Jim Anderson
First North American Rights Only
© 2000 Jim Anderson
Approx. 1,248 words
The Ladybug Prayer
As a child, I was required to attend Sunday school from 8:00 a.m. until 9:45 a.m. and then Sunday church service from 10:00 a.m. until noontime. Every Sunday it was the same at church service. We sang hymns and read readings until 10:30 a.m. when the preacher promptly began his sermon. After his sermon, we again sang hymns and there were the usual church announcements before the music changed.
As a Southern Baptist, I knew what the music meant. It meant another opportunity for me to become “saved.” I didn’t know what I was being saved from; I just knew everyone became saved eventually. Most had become saved by age 9 or 10. I was 11.
My friends Mark Finno and Pat Hodges had been saved and they didn’t look any worse for it. They hadn’t changed that I could notice. Mark was still funny and goofy, mocking the church deacons even though his dad was a deacon. He made fun of his father’s baldhead and slipped me licorice whips during church service when nobody was looking. Pat was still a showoff and was still sucking on his inhaler when he thought we weren’t looking. They both wanted to know what was holding me up from becoming saved.
I had asked both of them what happened when you were saved and pretty much, the dialog went like this:
“When you walk down to the front of the church, look serious cause the adults are looking,” Mark said.
“They’ll hug you down there and the pastor will shake your hand and congratulate you.” Pat said.
“You’ll have to fill out a form with a pencil and you have to stand down there till church is over,” said Mark.
“Next Wednesday you’ll have to show up early before service and they’ll dress you in a white gown and you’ll get dunked in the water,” said Pat.
“The preacher will pinch your nose when you go under and then you go back to the dressing room to dry off and get dressed,” Mark said.
“Then you’ll be saved and can pray,” said Pat.
“Saved from what?” I asked.
“I don’t know, just saved.” They both said in unison.
So, here I was sitting in the fifth isle so I wouldn’t have that far to go to the front. Edgar Miles was next to me and was picking his nose. I was afraid. First off, I didn’t know what being saved was and I was always one who liked a lot of information before I rushed into anything. I watched as Dorothy Trent’s father walked to the front. The preacher sang, “Jesus is calling, calling to you.” I couldn’t seem to make my feet move until Edgar pushed me up. I wondered if he used the same hand with which he had picked his nose.
Then I was up. One foot followed the other and I didn’t dare look around me. Five isles up wasn’t that close after all. I began to wish I had sat in the second row, but all the deacons sat there and you couldn’t chew gum from that close or they would frown and pull you aside after service.
Suddenly I was there. “Jesus is calling, calling to you.” Sang the pastor as he put his arm around me and guided me to a chair in the front row. Mark’s father came up to me and leaning over, pushed a clipboard into my hand, which held a form, and had a small pencil attached to it.
There was no eraser. I’d have to be careful. Mr. Finno’s head was shiny and I wondered if he polished it. His breath was bad. The flowers in front of the podium were real. Mrs. Sullivan, who sang in the choir, could open her mouth wider than anyone I knew could.
Afterwards, people came by and shook Mr. Trent’s hand, my hand and a couple of other people who had come to the front and had also filled out the paperwork. I was the youngest and kinda wished there had been someone my age there with me. Mark and Pat came up and shook my hand, grinning and saying, “bless you” while snickering. The pastor gave them a look and they moved on. My mom came by and was proud, blathering on and on about something which I wasn’t listening to. She said she would wait for me if I wanted or I could walk. I knew she had to get home to check on Mamo so I told her I would walk. There were hurried promises of dinner at Luby’s or a movie, as the pastor pulled her aside to chat.
I finally got to slip out the side entrance without being seen by anyone and was sick of being coddled and cooed over. I began my walk home the seven blocks down Idalia Street. As I walked, I began to remember what the preacher had said to me earlier. “Now you can begin your prayer son,” he had said. I remembered Mark and Pat saying they too had been allowed to pray before being saved, but it was somehow more legit now that I was saved.
I remembered hearing from either Mark or Pat and perhaps even an adult that you couldn’t pray for material stuff. If you prayed for material stuff, your prayers would never be answered. I thought about this a bit while slowly walking home.
My parents had always wanted that Cadillac from Fred Schneider Auto. “I can’t pray for that. God would never send them a car.” I reasoned. I thought of several things but came up empty because they were all material things. I need to try this prayer thing out to see if it worked. All the way home I thought and thought, coming up with nothing.
Once home, I was in my front yard when it hit me. I would pray a bug to land on me. Yuck! I wasn’t too sure about this because I was not very partial to bugs. Maybe a good bug like a pill bug. Hum . . . nope, wouldn’t work because it would just roll off. I thought and thought and suddenly Wham! A ladybug! However, not just an ordinary ladybug, this would have to be a large ladybug; one bigger than I had ever seen so I would know it was a true answer to my prayer.
I closed my eyes, held out my thumb, and prayed that the biggest ladybug I had ever seen would land on my thumb. I waited with my eyes closed and felt nothing. After a bit, I slowly opened my eyes and to my immediate disappointment, there was nothing on my thumb.
Just as I was ready to take my eyes off my thumb, the largest ladybug I had ever seen landed right smack dab onto my thumb! I remember it as if it was yesterday, my initial shock and then my immediate fright. I promptly shook the ladybug off my thumb and ran into the house screaming for my mother.
My mom and dad never believed me about the ladybug prayer. As the boy who had called wolf one too many times, I had a tendency towards fantastic stories. This story, however, is true. Sometimes you gotta be careful what you pray for.
