Her Two Cents

It was that time in church again- the part of the service where we are expected to give after hopefully getting something out of the sermon.

“Give what you have purposed in your heart to give,” reminded the deacon in his weekly recital of 2 Corinthians 9:7.

Today, after another weekly ritual of paying bills, I made a purpose to give $2.

As the collection plate came around, I purposefully put my $2 into it.

However, God Had another purpose.  After the sermon, He Continued To Teach me a lesson about giving.

Immediately after I put in my two bucks, my pre-schooler decided to add her two cents, by dipping her hand into my still open purse. She pulled out the first bill she saw out of her sudden “handbag,” and put it into the collection plate as well.

She looked at me happy that she was able to participate in the service, and proud that she remembered to share.

I looked at the collection plate resisting the urge to swipe it back.

That is because the first bill she saw was a $20 bill – ten times more than my original purpose.

My pre-schooler didn’t yet know the difference between monetary denominations, but regardless of my religious denomination, I was still expected to give.

I am aware of the controversy on the church’s position and teachings on giving and its accusations of “fleecing the sheep.”

Despite the arguments for and against, you can’t argue with God’s Word.

`And to everyone who is asking of thee, be giving; and from him who is taking away thy goods, be not asking again’ Luke 6:30.

So glad I didn’t dip my hand back into the collection plate.

We worship a God Who Tells us to give to even our enemies to fulfill God’s True Purpose.

`Give, and it shall be given to you; good measure, pressed, and shaken, and running over, they shall give into your bosom; for with that measure with which ye measure, it shall be measured to you again.’ Luke 6:38

I left church with my purse a little lighter, but my heart a lot fuller, because I was happy and proud too.

Funny Joke

A Christian was asked, “What’s your religion?”

The Christian replied, “Doer.”

“What was that?” The person replied.

“Doer.”  The Christian repeated.

“What is that?”  The person asked.

The Christian responded, “Doer.  If God Tells me to do something, I just do it!”

Thief in the Pew

“Can I borrow your program” I was asked in hushed tones during the middle of church service.

“Sure,” I whispered back cheerfully as my unexpected giving.

As the service progressed, I reached down for my program only to learn that the program borrower was now fanning herself with it.

OK, so she’s hot. It is a packed house. I’ll be patient.  It’s a virtue.

A few more hymns later, I wondered when the sermon was going to start.

I reached down again.  Nothing. The program borrower has now loaned out my church program to the person sitting next to her.

Now I’m starting to get annoyed. But I realize I’m in church, not a ball game, so my only recourse is to forgive, for she knows not what she does or apparently whose program she’s borrowed.

The loaner gets an update on the remaining order of service and thankfully hands it back – to the borrower.

The borrower reopens the program to take a quick glimpse.  I find myself now looking over her shoulder to see what’s about to happen next – apparently not having my program returned.

The associate minister gets up to say a few words and the borrower’s child becomes antsy.

“Here, now hush!” The borrower shushes to her child as she hands her a pen to doodle all over my program to keep her occupied.

Now I have had enough.

“Excuse me, would you mind returning my program?” I asked before it was defaced.

“Huh? Oh… sure!” The borrower said awkwardly as if she had been startled.

“Do you want my tithe envelope and my hymnal too?” in a tone as if I was mugging her mid-service.

“Oh no! This is plenty, thank you. I just wanted to know where we were in the service. But you’re more than welcome to use it again if you need it!” Why has she made me so defensive?

Although the borrower interrupted my worship experience to steal my program, somehow, I felt as if I was the one being judged.

The benediction was a little tense as we were reminded by the pastor to love our neighbors.

It really is better to give than to receive.

Country Church

We were worlds apart when my husband and I met. He was the school’s football star and I was the class nerd.  He was the social butterfly, and I was just, well, a fly on the wall. His favorite spread was creamy peanut butter and I was partial to chunky fruit jelly.

So naturally, in the way of most couples who have nothing in common, we decided to tie our attraction with a knot in holy matrimony and at least share the same last names.

