Paige Torn (13 page)

Rhonda watches Ben wander off toward the toys and shakes her head. “I really need to go through his closet this week and pack away all the pants that size. Kids just grow up too fast, you know?”

“Mmm.” I nod, like I do know. In my opinion, though, these kids are never going to grow up and stop putting everything in their mouths. You'd think parents would want their kids to finally reach that stage. I watch Ben gnaw on a plastic dinosaur he just picked up out of the toy bin, then finally look away.

If I ever invent germ repellent, I can seriously become a zillionaire. Sunday school teachers everywhere would thank me.

By the time it's nine fifteen, we have twenty-three kids and insanity. Two teachers are about eight teachers too few when it comes to controlling twenty-three children who know only three words very well:
Mine!
No!
and
Hey!

Somehow, we create some semblance of order and get everyone to sit in what might pass as a circle. “All right, guys, we're going to sing a few songs and then listen to a Bible story, okay?” I say in my best version of that lady from
Lamb Chop
.

“I
hate
to sing!” one boy screeches as he stands and runs for the toys.

“Yeah! Me too!” Ben yells.

“Tough,” Rhonda says, pulling out her mom voice. “Now you
will
sit down in the circle and you
will
sing songs. You get it?” She takes both boys firmly by the hands and leads them back into the circle. “And, Wesley, I know your mother. And I am not above tattling on you.”

Wesley, properly chastised, slinks into a seated position and eyes me with about as much sweetness as a dill pickle.

“Um. ‘Jesus loves me! This I know,'” I start. Because really, there is no good way to start singing about the Savior's unending, unbelievable love when you are just told you can't play with the toys and your mother's friend is going to tell on you.

The kids join me one by one, and by the time we've sung it four times over, everyone is singing and a few of the braver kids are attempting to do the hand motions with me.

We sing “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” “This Little Light of Mine,” “I've Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy,” and then a new girl politely asks if we can please sing the theme from
The Little Mermaid
.

“It's really very easy to learn,” she tells the other kids. “Everyone listen. ‘Look at this stuff, isn't it neat?'”

“Gabriella,” I interrupt. “How old are you again?”

“I'm four,” she says, holding up three fingers.

“Yeah, honey, you're in the wrong class.”

“But you're a very good singer,” Rhonda tells her.

“Yes. Very good.” I look up at Rhonda. “Is Tiffany still out there?”

Tiffany is the eighth grader who sits out by the check-in desk to make sure all the parents grab one of the panda, koala, or giraffe cards, depending on how old their child is, so they can check them back out. It is apparently a security system, but seeing as how Tiffany left her post fifteen minutes into class and someone can easily just grab a panda card and come take a child, I don't see that it does too much. I just try to remember which parent goes with each kid.

Rhonda sticks her head out the half door. “Nope,” she says.

“Okay then. Gabriella, you're going to be our helper today. Does that sound good to you?”

She nods happily, like I've just told her she is going to go to Disney World.

I really should switch to the four-year-old class. But then I look over at Kayla, the most adorable little girl in the entire world, and change my mind.

“Okay. Story time,” I say, and Rhonda takes over.

Rhonda is a master storyteller. I think every mom becomes one when she leaves the hospital. It's definitely a motherly thing.

Today's story is about David, the little shepherd boy who was anointed to become king.

Joshua raises his hand.

“Yes, Josh?” Rhonda asks.

“Why did they pour syrup on his head?”

“Not syrup,” Rhonda says. “Oil. It is something they did back then to show honor. But,” she says quickly, “it is
not
something we do today. So y'all leave your mama's pantry alone. Yes, ma'am?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ben says.

All the other kids nod solemnly.

Like I said, Rhonda is very motherly.

When she finishes telling the story, all the kids come and sit down at the tables to make their craft of gluing cotton balls onto a cardstock cutout of a sheep. I've written the memory verse for this week on the back of the sheep.

Then we let the kids play outside on the playground until their parents come to pick them up.

