book.  Thank you for your support for The Little Church Stories!

The Un-Decorating

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Each year, a few days after Christmas, a small group gathers in the sanctuary to take down the Christmas decorations. Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell always has mixed feelings about this day. On the one hand, he loves the Christmas season and this final annual ritual makes him melancholy. On the other hand, church secretary Tammy Billings always brings Christmas leftovers – including plenty of pie and cookies. Tammy is an excellent cook but a light eater. And her husband Ralph is a bit of a health nut, which means O’Donnell traditionally gets to overindulge to his heart’s content.

Every year the church has asked for volunteers to help with the project, but invariably the only people who show up are Tammy, Ralph, and Pastor O’Donnell. Normally this was fine with the pastor. It meant more of Tammy’s goodies for him. Last year the church brought on a new young Associate Pastor named Michelle Tellum who felt obliged to help with the un-decorating as well, but O’Donnell didn’t mind because she didn’t eat much. Unfortunately this year she also brought her boyfriend, Ian, and he could eat quite a bit.

To everyone’s surprise one other volunteer showed up as well: Missy Moore, a heavyset woman in her forties. As she dug into a piece of Tammy’s pumpkin pie, she explained that she thought the clean up project would help her burn off all those Christmas calories.

“With so many hands we’ll be done in no time,” Tammy said.

O’Donnell agreed that was a plus, but he was concerned because there were only two pieces of pumpkin pie left. O’Donnell loved Tammy’s pumpkin pie, but wanted to save a slice for when they had finished with the work. And the way Ian was digging into a hunk of leftover fruitcake, O’Donnell didn’t think he could count on the pie lasting that long. So while Tammy was assigning duties to the others, O’Donnell slipped a slice of pie onto a paper plate and stuck it under a pew on the left side of the church.

Tammy was determined to keep the decorations organized this year. She’d listed each type of decoration and assigned it a box, which she had numbered. As things were packed away, she would check them off on her chart. Hopefully that chart would allow her to quickly find things when it came time to decorate next year.

Most of the others tried to follow Tammy’s instructions diligently, but she was usually unsatisfied with the way they folded this or coiled that. However she was too polite to criticize so she would often just surreptitiously repack the items when nobody was looking. After all, everything had to be just so or it wouldn’t fit neatly in the designated boxes.

Ralph was the most rebellious of the volunteers. When he saw something that needed done, he tended to just do it rather than waiting for directions. So he frequently brought things to Tammy that she wanted at the top of a box before the things that belonged on the bottom were packed.

About twenty minutes into the project, O’Donnell saw Ralph carrying a twenty-foot ladder into the sanctuary. “What are you going to do with that?” O’Donnell asked.

“Take down the Advent wall hangings,” Ralph replied.

“That’s a two man job,” O’Donnell said. “I don’t want you climbing up there yourself.”

“Fine,” Ralph grumbled. “You can climb the ladder while I hold it steady. Then you can pass the hangings down to me. Okay?”

“Okay,” O’Donnell said, not quite sure how he’d volunteered to climb a twenty foot ladder. He wasn’t good with heights.

Meanwhile, Michelle, Ian and Missy were taking down the decorations on the two trees that had been put up in the chancel. What they didn’t know was that Bart, a bat who usually lived in the church’s bell tower, had taken up temporary residence in the left tree and was currently fast asleep on one of the inside branches near the top.

Michelle climbed up on a step stool to reach the string of lights wrapped around the top of the tree. As she started unwinding them, she woke Bart up. Startled at the unexpected disturbance, he flew out right in front of her face.

“A bat!” Michelle screeched. It was her first encounter with Bart. She instinctively vaulted backwards, spun in midair, cleared the railing at the edge of the chancel and landed on the front pew. Ian, who was watching from under the piano where he’d dived when Michelle had yelled, thought his girlfriend might have broken some kind of long jump record. As she leaped from pew to pew, her hands fluttering about her ears, he wondered if she was planning to go for a hurdles record as well.

If she was, she failed. On her third jump her toes caught the back of a pew, tripping her. She flew through the air toward Ralph and the ladder. Ralph caught her, preventing a disaster.

Unfortunately disaster turned out to be only delayed. O’Donnell had turned at the commotion and discovered the panicked bat was flying straight toward him. He ducked instinctively, throwing the ladder off balance. Without Ralph steadying it, it began to lean.

