No Room at the Inn but Plenty of Blood

The community Christmas parade was Saturday and Grady and Goober were in charge of the church float. They had decided to showcase the No Room in the Inn segment of the story. To make the scene more realistic, they had asked Irene Petty, one of the pregnant women in the church, to be Mary, standing with Joseph at the inn keeper’s door. They had built a building to represent the inn with a small stable out back where the couple would go for the birth.

Goober was driving the tractor pulling the trailer. Irene’s husband, Dwayne was dressed up as Joseph and Grady was the inn keeper.  Everything was going just fine until Goober missed a shift and the trailer lurched forward. Grady reached out to grab Irene at the same time Dwayne was leaning toward her.  Grady caught Dwayne across the nose with his elbow and blood gushed out both nostrils. Irene fell back and sat down hard on the trailer floor. When she did her water broke.

Not sure what he had done, Grady yelled out to Goober, “Get us to the hospital!”

When Goober looked back all he could see was Dwayne with blood running down his chin. He sped up the tractor and began to yell at the band to get out of his way.  The girls started screaming and band members began to scatter toward the curb as the John Deere rolled through.  The horses ridden by the 4-H kids heard the clatter and began to bounce around. One began to buck and took off down an alley. The rest darted forward down the street.

The clowns from the Shriners were doing their figure eight’s in the road in their little cars when the horses ran through. One big buff quarterhorse jumped a car and put a crease in the clown’s head with this back foot. Unconscious, the clown and his car roamed out of control and rammed into the back of the firetruck, which slammed on its brakes, throwing the Christmas Queen riding in the back down into the bed of the truck. She had been tethered to a lever that controlled the spray attachment extending over the cab. Water began shooting out in all directions, flooding the street and washing the little children sitting on the sidewalk down into the gutter. Moms frantically grabbed up any child that floated by.

Goober turned off the main street at the next light and scattered the folks standing in the road along the crosswalk. He roared down to the hospital and pulled the float into the emergency entrance. The attendants rushed out to see what was going on and Goober yelled, “There’s blood in the back!”

When they went back to the float, all they found was Irene clutching a bail of hay. “Grady and Dwayne fell off somewhere in town,” she said.

“Where’s the blood?” they asked.

“It’s gonna be all over Goober after I have this baby.”

They took Irene in and she delivered a healthy seven pound boy. Dwayne and Grady were brought in by ambulance, along with the groggy clown and the Christmas Queen who twisted her ankle when she fell, three band members pushed onto the pavement by a raging tuba player, one of the VFW’s color guard who passed out when the firetruck driver accidently hit the siren when he stepped out to check on the clown and the spectator Grady fell on when he was thrown off the trailer. Goober, however, could not be found.

Christmas Fleas

The Christmas music was all polished and ready, the set done, the parts assigned. Getting the animals delivered on time was left to Grady and Goober. They had volunteered because they had a cousin who had a petting zoo out east of town. Their cousin had told them they could borrow whatever nativity animals they wanted. They decided to run over late in the afternoon and load up the cattle trailer with what they wanted and haul them to the church.

Never prone to making contingency plans, they were unprepared for the news that the sheep all had some kind of hoof disease and wouldn’t be able to go. Goober said he understood but Grady had a different opinion.

“You can’t have a manger scene without sheep,” Grady said.

“You can’t?” Goober asked.

“No, the Bible specifically says there were sheep there.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, probably, and besides there were shepherds so there had to be sheep.”

“Oh,” Goober said. The light bulb was dim but it still went off somewhere inside Goober’s head. “Wait. We don’t need no sheep. All we have to do is put some cotton on Jack and you got yourself a sheep dog.”

“That ain’t what a sheep dog is,” Grady replied.

Goober was much further down the road of planning than backing up to deal with names. They loaded up a donkey, some chickens, three goats and a cow and headed to the church. On the way they stopped off and picked up the yellow Lab and took some cotton out of an old quilt.

“How you expect to get that to stick on Jack?” Grady asked.

“Elmer’s.” It was a simple answer given whenever duct tape seemed inappropriate.

Everything was in place and the program began. Then Jack started to scratch. Seems the Elmer’s had begun to agitate the fleas. Being the social dog he was, Jack walked all around the nativity scene and checked on all the other characters. Every few seconds he’d stop and scratch. Soon the shepherds were itching, then the wise men. Finally Mary and Joseph felt the critters crawling all over them under their robes. A couple of the little girls dressed as angels began to cry when they saw little bugs crawling across their arms and hands.

It wasn’t long before the ladies on the front row of the choir began to itch. They tried not to scratch but the urge overpowered them. Soon everyone on stage was squirming and rubbing and scratching. But somehow they finished the program.