Rhonda gathers her purse, jacket, and son and then gives me a head wave. “Bye, Paige. I'll see you in two weeks for this madness again.”

I laugh. “Bye, Rhonda.” I pick up my Bible, purse, and jacket and walk down the hall to the singles' class.

I am almost there when I think about what Tyler said about singles' classes and how he much preferred the main service. Seeing as how Pastor Dan is still on sabbatical and I'll probably hear some talk about how Xbox is not just a biblical thing but a good thing for every Christian, I turn and head back down the crowded hallway to the auditorium.

The auditorium is packed with people coming in and people trying to leave and people standing in the way of everyone who is doing the previous two things.

Apparently, there is just something about aisles that begs people to stand in the middle of them and talk, completely blocking the way.

I find an empty row toward the back on the right side and set all my stuff down on one of the seats. Since most of the people I know go to either the first service or the singles' class, I hardly recognize anyone around me.

I sit down and smile to myself. I can sit here and worship Jesus however I want to without worrying about what my friends around me think. I can quietly take notes without being passed a note that has
Hey, we should go get donuts for Sunday school
scrawled on it.

I start getting excited.

Then I start getting worried that I am excited I am going to be alone.

The music begins and the lights dim into almost complete darkness. A young couple squeezes past me into my row, followed by an elderly woman and what looks like her teenage granddaughter.

I have saved myself two chairs. One on the aisle, one right inside just so I know I'll be sitting by myself.

Our music pastor, Victor, and his wife, Carrie, start harmonizing the beginning of a worship song. We all stand, as is customary.

I close my eyes and just listen for a few minutes as everyone around me starts to sing. The young couple two seats down don't have very good voices but sing out anyway. I also hear the elderly lady's gentle warble and the teen girl's soprano.

I start singing and suddenly the only voice I can hear, the only voice that really matters, is my sad, usually off-key voice. But it isn't an issue. Not right now. Not when it is just me and God.

I raise my hands without caring what the people around me think, sing the words, and feel peace for the first time in a few weeks.

Pastor Louis climbs onto the stage as the notes of the final song hang in the air. “Thanks so much, Victor and Carrie,” he says while the auditorium claps politely and sits down.

I sit down and pull my Bible over. Pastor Louis talks for the next forty-five minutes on God's goodness and how it does not give us license to sin, but it gives us an example to follow. “We like to say that God is good all the time. And yes, He is good all the time. But have you ever asked yourself why?”

I blink. I have never asked myself that question.

“Look at Deuteronomy chapter 7. If you're like me, you skip over these important books and head straight to the New Testament.” A few people in the room chuckle. Pastor Louis turns the pages in his Bible and reads, “‘For you are a holy people to the L
ORD
your God; the L
ORD
your God has chosen you to be a people for His own possession out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth.' And a little farther down, he says, ‘Know therefore that the L
ORD
your God, He is God, the faithful God, who keeps His covenant and His lovingkindness to a thousandth generation with those who love Him and keep His commandments.'”

Pastor Louis looks up from his Bible. “You see? God is not good to us because we deserve it. God is not good to us because we are so needy and sad. And God is not good to us because of anything we've done or will do. No, God is good to us because He is good! His goodness is a part of Himself. And He is good to us because He chose us.”

He looks around the room. “If you've ever felt like you're not good enough, like you're not strong enough, like you don't do enough, stop. Rest. Realize that God is good. And He has chosen you.”

He starts flipping in his Bible again. “What has He chosen you for?” He points at the Bible. “Ephesians chapter 1: ‘He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him.'”

He says a few more things, but I don't pay as close attention because I am busy writing down references and underlining
holy and blameless
in my Bible. Holy and blameless.

I know I'm not living holy or blameless. I mean, goodness, I haven't even had a chance to read my Bible in a week. I bite the inside of my cheek and make a note on my bulletin:

Set alarm for 30 min earlier tomorrow.