O’Donnell realized the ladder was going to fall. He reached out and grabbed the nearest handhold – a light fixture hanging from the rafter beams by a three foot chain. He clung to it as the ladder fell out from under him.

O’Donnell was almost as surprised to find himself uninjured as he was to find himself hanging from a light fixture twenty feet in the air. Then a creaking sound drew his attention upward. He could see the three screws attaching the chain to the rafter slowly pulling loose from the wood.

Fortunately, Tammy had kept her head in the chaos. She tossed aside her chart and sprinted over to the ladder. Meanwhile, O’Donnell’s eyes were fixed on those screws working their way millimeter by millimeter out of the beam. He wasn’t even aware that Tammy had righted the ladder under him until she called his name.

O’Donnell stepped onto the ladder with indescribable relief. He made his way down, step by step, his hands trembling. He was greeted by Michelle. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “I guess I have a little phobia about bats.”

“Don’t worry about it,” O’Donnell said, just happy to be back on solid ground.

“Did anybody see where it went?” Ian called from under the piano.

They all looked around but Bart the bat seemed to have vanished.

O’Donnell decided it was time for his pie. But when he crouched down to get it, he was startled to discover Bart had beaten him to it. The little bat was lapping at the pumpkin filling curiously. Bart ultimately decided it paled in comparison to a good housefly and took off, planning to relocate back to the belfry. The humans were causing too much of a ruckus in the sanctuary.

O’Donnell thought about what kind of germs bat saliva might contain, then thought about how those screws had been the only thing between him and a painful fall. He decided maybe he didn’t need the piece of pie after all and tossed it in the trash.

He rejoined the others who were excitedly analyzing every second of the brief adventure. Suddenly there was a loud crack above them. O’Donnell looked up and realized the light fixture screws had finally escaped from the rafter beam. Worse, Tammy was standing directly under the fixture. He grabbed her and pulled her aside just as the lamp plunged to the floor and shattered.

“Thank you,” Tammy gasped.

“One good rescue deserves another,” O’Donnell said.

The group finished their chores without further incident and Ian and Ralph took the boxes down to the storage room under the social hall. The following day, Tammy dropped by the O’Donnell residence with a fresh pumpkin pie as a reward for his gallant rescue.

A bit after that, Jose the janitor went into the sanctuary to clean up the broken glass from the fallen lamp. He discovered someone had left a piece of paper on one of the pews. It was full of itemized lists and codes. He didn’t really understand what it was referring to, but it looked important so he put it on Pastor O’Donnell’s desk. Over the next few months it became buried under mounds of paper.

When it came time to decorate the church for Christmas the following year the volunteers had to struggle through without Tammy’s chart. But at least there were no bat encounters.

Drifts

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. All week long Normal had been bombarded by a late winter snowstorm, but Sunday morning the sun rose in a clear blue sky. The little church looked like something out of a painting, draped in a pristine blanket of sparkling white. Most of the congregation arrived for worship in good spirits, delighted to be out and about after so many days cooped up inside.

The one person who wasn’t charmed by the beauty of the fresh snow was Tammy Billings. She and her husband Ralph, the head usher, arrived at the church extra early that morning. Ralph was the one who had to shovel the thirty-foot sidewalk leading from the parking lot to the church entrance. Ralph was fifty-nine years old and Tammy worried about him over-exerting himself.

Ralph had no such concerns. He liked a little physical labor in the crisp winter air. “Gets the blood flowing,” he said.

Ralph had cleared about a third of the walk when Pastor Henry O’Donnell and his teenage daughter Katie pulled into the parking lot. Tammy met the pastor as he got out of his car.

“Good morning,” O’Donnell said. “I knew Ralph would be here hard at work already. You can always rely on good old Ralph.”

“Yes you can,” Tammy agreed. “But that’s a lot of snow for one man to shovel. Do you think you could give him a hand? He won’t let me because of my carpel tunnel.”

“I would,” O’Donnell said with an apologetic shrug, “but I’m wearing my good leather shoes.”

“I’ll help,” Katie volunteered. She wasn’t a fan of hard labor so early in the morning but she liked Ralph and hated to see him working when everyone else was standing around.

