Stranger than fiction…….

The world is a dark place. Full of confusion and chaos, selfish envy and over indulgence. I think sometimes that the world today is the same ball of fire and gaseous nastiness that it was so long ago, "in the beginning". The lens shows a somewhat different picture, but much is the same. Thankfully,there are bright spots, and faith helps us see those and faith helps us build upon them. But this is a tale of murder and mahem, not sunny side of the streetness.

One nasty varmit that wreaks havoc on our world is crime. Humans hurting other humans, I speak of here. It’s a sad reality. Murder in particular. As much as I enjoy watching Law and Order and Third Watch, the reality is not pretty when it comes to that kind of human pain. Rarely are cases solved in 60 minutes – minus commercials.

Some murders are mysterious, complicated, and obscure. They go on forever; grow into "cold cases"...Others are clean cut in black and white; catching the culprit a relatively easy task.


Crime in the home is prevalent, but on a much lesser level in most cases. For example:

When my children were younger, one of the girls, then 3, appeared before me with sticky pink fingers and a lovely glaze of sugared red #20 gently coating her innocent face.
“Mommy, I want some juice” said the glazened babe.
I stopped what I was doing and looked down at her adorable pinkishness.
“So, have you been eating candy?” I asked.
“No.” came the reply.
“Are you SURE you haven’t ?” I tried again to offer her an opportunity to tell the truth. ( This was before I knew that threes don’t always do that when given the chance)
“No-ooo.”
I gave over to her, the bottom of my tee shirt and she stuck to it quite well. We proceeded into her room. We stood at the door. I scanned the space. A cellophane wrapper caught my eye and I approached it. I bent down and looked the wrapper square in the , well square. “Did Mary eat you?” I asked, leaning over so that I could better hear the response.

I noticed that this candy wrapper was but one among many. Hiding behind the first were an additional 60 or so empty wrappers.

Mary peeled her fingers from my shirt and backed towards the door- the escape hatch.

I looked at her. “It says, yes, Mary. Did you eat it? Is this the one on your fingers or on your cheek? Or is this the one still stuck in your teeth?”

She stuck her fingers together- apart-together-apart and then her three year old tongue swept around her lips. With determination came,“Nope, Mommy.”

Oh, what to do with this lie in the bold face of truth! I did what any self-respecting mother of 4 would do. I said, “Don’t tell me, sister. Tell them” and I left her to work it out with the empty and restless candy wrappers.

On a larger, more serious scale, though, people tend to react the same. In the face of bad truths, they will lie. A murder occurs. Someone is bludgeoned to death. It is mentioned in the news so much that the general public becomes numb to the facts. Eventually, the culprit is found guilty- the facts come about clear and undeniable, and the murdering husband is sent to a cell where he can write about it.

Time passes.

The seasons change. The hot spot news stories lull, exciting happenings hit the vaca circuit, and the newspaper starts desperately reaching for stories of interest. A reporter comes across an attorney who has decided to bring up the (aforementioned) murder story again with a twist. The attorney has discovered that the poker did not, in fact, kill the woman, but that an owl killed her. Proof being a feather stuck in her cap- er, uh scalp. The talons of said owl match the scratches on the woman’s body. The owl had been seen flying by at dusk the night before….. the woman left on the stairs clutching a feather. An owl feather.

The story made me laugh. I set the reality of the event aside and laughed. Give me a break. This is a story that one of my children could create. Wait. This IS a story that one of my children could create.

I put on my detective hat, did some research, and found to my dismay, that this attorney in fact frequents the ice cream store that we, too, visit often. I asked the dipping crew at the store if they recognized the attorney’s face from the papers and they said, “Yes, why, he was in here a few weeks ago when you and the girls were, too. Don’t you remember? One of the girls was reading a story from an old journal to you all. Then a few days later you came by looking for it, don’t you remember?”

OMG. I DID recall that event, and the journal has still not surfaced. How interesting… very interesting..

The story my child was reading that night was about a little girl who was accused of taking her sister’s candy, and when asked to tell the truth about it, she said a pterodactyl had been napping under the bed and was hungry when it woke up and they, of course like cherry sours the best of all, and he sneaked into sister’s room and scraped a talon full of them and flew back into the other sister’s room and hid under the bed and ate them and then went back for more and left scrapes in the carpet that could have looked like someone trying to cut the carpet with scissors but it was really pterodactyl claw marks and the red stains were red drool from eating the candy and then he went back and got the rest and he left the wrappers because he was going to have them later for dessert because he liked the way they crunched in his beak and so the little girl found him and said, “I’m going to tell my mommy you ate sister’s candy” and he said,
“No, don’t because I will have to fly away and if I give you some to eat, then we can be friends,” and she said “well, okay” and they ate the candy together and that’s how she got red on her and on the door frame and under the bed and in the carpet.

The story had been dictated to an older sister by a very imaginative 3 year old who was growing cavities as she spoke.

I thought. Owl/ Pterodactyl…. Feather, owl talon marks/ beak, claw carpet marks, red drool. Do you see anything peculiar in these stories?

If I remember correctly, there is also a story in that same journal that involves not sleeping at naptime, and writing on the wall with crayon. I wonder how those stories will manifest in the local news

Phonetic Trials never ending

It’s almost been a year now. A whole year since I’ve been playing Church Chick at the OK Corral. The instances of my true self slipping through my guise of admin asst are fewer and less often. Usually, its when I’ve had an almost full breath of confidence that something pops up, like today.