If I am so tired at the end of the day that I can't focus on my Bible reading, then maybe the alternative is to get up earlier and read in the mornings.

Pastor Louis finishes his sermon, the band plays two more songs, and then everyone is dismissed. The church erupts into a volcanic mass of chatter, laughter, children squealing, and the general sounds of people standing, stretching, and gathering their belongings.

“Hi there!” a cheerful woman behind me says.

I turn to see a plump, dark-haired woman about thirty-five standing there.

“Hi,” I say.

“I'm Cindy.” She shoves her hand toward me. “Are you new here? What's your name?”

“I'm Paige. And no, not new here. New to this service, though.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Paige! God bless you!”

I haven't sneezed so I'm not sure what her exclamation is for, but I nod and give her a smile before pulling my jacket on and heading toward the door. “Bye.” I wave to her, trying to be friendly.

I mash and cram my way through the crowded hallway all the way to the end of it where the youth room is. Apparently, we have a leaders' meeting today. What is with all these leaders' meetings lately anyway?

I've barely had a chance to look through the material since Tyler and Layla ended up staying over so late last night. I skimmed through it while I brushed my teeth last night and this morning. It looks like we're going to begin a new series on the basics of Christianity.

“Hola.”
Rick says “hello” in a bad Spanish accent as I walk in.

“No marshmallow gun?” I greet him.

“What? Come now, Paige. I am a responsible, peace-loving father.” He rolls his eyes. “Sheesh.”

I nod to the Mountain Dew in his hands. “Bad night?”

“Paige, I love my daughter, but I swear she's nocturnal. We had the raccoon of babies. We went home yesterday about four in the afternoon. She slept the entire day, all through dinner. Nat nursed her at ten, we laid her down, we all slept until midnight, and then we were all awake until …” He looks at his watch. “Well, it's almost eleven forty-five.”

“Sorry, Rick.”

“Just pray for me. I drove here and I have to drive home.” He rubs his bleary eyes and nods to Julie and Trevor stacking the chairs so the janitor can clean the youth room this week. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure thing, Rick,” Trevor says.

Rick looks at me. “So, what do you usually do first service again?”

“I teach the toddlers every other week. On the off weeks, I go to the main service.”

Rick nods. “How would you like to start coming in here and helping out with the youth ministry on the off weeks?”

I set my stuff down on one of the chairs Julie and Trevor left for us. “What would I be doing?”

“Nothing, really. Just being here for the girls before and after, so if they have any questions or need anything, you're there. Pretty much what you do on Wednesday nights but without the teaching.”

No extra teaching sounds okay. Then I can just continue going to the second service. As much as I like hearing the current lessons on how Gandalf is apparently an allegory to Christ, I'm not getting too much out of the singles' class.

Lord of the Rings
just isn't my style. If I'm going to read a book, I want it to take place in the real world.

I shrug. “I can maybe do that.”

“Great!” Rick looks genuinely thrilled.

Sam and Trisha walk in, and Tyler comes in last again. “Morning everyone,” he says, smiling at me. He drops into the chair next to mine. “How was Sunday school?”

“I went to the service this morning.”

He grins. “Really? I didn't even see you there. Bummer. We'll have to sit together next time.”

“Yeah.” I try to inflect some enthusiasm into my voice but honestly, I loved this morning. It was just me and God. I miss that.

“All right, guys, I won't make this long,” Rick says. “I know you've probably all got plans, and I need to go sleep. But I did want to go over the new curriculum with you and make sure everyone's on the same page.”

“What page is that?” Sam asks.

“Right now? Oh, page 1, I guess.” Rick grabs his binder off the pulpit. “I actually wrote this over the last few months. I want it to be something where the kids are learning the same thing on Sundays and Wednesdays so it really sticks, you know? So, today we talked about sin and you guys will all do a short lesson on it, look up a few passages, and then I've got about ten or fifteen discussion questions on it.” He taps his binder. “Any questions?”