O’Donnell smiled with pride as he watched his daughter and Ralph shovel the walk together. I’ve raised a good kid, he thought. If more parents were better roll models for their teenagers it would solve a lot of problems in this country.

Then he looked at his watch. “How much longer,” he called out. “I have to start preparing for my sermon pretty soon.”

It was only a few more minutes until Ralph and Katie had cleared the path enough for O’Donnell to get into the building without damaging his good shoes. As the two of them stood leaning on their snow shovels and surveying their handiwork, Ralph pointed at the mound of snow they’d created and said, “what say we turn that into a snow sculpture after church? We could make a big dragon or something.”

“Cool,” Katie said with a grin.

After church was over most of the congregation gathered in the social hall where Tammy had whipped up a batch of hot cocoa in addition to the usual coffee and tea. Four year-old Mary Boyer knelt on a couch, her nose pressed to a window, watching Katie and Ralph sculpting their life-size snow dragon by the front walk.

She ran over to her father, Kevin Boyer, and tugged on his pant leg. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she cried. “I want to build a snowman!”

“Maybe later,” Kevin said. “I’m having some cocoa.”

Kevin’s wife, Jill, gave him a stern look. “Go play with your daughter.”

“Yay,” Mary shouted. Kevin grumpily slurped down the rest of his cocoa and took Mary out behind the church.

“Let’s make a unicorn!” Mary exclaimed. She had been inspired by the dragon to think beyond the typical snowman made of three stacked balls. Kevin agreed and they began mounding up snow to form the body. For practical purposes they would only sculpt the unicorn from the hips up.

As the creature took shape, Kevin’s grouchiness vanished. He got caught up in the artistry of the task and began to sculpt the figure into an ever more realistic form.

“What should I do, Daddy?” Mary asked.

“Why don’t you add snow to the flanks,” he replied as he carefully molded the head.

“What’s the flanks?” Mary said.

“The sides.”

Mary started slapping handfuls of snow onto the flanks of the unicorn. But she quickly grew bored of the mundane task. “I want to help with the head,” she said.

“No, honey, why don’t you make the tail,” Kevin mumbled.

Mary didn’t want to make the tail but she knew the look on her Daddy’s face. The unicorn was now his project. She decided to go make her own snow sculpture, one that would be bigger and cooler than the unicorn.

That mission was derailed, however, when she spotted a round plastic sled leaning up against the church building. Suddenly sledding sounded a lot more fun than building a snow sculpture. She took the sled over to where snow had drifted up against the church’s tool shed forming a slope just the right size for a girl her age.

A bit later, six-year-old Tyler Park trudged by Mary’s sledding slope.

“Want to sled with me?” Mary asked.

“That’s not much of a hill,” Tyler replied. “I used to race bobsleds with my Dad. We would sled down huge mountains that were really steep. We’d do jumps and loop-de-loops and everything.”

“Really?” Mary said.

“Sure,” Tyler nodded. He had a rather active imagination. “If we had a mountain around here I’d show you.”

“What about the roof of the church?” Mary asked. “It’s not a mountain but it’s pretty high and steep. If you sled down the side you could jump the sled over to the roof of the tool shed, then slide down onto the snow drift.”

Tyler studied the route Mary indicated. “I guess that would be cool,” he said. “Too bad we can’t get up on the roof.”

“Sure we can,” Mary said. “Follow me.”

Mary led Tyler around to the side of the church where snow was mounded on top of the garbage bins to within two feet of the eaves. She clambered up the snow bank and pulled herself onto the roof. Not one to be outdone by a four year-old girl, Tyler followed.

They made their way up the slope of the roof to just below the peak. Tyler stood there, the plastic sled under his arm, surveying the proposed route. It looked a little steeper from this angle and the gap to the shed was wider than he had thought.

“Well,” Mary said. “Go ahead.”

“Just a minute,” Tyler snapped. “A real sled racer plans his race carefully.”

“Oh,” Mary said, suitably impressed to know a real sled racer.

Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell stepped out the front door of the church with his cup of cocoa. He called to Ralph, who was at that moment sculpting the dragon’s left wing with Katie.

“I’ve been wondering,” O’Donnell said. “There’s a lot of snow up on the roof. Do you think it’ll be a problem?”