When Pastor Jerguson stood in the front thanking them for their wonderful performance, he, too, felt something tiny crawling on the back of his neck. He quickly prayed and at the same time headed for the side door. He yelled amen about the same time the door slammed and he was gone. When the people looked up, all the costumes and choir robes where on the floor, but nobody remained on the stage, except a donkey, some chickens, three goats, a cow and a sheep dog scratching by the manger that still held a baby doll pretending to be baby Jesus.

On the way back to the petting zoo, Goober called and left a voice mail on the church recorder saying he’d have the auditorium fumigated tomorrow. It was the last time Grady and Goober were ever asked to help out with the Christmas music program.

When the Moon Shined on Christmas

Pastor Jerguson wanted a candle light communion service on Christmas Eve. The church had invited the whole community. When the discussion of what to serve for the juice portion of the supper came up, one of the deacons said they ought to serve the regular grape juice for the Baptists and have the real stuff for the not so spiritually minded. Grady and Goober were given the job of securing the real stuff.

Since neither had ever tasted wine or even knew how to buy it they went over to Uncle Titus’ to get some advice. Uncle Titus had an apparatus of questionable character out back so they figured him to be somewhat of an expert. He said with this being a dry county, the best he could do was suggest they take some of the clear liquid dripping from the copper spicket and mix it in with the grape juice. “That ought to make ‘em some high octane Welch's,” he said.

“Ain’t that stuff a might strong?” Goober asked.

“Not if you mix it right,” Uncle Titus answered.

That being the best idea they could come up with, they took a large pickle jar full and snuck it into the kitchen at the church. They took a cooler and mixed in the grape juice with the moonshine. In a few minutes they had filled all the little cups and set everything aside for the service later that night.

It was somewhere around the moment Pastor Jerguson said, “Drink this in remembrance of Me,” that Grady and Goober remembered they were supposed to separate out the real stuff from the grape juice.

“Did you?”

“Naw, did you?”

“We’re dead,” Grady whispered. About that time the 200 proof Welch's was somewhere deep in the throats of the overflow congregation. The room filled with coughs and sputters. Sister Alma let loose with a “whoo” and some of the folks thought she might have gotten the Spirit. A group from the AA chapter the church sponsored rushed out to attend a quick, impromptu meeting down in the basement as members were quickly falling off the wagon. Others just stood there licking their cups down to the second layer of the plastic.

The next part on the program was lighting the candles and singing Silent Night. Everything was fine until Pastor Jerguson told everyone to blow out their candles. The fumes from their breaths ignited balls of flame. Rose Templeton yelled out that her hair was on fire. The room glowed in a blazing orange. Pastor Jerguson had everyone bow their heads and rushed over to throw the linen that covered the communion table over her head and smother out Mrs. Templeton’s smoldering hair, all the while praying the closing prayer. When he said amen, the lights came back on and Grady and Goober were gone. In fact they stayed gone for a couple of months. After they came back, no one ever asked them to set up the Lord’s Supper again. Which was fine with them.

When Jack Became a Reindeer

Though the sun had set long ago, Grady and Goober had been out doing some last minute deer hunting on Christmas Eve. As they turned into the driveway, Grady’s headlights caught a familiar shape standing in the yard. Goober grabbed his thirty ought six, hung himself out the window and took a shot. The deer bolted straight up then fell back to the ground. “Got him,” Goober said proudly.

A fat man in a red suit came rushing out the front door. He looked at the deer, lifeless on the ground, then at Goober. His eyes narrowed and Goober could feel his glare piercing through his heart. “Uh oh,” he said. “’Spect I done it now. Grady, get us out of here!” But the truck wouldn’t start.

“He’s done something to my truck,” Grady said. “We ain’t going no where.”

Goober slowly opened the door and headed for the porch. “Sure sorry ‘bout your deer, uh, Santa.”

“Yeah, that was one of my favorites,” Santa said.

“Well, maybe he ain’t as dead as he looks.”

“No, he’s gone.”

“What you gonna do?”

“I need something to fill that spot on my sleigh. The magic comes when all the slots are filled.”

“So them ain’t flying reindeers?” Grady asked.

“Only when they’re all harnessed together. It’s the sleigh that makes them fly.”

“We ain’t got no reindeers around here,” Goober said. “Maybe you could use something else?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Twrreet, Goober whistled. “Jack, come here, boy.” The old yellow lab trudged out from under the porch. “Thank he’ll do?”

“Worth a try,” Santa said.

They began fitting Jack with the reindeer’s harness. “This don’t fit that good,” Grady said. “He’s gonna slip right out.”

“Duct tape!” The idea hit both at the same time. Goober took a roll and began to wind it around the dog and the harness.

“There,” he said. “That ought to hold him in.”

“But what about the light?” Santa asked. “That was Rudolph, you know, with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight.”

