One, Two, Free!
By Major Betzann Carroll
Dedicated to Helen Carroll
I wonder if the enormous spiral slide, which had a prominent, place in the center of the “Cabot Park”, a playground in Newton, Massachusetts, still stands? If the slide seemed enormous to me, I can imagine what my three-year-old daughter thought, who was much smaller than other children her age. Her fragile body ranked in the third percentile for height and weight. But for determination, she was number one.
It had rained all morning and every five minutes Stephen, our five-year-old, would give us a weather report. “Still some more minutes of partly rain,” he would say. By early afternoon Helen and I were racing down the street to keep up with Stephen. Stephen was eighteen months older than Helen. “Helen, you will play on the baby swings and you can wave to me when I get to the top of the slide. You are too little for the slide and besides, you are a girl!”
“No Stephen (Steben), I can do anything I try, right, Momma,” was Helen’s reply.
She was so competitive. How Helen reached the slide before Stephen I can’t remember. Perhaps Stephen stopped to pick up a rock or look at a bug. Helen was at the base of the slide looking up when Stephen noticed her. Her hands gripped the rail. She began to count and take a step with each count. “One, two, free…One, two, free…” Her hearing loss caused her to mispronounce the “th” sound. My heart began to pound as I watched her climb. Could I allow her such a challenge? Was she really ready? She was so fragile. At the top of the slide she froze for a moment.
“Go Helen”, yelled Stephen. He was sure now was not the time for indecision.
Helen sat down and was instantly gone. She turned round and round and before we could reach the base of the slide she hit bottom…Splash! She landed in a mud puddle larger than herself. Covered with mud, she climbed to her feet. She refused any help I could give. Wiping the mud from her eyes and licking her lips she quickly said, “Momma, I did it!” So anxious to conquer the slide, she never saw the final destination, nor did I.
She was the talk of the park. Stephen was furious to return home without even one ride. It was not a pretty sight. I led this pitifully dripping child home. I know it was not the anticipated pleasure Helen was expecting either.
Later that night when she was squeaky clean, I tucked her into bed. When I began to pray with her a big grin was on her face. “Momma, let’s thank God that I can do anything I wanna. I can do anything I try!”
I believe Helen has God-given determination. Not a puddle, nor a ladder; not a heart defect, nor fluctuating hearing loss; not a lung disease, not even dyslexia can stop Helen. Her God-given desire to “over-come” helps her climb one step at a time.
“Faithful is He that calleth you, who also will do it.” I Thessalonians 5:24
Continue to climb, Helen. In the power of God’s Spirit climb and you will count,
One, Two, Free!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Listen This Time
It's Funny what we actually remember. I remember that clearly too. I remember how upset I was that i was being punished for winning the fight. I remember my mom's comment when she saw that the kid out weighed me by a good 40 lbs and was 2 years my senior. I also remember how proaud i was of my mom for standing up to the bully of a princible when she tried to push her around her. My mom did listen to me that time, even though i had given he no reason to trust me, and something changed about our relationship that day.
Steve
Listen This Time
Major Betzann Carroll
Listen this time! Had there been other times? Yes, too many to count! Stephen had open-heart surgery at the age of two. Up until that point he was a perfect little person. So after his surgery he began making up for lost time. He was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. Later, the doctors said he had minor motor skill difficulty due to his surgery, which made it almost impossible for him to accomplish detailed work with his hands. Dancing was not high on his list either, and I don’t think he ever learned to skip. He could not participate in organized sports, because of his heart condition.
With all the “could nots” Stephen learned quickly the “coulds”. He made people laugh. He was ingenious and creative when it came to communication skills. His stories were captivating and his delivery superb. He was not disrespectful to adults but he did and said some funny things. He was the class clown. Most of the time I had to turn my head and laugh too. When he got to high school he joined the drama club and excelled at stand up comedy. Until high school his problem was finding a place to fit. We moved constantly and Stephen struggled to fit in. I was often called to school. I remember one night around 8:00 PM, having a second grade teacher call and say she just didn’t know what to do with Stephen. “Today he climbed the pole in the hall of the school.” She was a young teacher and was crying at 8:00 PM. I thought this poor teacher needed a break.