“I suppose I could go up there and shovel it off,” Ralph said.

“That would be great,” O’Donnell replied around a sip of cocoa.

When Ralph climbed up on the roof a couple minutes later he was shocked to find two children standing there with a sled. “Just what do you two think you’re doing?” Ralph asked.

“Tyler’s going to sled down the roof of the church, jump onto the shed and then slide down the other side. He’s a real sled racer,” Mary said.

“Oh no he’s not,” Ralph said. “Give me that sled and get down from here. The roof is much too dangerous for kids.”

“Aw, shoot,” Tyler responded, quickly handing the sled to Ralph. “Oh well, come on Mary.”

Ralph watched to make sure they got off the roof safely. He shook his head as he looked down at the sled path the children had planned. “Crazy kids,” he muttered.

Still, it might have worked. The shed was perfectly in line with the roof. The sled would probably clear the gap with ease. And it would then be a simple matter to ride down onto the snowdrift. Not something a child should try of course.

But, Ralph thought, I’m not a child. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Tyler and Mary had gone back inside for cocoa and Kevin was absorbed with putting the finishing touches on the snow unicorn.

Ralph set the sled down and hopped on. It immediately plummeted down the church roof. It made the jump to the tool shed just as planned, bouncing once then rocketing down the drift.

The bounce, however, threw Ralph off balance and the sled began to spin. The spin caused it to arc off to the left as it came off the slope.

The sled had gained quite a bit of speed on its journey down the roof. It skipped across the expanse of snow-covered lawn, still spinning out of control, and plowed right into the snow unicorn just as Kevin was fixing an icicle into place for its horn. The sculpture exploded in a shower of snow that blanketed Kevin. Ralph did two summersaults and came to a stop on his back laughing uproariously.

Meanwhile, up on the roof, Ralph’s little ride had disrupted the integrity of the snow cover. A big chunk slid off and landed in a pile on the ground. The vibrations caused a similar chunk on the other side to come loose.

Out front Pastor O’Donnell was just about to suggest to Katie that a dragon may not be the best sculpture for in front of a church when the dislodged snow cascaded down on his head. He stood blinking in shock as steam rose from the dissolving lump of snow in his cup of cocoa.

He looked down. His nice leather shoes were ruined.

Save the Prayer Gazebo

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. Nestled amongst the willows in one corner of the large lawn behind the church sits a decrepit little gazebo, covered in peeling paint and full of spiders and history. A carved wooden plank hanging from rusted iron hooks at the back of the gazebo declares it to be a gift from Darwin Miggins on May 7, 1953 for the purpose of reflection and prayer.

On a recent Monday Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell and head usher Ralph Billings stood in front of this little gazebo studying a broken floorboard. Said board was broken by four year-old Mary Boyer during a game of hide and seek the previous day. Though Mary was to blame for much of the damage around the church over the previous couple of years, O’Donnell did not hold her responsible in this instance. The wood was clearly rotting. Nobody had used the gazebo for reflection or prayer in many years.

“We ought to just tear this junky thing down,” O’Donnell finally said to Ralph, oblivious to the chaos his statement would cause.

He began to get an inkling of the fallout a few days later when seventy year-old Henrietta Miggins stormed into his office. “What’s this I hear about tearing down the prayer gazebo?” Henrietta demanded. “My grandfather built that gazebo as a gift for this church. It says so right on the plaque inside if you’d bother to look.”

“Henrietta,” O’Donnell sighed, “that gazebo is falling apart. It’s dangerous.”

“Well then fix it.” Henrietta thundered. “I will not have you desecrating my grandfather’s memory!”

“That would cost several hundred dollars,” O’Donnell sputtered. “We don’t have the money for that.”

Which is how the “Save the Prayer Gazebo Fundraiser Barbecue” was born.

The plan came about during the next trustees meeting where Henrietta argued for the vital necessity of the gazebo to the spiritual life of their wayward congregation. Eventually Ralph Billings suggested a fundraiser primarily as a means to get Henrietta to shut up.

The idea to make the event a barbecue came from Del Winslow who like many red blooded American men loved to cook meat over fire. Ralph protested that grilled meat was full of carcinogens. A compromise was reached when it was decided that Del could man a grill for cheeseburgers while Ralph would be free to offer a healthy alternative.