Grady ran back to the truck and got the magna light. Goober took the duct tape and wound it around Jack’s snout securing the flashlight to his nose. He pressed the button and the light shown out into the darkness.

“Them batteries ought to last you through the rest of the night if you turn it off every time you stop,” Grady offered. Santa nodded.

As the sleigh rose into the air, Santa waved to Grady and Goober. Jack looked down and whimpered. Then off into the night sky flew the sleigh with eight reindeer and a yellow lab.

“Hey,” Grady said. “How can it be raining? Ain’t a cloud in the sky.”

“Jack!” they both yelled.

He Ain’t Heavy He’s My Sumo

Einstein gave us the Theory of Relativity. Using his theory I have determined beauty is relative. Sumo wrestlers are not what we might consider beautiful. I don’t think they are intended to be. Attractiveness is not a necessary characteristic of their sport. But then that’s just an outward perspective. Angelina Jolie is considered beautiful. Probably is what helps her do what she does, but then again, that’s simply an outward perspective, too.

Here’s the problem: when we stop with the outside we never really know how beautiful the whole package really is. Once we stop there, we rarely go any further to examine the whole package. Unless they have a code they may discount the inside to emphasize the outside.

Sumo wrestlers are revered in Japan. They have a code that dictates both their outward and inward lives. Their appearance is part of that code—fat, nearly naked and long hair—but their life regiment reflects their inner commitment to being a Sumo. It takes both parts to make the whole.

Angelina’s code seems much different. She has banked her life on how she looks and so far so good. Interviews she has given indicate a much darker and less attractive person lives on the inside. How do those dissimilar parts make up her whole? Does she have a code?

Paul asked God to preserve our spirit, soul and body completely. That must indicate He has an interest in the whole. If Paul thought God was only interested in how we look on the outside linking our spirit and soul would seem out of place, inappropriate, and an unnecessary burden. Same if it were the spirit or soul only. It’s the whole that matters most.

So, you can judge a Sumo by his size because since he is a Sumo he is to be living by the code. Wearing the name makes it more than an accessory, it’s the life. For Sumos and for Christians, it shows up on the outside as much as it is present on the inside.

Can't Wrap My Brain Around That

Having a hand-held device that knows more about where I am than I do is frightening. I consider myself relatively bright but have to admit sometimes the fog rolls in. When it does I lose perspective. How on earth does this GPS thing know where I am and which way I need to go in order to get to where I want to go? I find that amazing as well as frightening.

I’m not a techie, just ask my boys. So I have to just accept things I can’t figure out. A GPS is smarter than I am and if I trust it, I’ll eventually get where I need to end up.

When I don’t trust it and go with my instincts, it corrects me. Often I’ve heard it say, “re-calculating…take next exit and make a u-turn.” To which I’ve replied many unkind and inconsiderate comments, yet complied. Result: it was right all along.

Peace in my life works the same way. Paul said if we’d give the focus of our anxiety to God He’d give us peace that would reach beyond our ability to even understand why we have it. Sort of like having peace and a problem at the same time and the peace winning the battle of supremacy in our hearts.

I don’t have to understand how it works. All I know is it does. God is smarter than I am and if I trust Him, I’ll eventually get where I need to be, fog and all.

Now what happens if I press this button? Oops…that can’t be good.

My, What Sharp Teeth You Have

From where I was when I first saw him I thought the dog was waving at me. As I got closer I realized it was his back leg. Strange thing perspective. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, just being a dog. So I began to think about a dog’s life. There he was inside his chain link domain doing what? Well, beyond the obvious, he was watching over it. He may not have the title watch dog, but that’s what dog’s do. They watch over their space.

Dog’s have a strong sense of territory and a stronger sense of responsibility for all that’s within their territory. They get up every day with the same agenda: keep in what is supposed to be in and keep out what’s supposed to be out. If anything threatens to intrude into their yard, they’ll bark their heads off, growl and lunge at the intruder till he goes away.

I stopped to look at a Corvette for sale in a yard and hurried to get back in my car when a massive Rottweiler flew off the porch toward me. I had invaded his space. I uninvaded it much more quickly than I invaded it.

Protecting our space is highly important to well being. We keep our kids away from harmful sights and sounds. Who keeps us away? Used to be we would invite TV into our homes to entertain us. Now TV invites us into its lair to entrap us. Do we know the difference? While on the internet, pop-ups entice us to travel deeper into a cyber world of temptation. Where’s our watch dog? If he’s asleep on the porch he isn’t really on the job.

Peter said to keep on the alert, for our enemy is prowling around seeking a way to pounce on us. And his pounce isn’t to play, it’s to eat us for lunch.

Probably, there isn’t anyone on earth watching out for you anymore, so you need to become your own watch dog. It’s your territory. Keep the intruders out. Keep the squeaky toys in.