C’s first “moment with the children” in worship
RM: (after giving the third graders their gift Bibles) The Bible has many different kinds of stories in it—there are histories, stories about great kings, stories about ordinary people, there are parables which were Jesus’ way of teaching us, there are poems…
C: I have poems.
RM: Yes, you do, C!
(turning back to the others) So... there are lots of different things to learn about in the Bible!
C: I have poem books at my house!

After we had the prayer and dismissal, she stood up with the other children, but didn’t want to leave—just stood up on the step, looking out at the congregation. This is a child who can be very reserved with people one-on-one or in small groups. But put her in front of a huge audience, and she’s On. Hmm, I don’t know anyone like that…

Prayer concern
During the second service, the time with the children was interrupted by a member of the church who announced to the congregation that “M” had an emergency phone call that had just come in. (She didn’t know M, otherwise I suppose she would have gone to her privately.) M never returned from the phone call, which seemed ominous. Later in the service, at the end of a very long and heavy time of sharing concerns (people share concerns and we have a short prayer for them right then and there) someone said, “We should pray for M.” So I said a short prayer, asking that God would meet M whatever her need and that no matter what, that she would know God’s healing, comfort and peace, etc. etc.

After I finished someone from the back yelled out,
“It was a plumbing problem.”

Love hurts
My daughter has an unrequited love. She dotes on the object of her affection, and yet he hurts her again and again. It’s heartbreaking for a mother to see. I try to warn her that he’s no good for her, but she doesn’t listen. Her love is pure and she’s convinced she can tame him.

It’s our ornery boykitty.

He was kind enough in the beginning—let her walk all over him. Maybe he felt starved for attention, because he put up with it. Now he has no patience, no need for her. She smothers him with hugs and kisses. I tell her he needs some space, so she goes into the other room and comes back with some imaginary thing pinched between her fingers which she feeds to him—“here’s your space, kitty.” I am too bewitched by this charming misunderstanding to tell her to back off. Usually he warns her with a growl, but this time he reacts first, growls second. He lashes out, and she cries.

I can’t make her understand, but I keep trying. But if he ever draws blood it’s going to be hard not to kick the bum to the curb.