Of course nobody believed Ralph would come up with a healthy alternative that would be more popular than a good old-fashioned char broiled cheeseburger. Not even Ralph, though he would never have admitted it.

Then Ralph happened to have a conversation with choir director Shane Reed. Shane was a foodie. Though he loved a good cheeseburger as much as anyone, he told Ralph about a recipe he had for grilled sweet potato tacos with yellow pepper salsa that were both healthy and incredibly tasty. Ralph’s eyes lit up. He thought that those tacos sounded like they just might appeal to more people than Del’s cheeseburgers.

The barbecue had become a competition.

The event was scheduled for a Sunday after church. When the day arrived, Del set up his charcoal grill to one side of the gazebo while Shane and Ralph placed a propane grill on the other side. A table for salads, chips and drinks was arranged between them. Ralph and Del eyed each other warily across that table while Shane went about slicing up vegetables completely oblivious to the tension.

The day was sunny and mild and the turnout for the barbecue was quite good. Though that might have had more to do with Henrietta than the weather. After church, Henrietta stationed herself at a little table between the parking lot and the back lawn. Anyone who appeared to be heading toward their car instead of the fundraiser was hailed by Henrietta with, “you are coming to the barbecue, aren’t you?” Few who did not have an iron clad excuse at the ready overcame Henrietta’s stern glare. They quickly found themselves plopping some money in the coffee tin labeled “donations.”

Both the cheeseburgers and the sweet potato tacos were a big hit. Though Del and Ralph tried to keep count of how many of each were served, they found it difficult given the volume being consumed. Both men loudly extolled the virtues of their particular cuisine to all who came near. The effect was not unlike competing carnival barkers at a sideshow. The result was that most people took both a burger and a taco.

It became clear the difference might be made by a subtle arrangement of items on the side dish table. The pitchers of lemonade and ice tea were placed on the end near Ralph’s grill. Which meant when people went back to refill their cups, it was easy for Ralph to goad them into taking a second helping of sweet potato taco.

Del recognized this and decided to move a couple of the pitchers to his end, “for people’s convenience” he informed Ralph when Ralph demanded to know what Del was up to. The argument might have come to blows if Pastor O’Donnell hadn’t been returning for seconds at that moment. He reminded the two men that this was all for a good cause. Then he placed a taco and a burger on his plate. He didn’t want to play favorites, after all.

Things remained relatively calm for about twenty more minutes. That’s when Tammy Billings brought out a tray of refills for the empty pitchers. She put two pitchers of ice tea on Del’s side of the table and a pitcher each of lemonade and ice tea on Ralph’s side.

“Hey, where’s my lemonade?” Del asked.

“We ran out,” Tammy informed him. “There was only enough for one pitcher.” Then she beat a hasty retreat. She did not want to get involved in the competition.

Del stomped over and grabbed the single pitcher of lemonade.

“Just what do you think you’re doing now,” Ralph demanded.

“Why do you get the lemonade on your side?” Del asked.

“I have as much right to it as you do,” Ralph replied, pursuing him.

“The kids are all drinking lemonade and kids prefer cheeseburgers,” Del shouted.

“Kids should be eating healthier food,” Ralph responded, grabbing the pitcher.

The intellectual debate devolved into a tug of war over the plastic container. Half the precious lemonade sloshed over the edges. That made the pitcher slippery, and Ralph lost his grip on it rather suddenly.

Del stumbled back, trying not to spill the remaining contents of the pitcher. He didn’t realize his grill was directly behind him. He banged into it, tipping it over. Hot coals scattered across the lawn.

One particularly nefarious coal rolled under the gazebo and ignited a patch of dried grass there. The old, dry wood of the gazebo was also incredibly flammable and before anyone could react, tongues of flame were licking up one side.

“The gazebo’s on fire!” Ralph shouted.

Pandemonium ensued.

Del ran for a hose coiled up at the side of the church. Unfortunately, it was only long enough to reach about halfway across the lawn. He used his thumb to get as much distance on the spray as possible, but was not able to reach the gazebo.

Seeing this, Ralph had another idea. He dashed over to the controls for the underground sprinkler system. A few quick adjustments and jets of water were shooting out all across the lawn. Sadly, the spray of the nearest sprinkler heads only splattered the bottom of the gazebo and by this time the flames had reached the roof.

