“My students are
living messages
to a time that I
will never see.”
One of the most poignant memories residing
within me, and involving life and ministry occurred almost four decades hence.
My wife and I were newly married, and
serving as children’s pastors at the same church at which we still attend. And
thanks to the efforts of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, we enjoyed a
ready-made audience. For Clarence and Sue had previously canvassed a nearby
mobile home park, and faithfully transported our young parishioners to the
church on an old white school bus.
I will never forget that yellow
plywood puppet stage, decorated with colorful representations of Kermit the
Frog and Miss Piggy, and from whence I conducted my tailor-made,
biblically-based childish renditions. Two sock puppets, each with their own
name, and each endowed with a distinct voice and accent.
And, of course, what would any
children’s church be without its rousing songs?
“Father Abraham had many sons. Many
sons had Father Abraham. And I am one of them, and so are you, so let’s just
praise the Lord!”
Nowadays, sock puppets, and songs such
as “Father Abraham” have “gone the way of all flesh,” as black lights, and music
videos on overhead screens have ushered them off the proverbial stage.
Pt. 2
However, (as I previously implied) my
memory of all memories involves our (successful) attempt to recruit
neighborhood children; whose homes surrounded the church.
I can’t say I had ever heard of such a
strange and wonderful thing, but one day it occurred to me to “put on” the
shin-dig of all shin-dig’s. At least, what I had in mind was nothing like the
Bartow Church of God had ever done before, (nor ever done again).
On this particular Sunday morning, my
wife and I, and several volunteers set up eight or ten of those wood-grain,
collapsible tables on the tree shrouded front lawn of the church, laid fifty
plastic egg carton lids end to end, and taped them securely together.
And then, a few minutes before our
forty-something little parishioners were released from Sunday School, we
grabbed twelve or fifteen (pre-meditated) cartons of vanilla, strawberry and
chocolate ice cream from the kitchen freezer, and proceeded to drop colorful
scoops of the stuff inside the fifty foot plastic trough.
Having completed this delightful task,
we sprayed this tri-color delicacy with whipped cream, and with a generous
sprinkling of nuts. And of course, an ice cream sundae cannot rightfully be called
an ice cream sundae without a cherry on top. (And there was no shortage of that
rich red fruit).
As the children were directed out of
the nearest door, and witnessed one of the most amazing sights in their young
lives, they were almost beside themselves with giddiness. And no one had to beg
them to find a spot behind a table, pick up a spoon, and “go to work” on that
inviting concoction which lay before them.
(And I can honestly say, they did an
admirable job of it)!
Pt. 3
I still have a couple of photographs
of the foregoing event. (Funny, how a picture captures a moment in time which,
once having been lived, can never be replicated).
I see my own children scattered along
that one-sided, long line of hungry ice cream eaters. Each and every one among
them stare greedily downward towards their creamy ambition; some with spoons (eternally)
raised “between heaven and earth.”
Adult volunteers, a few who have long
since gone on to their reward, standing on the near side of that creamy buffet;
dutifully cleaning up the drippy mess, opening the few remaining cartons of the
creamy stuff, and hastily filling up the spaces which appear along the human ice
cream trough.
The pastoral counseling office which I
now occupy is located in the same hallway as the room in which those little
children once sat, belted out songs like, “Father Abraham,” and clapped and
screamed to the antics of those little sock puppets. (I have so often wondered
what became of that old puppet stage).
From time to time I open that
non-descript wooden door, step across the threshold, and reminisce a bit. I
like to believe the way we did it at that time was “for such a time as this.” And
I like to think we influenced our little charges for good and for God. (If the
numbers and enthusiasm was any indication at all, we did).
Though I have long since forgotten
most of their names, I remember their faces, and I still pray for those dear
little children who are, by now, married, have children and grandchildren of
their own; (and are greying about their temples).
As those of us who are now nearing
that heavenly threshold, and make way for those who follow, I can only hope
they are impacting them whom God sets along their pathways,
…as we once attempted to impact them.
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 83. Copyright pending
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