With the odds of our marriage ending in court, we opted for a change of scenery. Churches to my fiancé and family pallbearer were synonymous to funerals so I suggested that he think of happy thoughts when reminded that we were together “till death…”

Attending church was a weekly part of my prenuptial routine, so I decided that my first official duty as his first lady was not to change my husband but to save him.

“You know the game comes on today.”  My husband protested after I announced we would be spending our first Sunday in church instead of on the couch.

“What’s more important, the game or God?”

Realizing he lost the argument like a player who just lost the game, he headed reluctantly to the shower.

“How much longer is this going to last?” said the Stickler-for-time Catholic to the When-the-Spirit-hits-you Baptist during service.

“Hush, we still have Communion!” whispered the When-the-Spirit-hits-you Baptist patiently directing the Stickler back to the service.

Knowing nothing about the order of the Baptist rituals, the Stickler-for-time Catholic proceeded to the front of the church before being told that Communion was not self-service at the Spirit’s church.

“That’s it?!” The Stickler whispered in disbelief at the size of his symbolic last meal.  “Well, I guess this will have to hold me over ‘til lunch,” before digesting the whole meal with a couple of swallows and a burp.

The Spirit-hitting Baptist also had to swallow the urge to swat the Stickler on the back of the head. The church had not yet been invited to re-enact the Last Supper, and the Stickler missed the symbolism translating it literally into an appetizer by the sound of his belch.

I looked around to determine if anyone had noticed his transgression and like the woman caught in the very act, he was judged.

I babbled nonsensically to a fellow parishioner, “I come to church all the time. It’s my heathen of a husband who would chase unleavened bread down with a shot of unfermented wine!” Still, she stared at us like two country bumpkins sitting next to her on the pew.

Since it was symbolism, I made my husband pretend to still have a piece of the broken bread and a cup running over when he munched on air and threw back the empty, disposable shot glass when the minister finally invited us to partake.

Sitting between the parishioner who crucified our reputation with her cross looks and my husband arriving early at the Last Supper, I felt like a failure in my first official duty as his first lady of trying to save my husband’s soul that day. We made it back home in time for the game, so I guess to him, all wasn’t lost after all.

Drive Like God Is Watching

My faith was tested while driving to church. No, I didn’t survive a near fatal accident or overcome sudden car trouble – I was following too closely behind a vehicle with a Christian bumper sticker.
I’ve noticed a recurring theme in the revolving lanes of traffic. The slowest drivers tend to be the ones witnessing from their late model rearends instead of their mouths.
As a defensive driving course graduate, I’m usually not an aggressive driver nor am I a Bible-bumper sticker stalker. A couple of tickets have taught me to drive the speed limit or no more than 5 miles above, but Christian drivers are usually 5 or 10 miles below.
I know a 1000 years are but a day to the Lord, but being stuck in traffic can seem like an eternity to a commuting sinner. How can I keep my thoughts pure when I want to ram my truck into Christ’s cargo?
While I’m not sure how many of these bumper-sticking motorists are actually Christian, I am certain that they fit into their own distinct psychological profile. I’ve concluded that that these drivers are selfish control freaks who think they drive just a bit better than the rest of us speed demons.
Although driving is a gray area in the Bible, it does mention clearly that Christians should respect authority. And the last time I checked my driving handbook, (okay, I don’t still own it, but I can still recall) it stated that slower drivers should move to the right. Also, depending on what interstate you’re traveling on, there are highway signs along the stretch of the left lane to remind you. I like to think of them as metallic reflections of our obedience.
If I am near enough another vehicle to learn where God’s Passenger stores his real treasure, surely the morale-having motorist can see the pain and suffering on my face (I didn’t always have A/C) as I pray that another lane opens up in front of me. I guess there are no shortcuts to heaven.
Christian drivers should consider the effectiveness of their messages if their trailing drivers are too busy cursing the pavement they hog.