The sprinklers also served to clear all the attendees off the lawn. All except Henrietta Miggins who stood forlornly, her floral dress hanging damply from her thin frame and tears running down her cheeks as she watched her grandfather’s gazebo burn.

Pastor O’Donnell saw her agony and was moved. He dashed for the gazebo as fast as a man who had just consumed three burgers and three sweet potato tacos could dash. He scooted around the back and yanked the carved wooden plaque from the rusted hooks before the flames could reach it, slightly burning the back of his hand.

Soon several clear-headed people had retrieved fire extinguishers from inside the church and doused most of the flames. The fire department arrived seconds later to finish the job.

An hour after that O’Donnell, Henrietta, Ralph and Del stood together in front of the blackened gazebo.

“I’m so sorry, Henrietta,” Del said.

“Here,” O’Donnell added, handing the plaque to Henrietta. “We’ll build a new gazebo and put your grandfather’s plaque in it to honor his memory.”

“Thank you, pastor,” Henrietta replied.

“We can use the money we raised today,” Ralph said brightly. “How much did we get?”

“One hundred eighty dollars after expenses,” Henrietta informed them.

“Hm,” Ralph thought. “That won’t be quite enough.”

“We can always have another barbecue,” Del said.

“No more barbecues,” O’Donnell replied through clenched teeth.

Which is how the “Replace the Prayer Gazebo Family Picnic Fundraiser” was born.

A Little Friendly Advice

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Michelle Tellum, the pretty new 28-year-old associate pastor, had just started dating a young man by the name of Ian Wells. Ian and Michelle had their first kiss in Ian’s car in the church parking lot just before service one Sunday morning. It was a wonderful kiss, marred only by the fact that it had been witnessed by seventy year-old Henrietta Miggins.

Michelle had little doubt Henrietta would not approve of the associate pastor making out in the church parking lot, but she held out hope that maybe Henrietta’s disapproval would go unspoken. That only showed how new Michelle was to the little church. Henrietta never let her disapproval of anything go unspoken.

The congregation of the church may have been a tad behind in their tithing; they may have been a bit slow to volunteer for mission projects; they may even have been fairly casual in regards to their attendance. But when it came to gossip they constituted an efficient and effective machine. By the end of the service the details of Michelle’s first kiss were familiar to everyone in the building and even a few who had skipped church that morning.

The one exception was Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell. He had missed the gossip partly because he was a tad busy leading the service, and partly because he was always a bit clueless. After the benediction, Henry and Michelle took up posts on either side of the sanctuary doors to greet the congregants as they exited.

Ian was the first out. Henry grabbed his hand in a hearty shake and said, “Hello there. Are you a first time visitor?”

“Second,” Ian said. “I’m a friend of Michelle’s.”

“Ah, well good to have you,” Henry said.

Ian turned to Michelle. “I’ll wait for you at coffee hour.”

Ian went out to the social hall and got a cup of coffee. He stood in the corner trying to look inconspicuous. Within seconds head usher Ralph Billings sidled up to him. “So,” Ralph said casually, “you’re Pastor Michelle’s new boyfriend, eh?”

“Ian Wells,” Ian said, extending his hand. “And I don’t know if I’d use the term boyfriend. We’ve only been out a couple times.”

“I see, I see,” Ralph said, nodding. “Let me give you a little friendly advice. We all love our pastor Michelle dearly. She’s a sweet young woman. And Normal’s a pretty small town if you get my drift.”

“Um, I’m not sure,” Ian said. “Is your drift some kind of threat?”

“Of course not,” Ralph laughed. “I’m just saying that Michelle is young and sweet and nobody here would like to see her get hurt. So just keep that in mind.”

Ian got Ralph’s drift.

Meanwhile, back at the sanctuary doors, Missy Moore, a heavy-set, 44 year-old woman hustled up to Michelle, ignored her outstretched hand, and gave her a hug. Missy was a hugger.

“That boyfriend of yours is a hunk!” Missy exclaimed.

“Well he’s not exactly my boyfriend yet…” Michelle started to explain in a low voice, eyeing the line behind Missy nervously.

“Nonsense! I can tell you two belong together like peanut butter and bacon!” Missy practically yelled.

