O if for...Offering

Early memories of the offering basket are not pleasant.  No, our first meeting of the offering basket was not a high moment for our family. 

That Sunday we were in an iron grip on either side of our mother when the offering basket came by.  Momma was busy singing, and we found little to do with only one hand each.

Kent and I must have been young, maybe 4 or 5.  The basket came by and this was the first time we had ever seen the like.  Dollar bills, great handfuls of change, and even some checks were in that humble basket. 

That's just how I feel, too.

Kent’s mouth made an “O”, as I took the basket from the old lady next to me, and passed it to Kent, amazed that this old lady didn’t empty the basket for herself.  She looked poor, like she needed some new socks or hankies.  Old ladies always wear their hankies out.

Kent grabbed as much paper money as he could, and went for the coins.  Stuffing them into his pockets in rapid-fire, Kent glowed with gleeful greed.

Get the coins!  I hissed. Get the silver coins!

Momma came out of her worship and saw the money disappearing into Kent’s pockets and down his pants.

Oh, it was bound to happen:  Momma dropped our hands, I dropped the basket and Kent knocked it up high into the air.  Money spread everywhere like fluttering leaves and nuggets of gold. 

Momma dragged us out of the church in a red-faced flight, muttering all the way down the aisle.  Once out of sight, she just about stripped Kent down naked to get all the money.  She gave us a talking-to about the money being for God, and that we were stealing from God.

Kent and I were never allowed near another offering basket; the ushers skipped our row altogether.  We didn’t know why God needed our money, but it had something to do with “offering”. 

Well, if God needed our money, He could sure have it.

"My name is Rachel and my brothers name is Joshua. We made an apple juice stand and want to gv it to the kids in Africa for mosckito nets.  We made 42 dollers and 50 cents."

The Battle for Space and Grandma Housely

Sounds from the heavens rose to great heights....

The old church was a lovely peaceful place to worship with its great acoustics: wood plank floor, white plastered walls, oak pews, and vaulted wood ceiling.

Many worshipers found peace here....

Sounds bounced around that sanctuary.  Music, whispers from the back row, giggles from teenagers, and even the crinkle of a candy wrapper were  heard by the congregants.

A young family found a spot in the third row from the altar.  Coming late made the front pews the only ones open.  The three children settled in for the sermon. The oldest girl went to sit with a friend, while the mother took the fussy baby girl to the adjoining nursery where she could hear the sermon through the intercom.

The father smiled benignly through most of the sermon before dropping off to sleep. This was not uncommon, but usually the wife gave him the elbow jab.  Not today.

That left the three-year old boy who found enjoyment with his double-jointed fingers and his imagination.  Fingers could become galloping horses or speeding race cars.  Today his fingers were alien spaceships.  They were engaged in a fierce battle.

As the struggle for space domination heated up, the boy stood up to use the back ledge of the second row pew to help better stage the drama. 

Sweet Grandma Housely always sat there in the second row pew.  People who visited the church often commented on this saintly woman with her fluffy white hair and lovely pink hat. 

Bless her heart; Grandma Housely was blind, and very hard of hearing.  She could just hear the sermon if she sat in that spot, with her hearing aid cranked up to high.

The little boy situated himself directly behind her precious white head, and resumed the space battle. 

Zooommm.  Ch-ch-ch-ch!  Aaaaaa…kabooooom!  Crashhhhhh.  The fingers/spaceships faced off on either side of the white hair, pink hat planet.

The fingers/spaceships met at the pinnacle of the hat, and collided in a glorious explosion.  Kerrrr-aasshhhh!  Nooooo…ker-ploom!  P-shhhhhhh! 

The congregation held its breath, watching the battle, and waiting for the space debris to shower down on Grandma Housely’s head.  The pastor had paused to allow the dying alien fighters some dignity.

The final notes of music filled the church just about then.  Church ended.

Dear Grandma Housely stood and turned around.  “What a precious family you have,” she smiled to the young couple.  “So quiet, I didn’t hear a thing from them!”

 

Many glorious sounds reach to the heavens....