If you’ve read my chronicles from the start then you know of my dilemma and angst-ridden experiences with our phone system. Learning curve is pretty big. HUGE, larger than large.
Today I was talking to the financial secretary and we realized that tomorrow I will be here alone. I decided to call one of the other staffers to see if she was coming in and I used the intercom. I pressed her extension button on my phone and spoke. No answer.
“ Hey, I know you are up there, are you working tomorrow?”
no answer.
“ Don’t ignore me, I know you can hear me, now come on. Answer…..”
no answer but-
The Senior Pastor’s door flew open and he literally slid down the hall and caught himself on the doorframe to my office. He spoke to me.
“ I just thought you’d like to know that you aren’t talking to Annie, you are talking to me.”
He smiled and slid away, closing his door with a jingle.

Horrified, I called my oldest daughter. There’s comfort in sharing your horrification with a family member who can be horrified with you. Usually it works the other way around, daughter seeking out Mother, but since I’ve entered the grown up work world, the split is pretty evenly divided. “Mom! I can’t believe you did that! Was he mad?”
Was he mad? I thought to myself.. ruminated… considered…. Processed…pasteurized.. and then a happy thought came to my awareness. I shared it with my concerned daughter.

“Oh! You know what? He had a funny smile on his face, well, he had an unusual expression on his face when he slid over and I bet he was thinking, … "This kind of phonetic frenzy hasn’t happened in a while. Maybe that’s progress….”

My daughter sat in silence, then I heard her breathe again. “ Well, usually it works the other way around, mom. I mean like You notice things running smoothly, and comment on THAT. Instead of putting out a fire and realizing you are using fewer extinguishers than you used to. But if that works for you, I’ll be happy for you, and congratulate your improvements.” “Come to think of it, I haven’t heard you mention as many intercom-calamities of late. Gosh, I think that IS improvement.”

We hung up and I walked out into the hallway, just in time to see the Pastor’s door open. Two lovely young people came out, arm in arm. The young couple walked cautiously, their eyes shifting slightly from side to side. “Hi!” I offered as they passed by. I noticed a short pause in their stride which I took later to mean they recognized my voice as being the one who was screaming at them through the Pastor’s phone speaker just minutes earlier.

They scootched a little closer and walked in tandem out the front door of the church never looking back.
I turned to go back into my office .The kind and forgiving Pastor stood at my door holding thumbs up and smiling. He is such a supportive boss. It amazes me. After the positive reinforcement, he squeezed his eyes together in pursed lip silent prayer. He then tilted his head and said to the chilled hallway air, “ They MIGHT still join . Yeah. They might.”

Improvement takes many forms, I guess. I hope they don’t take my phone privileges away. I can do even better, I’m sure of it.

Church Chick

No Blood No Bandaid

Multi-tasking in this job includes converting my office into Red Cross Headquarters during Vacation Bible School week. During that week, my space doubles as "Respite Care for VBS workers" and I keep a solid supply of bubblegum and mixed nuts with MnM's on the desk with the top loosened. The workers enjoy the opportunity to pop in for a handful of calories, and I enjoy the bits and pieces of insight into their day and how things are going. I love bible school. Makes me think of my old preschool days except its even better because I don't have to be the one shooting adrenelin all week. ahhh.

The Church Lady's Red Cross Headquarters has an important policy. My policy is simple. The same as I used with my children when they were growing up, No Blood, No Bandaid. It took me a while to come up with this motto, but when I did, I figure it saved me a bundle in bandaid expenses.

I came into my office upon a sweet child-friend of mine who was washing his hands in my bowl of bubblegum. It reminded me ofMadge's bowl of Palmolive soapy water from an old commercial years ago when TV was new to color.
" What's up, Ben?"
"I stubbed my toe." He winced, on cue.
" You stubbed your own toe?"
He hesitated at this comment, probably wondering if indeed he did this to himself, or if maybe, just maybe some invisible gremlin made the accident happen. "Yes, right now."
" Oh. Wow. How come you're not crying?"
" Oh, I was, but my mom said I could come up here and find something to make it feel better."
" So, does the bubblegum help? Really?"
" Yeah, it does. Two pieces are a little better than one." He began to put a second piece in his mouth, then rethought the feat. He looked down at the injured area as if it was cordoned off with yellow tape. " I want a bandaid"
" Oh, rats." I pointed to the white board that hangs on my office door, usually the joy board, this week it held more important information such as "REspite care for VBS workers this way" and the No blood phrase.
" Is there blood?"
He looked down at his sandaled feet, dripping a little sugar-gum juice onto the carpet. "No"
"Oh" I joined him in a good long look. " Are you sure? want to see if we can try to get some out of that toe?"
He bent down as if he had considered my suggestion, but realized pretty quick that touching it made it hurt more. "No, my mom gives me a bandaid at home when there's no blood."
" Yeah, but look buddy. I'm stuck. The sign says that the rule here is , well, you know. ....."
He looked a little disheartened and let down.
"Hey, How about a toe sticker? That might help."
"A toe sticker?"
"Sure. that's sure to help, let's try." I reached into the treasure box I keep in my office and pulled out a page of miniature car stickers. He picked out a convertible, of course.
" Are you sure that's the toe sticker you need?"
" Yeah."
We stuck it on his big toe and off he went.
Church Ladies need to keep their tricks of the trade handy, you never know when a Pastor may need a toe sticker to ease discomfort from pulling a stuck foot from mouth. Well, I don't know about Pastor-need, I've already gone through 3 sheets myself. ....shhh.

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