Michelle was not sure whether that was a good thing, never having combined peanut butter and bacon.

“But,” Missy continued conspiratorially, “let me give you a little friendly advice. You need to put out some honey if you want to catch a fly.”

“Okay,” Michelle said.

“I’m talking about make-up!” Missy clarified. “I can give you some tips that will bring out your best features.”

Michelle glanced up at Missy’s heavy blue eye shadow and excessively tweezed brows. “Thanks,” Michelle said with fairly convincing sincerity. “We’ll have to get together sometime during the week.”

Missy clapped her hands excitedly and moved on.

Back in the social hall, Ian found himself in conversation with Shane Reed, the choir director. Shane was 32, divorced, and had a secret crush on Michelle. He regarded Ian with a big smile and cold eyes.

“So, you and Michelle,” Shane said.

“Yep,” Ian replied.

“Getting serious?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“I see,” Shane said. “Look, let me give you a little friendly advice. Michelle’s great and all, but dating a pastor is a pain. It’s always church, church, church, day and night. Boring!”

“Aren’t you the choir director?” Ian asked.

“Yeah. Anyway,” Shane continued, “you should know there are some real hotties over at the college and they can be pretty wild if you know what I mean. I’d think a guy like you would prefer a woman who’s a little more exciting.”

“So far Michelle’s been pretty exciting,” Ian replied.

“She has, huh.”

“Yep.”

“Well…just think about what I said. You know, about the college girls.” Shane gave Ian a nudge and a wink then went to get a donut.

To Michelle’s relief, the sanctuary had finally cleared out. But before she could go find Ian, Henry put a hand on her arm.

“So,” Henry said, “You’re dating that young man, are you?”

“Uh-huh,” Michelle sighed. Henry was her boss and she really didn’t want to have a conversation about her love life with him.

“Let me give you a little friendly advice,” the senior pastor said. “When you go out on dates, go to another town. Less chance of running into a parishioner that way. But just be aware, no matter where you go, you will run into a parishioner. They’re everywhere. It’s like they stalk you or something. Like sharks. Or polar bears. So, I guess my advice is, no matter where you go, just be careful how you behave.”

“Great, will do,” Michelle said.

“Oh,” Henry added, “and make sure you keep your social life separate from your pastoral duties. Don’t let church business interfere in the relationship.”

Back in the social hall Ian had been cornered by a nicely dressed woman of about fifty with a short, professional haircut. “I’m Jennifer O’Donnell,” the woman said. “Pastor O’Donnell’s wife. I understand you’re seeing Michelle.”

“Yep,” Ian sighed.

Jennifer laughed and gave him a knowing look as though they were both in on a private joke. Ian, however, could not figure out what that joke was. It made him uncomfortable.

“Let me give you a little friendly advice,” Jennifer said. “First of all, don’t let them sign you up for a bunch of stuff. When you’re dating a pastor everyone assumes you’ll volunteer for everything that needs doing around the church. You have the right to say no. Second, repeat names as often as you can so you remember them because everyone at the church is going to know yours. Third, no matter what Michelle says, realize church business will inevitably interfere with the relationship.”

Meanwhile, Michelle had finally made her way to the social hall and spotted Ian and Jennifer. She felt a knot in her stomach as she considered what that particular discussion might be about. She made a beeline for them – only to be intercepted by Katie O’Donnell, Henry and Jennifer’s fifteen year-old daughter.

“Your new boyfriend’s cute,” Katie gushed.

“Thanks,” Michelle replied, “but we’ve only been on a couple dates so I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend yet.”

“Oh,” Katie said. “Okay. Hey, can I ask you a question? Do you believe premarital sex is a sin?”

Michelle looked quickly around to see who might be listening. “Katie, I am not going to talk about my sex life with you!” she hissed.

Michelle started to move past the teen, but Katie said, “It’s just my boyfriend, Joe, he’s a junior and he wants us to get a hotel room for the junior prom.”

Michelle froze. She turned back to Katie. There were tiny tears rising in the girl’s eyes as she bit her lip nervously. Michelle glanced over at Ian. He met her gaze with a pleading look. Michelle shrugged an apology and took Katie’s arm.

“Okay,” she said to Katie. “Let’s go talk.”

Ian would just have to listen to Jennifer’s advice a while longer.