First North American Rights Only
© 2000 Jim Anderson
Approx. 1,248 words
As a child, I was required to attend Sunday school from 8:00 a.m. until 9:45 a.m. and then Sunday church service from 10:00 a.m. until noontime. Every Sunday it was the same at church service. We sang hymns and read readings until 10:30 a.m. when the preacher promptly began his sermon. After his sermon, we again sang hymns and there were the usual church announcements before the music changed.
As a Southern Baptist, I knew what the music meant. It meant another opportunity for me to become “saved.” I didn’t know what I was being saved from; I just knew everyone became saved eventually. Most had become saved by age 9 or 10. I was 11.
My friends Mark Finno and Pat Hodges had been saved and they didn’t look any worse for it. They hadn’t changed that I could notice. Mark was still funny and goofy, mocking the church deacons even though his dad was a deacon. He made fun of his father’s baldhead and slipped me licorice whips during church service when nobody was looking. Pat was still a showoff and was still sucking on his inhaler when he thought we weren’t looking. They both wanted to know what was holding me up from becoming saved.
I had asked both of them what happened when you were saved and pretty much, the dialog went like this:
“When you walk down to the front of the church, look serious cause the adults are looking,” Mark said.
“They’ll hug you down there and the pastor will shake your hand and congratulate you.” Pat said.
“You’ll have to fill out a form with a pencil and you have to stand down there till church is over,” said Mark.
“Next Wednesday you’ll have to show up early before service and they’ll dress you in a white gown and you’ll get dunked in the water,” said Pat.
“The preacher will pinch your nose when you go under and then you go back to the dressing room to dry off and get dressed,” Mark said.
“Then you’ll be saved and can pray,” said Pat.
“Saved from what?” I asked.
“I don’t know, just saved.” They both said in unison.
So, here I was sitting in the fifth isle so I wouldn’t have that far to go to the front. Edgar Miles was next to me and was picking his nose. I was afraid. First off, I didn’t know what being saved was and I was always one who liked a lot of information before I rushed into anything. I watched as Dorothy Trent’s father walked to the front. The preacher sang, “Jesus is calling, calling to you.” I couldn’t seem to make my feet move until Edgar pushed me up. I wondered if he used the same hand with which he had picked his nose.
Then I was up. One foot followed the other and I didn’t dare look around me. Five isles up wasn’t that close after all. I began to wish I had sat in the second row, but all the deacons sat there and you couldn’t chew gum from that close or they would frown and pull you aside after service.
Suddenly I was there. “Jesus is calling, calling to you.” Sang the pastor as he put his arm around me and guided me to a chair in the front row. Mark’s father came up to me and leaning over, pushed a clipboard into my hand, which held a form, and had a small pencil attached to it.
There was no eraser. I’d have to be careful. Mr. Finno’s head was shiny and I wondered if he polished it. His breath was bad. The flowers in front of the podium were real. Mrs. Sullivan, who sang in the choir, could open her mouth wider than anyone I knew could.
Afterwards, people came by and shook Mr. Trent’s hand, my hand and a couple of other people who had come to the front and had also filled out the paperwork. I was the youngest and kinda wished there had been someone my age there with me. Mark and Pat came up and shook my hand, grinning and saying, “bless you” while snickering. The pastor gave them a look and they moved on. My mom came by and was proud, blathering on and on about something which I wasn’t listening to. She said she would wait for me if I wanted or I could walk. I knew she had to get home to check on Mamo so I told her I would walk. There were hurried promises of dinner at Luby’s or a movie, as the pastor pulled her aside to chat.
I finally got to slip out the side entrance without being seen by anyone and was sick of being coddled and cooed over. I began my walk home the seven blocks down Idalia Street. As I walked, I began to remember what the preacher had said to me earlier. “Now you can begin your prayer son,” he had said. I remembered Mark and Pat saying they too had been allowed to pray before being saved, but it was somehow more legit now that I was saved.
I remembered hearing from either Mark or Pat and perhaps even an adult that you couldn’t pray for material stuff. If you prayed for material stuff, your prayers would never be answered. I thought about this a bit while slowly walking home.
My parents had always wanted that Cadillac from Fred Schneider Auto. “I can’t pray for that. God would never send them a car.” I reasoned. I thought of several things but came up empty because they were all material things. I need to try this prayer thing out to see if it worked. All the way home I thought and thought, coming up with nothing.
Once home, I was in my front yard when it hit me. I would pray a bug to land on me. Yuck! I wasn’t too sure about this because I was not very partial to bugs. Maybe a good bug like a pill bug. Hum . . . nope, wouldn’t work because it would just roll off. I thought and thought and suddenly Wham! A ladybug! However, not just an ordinary ladybug, this would have to be a large ladybug; one bigger than I had ever seen so I would know it was a true answer to my prayer.
I closed my eyes, held out my thumb, and prayed that the biggest ladybug I had ever seen would land on my thumb. I waited with my eyes closed and felt nothing. After a bit, I slowly opened my eyes and to my immediate disappointment, there was nothing on my thumb.
Just as I was ready to take my eyes off my thumb, the largest ladybug I had ever seen landed right smack dab onto my thumb! I remember it as if it was yesterday, my initial shock and then my immediate fright. I promptly shook the ladybug off my thumb and ran into the house screaming for my mother.
My mom and dad never believed me about the ladybug prayer. As the boy who had called wolf one too many times, I had a tendency towards fantastic stories. This story, however, is true. Sometimes you gotta be careful what you pray for.
posted by Jeeem at
12:37 PM