I told her, “the next time Stephen climbs the pole tell him to come down.” I talked to him that morning.
Sometimes he would put his little head in his hands and cry, “I don’t mean to be bad Momma. It just happens.” And it did, all the time. So it was no shock that I was summoned to the school on that hot Wednesday afternoon.
Stephen and Helen were both attending the Wesleyan Academy, a private school in St. Thomas, USVI. We were stationed there. I left The Salvation Army right away. I had to walk in the blistering sun, because my husband was picking up a donation at the waterfront. I grabbed my pocketbook, locked the door behind me and started the 45-minute emergency journey to the school, all up hill. Mrs. Joseph the principal, said it was imperative that I come right away. Nothing ever happened right away on the Island.
What was it this time? Last week they were reprimanding Helen for having two pencils on her desk. The week before Helen had entered an island-wide contest by making an art poster for the centennial. She came home in tears because the winners were being announced at the community gathering, which her school attended, and her poster was still sitting in the corner of the classroom. When I inquired, the teacher said that no one else submitted one, so she didn’t bother to submit Helen’s poster. Although Helen had dyslexia, she was an excellent student, at least until that week. It was not unusual to get a call about Stephen though. What had he done now? I was ready to punish him this time. If I made it! My face was beet red. The sweat was dripping down my forehead. The road, which was all up hill, was full of rocks, broken glass, and holes.
Roads, which tourists did not use were, at best, paths, shared with animals of every sort. With every step I thought how I would handle this incident. No television, no desserts, no friends over, no no, no!
My feet were now covered in dirt, the same dirt that was causing my throat to cough. I hunted in my purse for some change. There was a little food stand at the top of the hill and it had bottled water. I hunted but without success. Even the contaminated water at the fountain was looking good.
When I finally reached the school, I stopped to empty the stones from my shoes. There were no mirrors in the bathroom, which was just as well. As I reached the principal’s office I saw Stephen, my eighth grader, sitting on the floor outside the door. My child looked lost for more than one reason. But I had no time for sympathy now, I was too angry. How could he be in trouble again? “Get up, we are going home!”
“Mom, please, you have to listen,” he begged. I was not listening and I didn’t think I could. I could see the door was partially open, and a woman was with Mrs. Joseph. I asked Stephen if that was the other boy’s mother in the office. “No, Mom, it is one of my teachers. The other boy is back in the class. That is why you have to listen.”
I could barely hear the conversation coming from the office, but I knew they were discussing my son. I looked at Stephen and asked, “Has the other boy’s mother had been there already.”
“No, and I don’t think she’s coming. Shymel is back in class, Mom, and that is what I am trying to tell you. Shymel bumped into me at lunch and my tray spilled on his sneaker. I said I was sorry and tried to wipe it up with a napkin. Shymel wanted me to lick his shoe. When I said no, he punched me. The next punch, I punched back. Now I am getting kicked out and Shymel is back in class. Please, mom, you have to listen.”
As I thought for a minute, the teacher walked out of the office and Mrs. Joseph beckoned me with her finger. “Stephen, you sit down and stay there while I talk to your mother!” The sharpness in her voice was a wake up call, because she had never used that tone of voice with me. “You sit here Mrs. Carroll, and I will lay out Stephen’s conduct and why he is going home. He was fighting, and fighting is not allowed. Sign here and then you can go get his things. He is not allowed in the class.” I asked Mrs. Joseph if she had talked with Stephen. “Absolutely not. I talked with the teacher. He was fighting and that’s that. Sign here please, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Is it the mother of the other child who Stephen was fighting with? Is that who is waiting? What was the other boy’s name and has he been dismissed.”
She, Mrs. Joseph, took up the paper, and seeing that I had not signed it handed it back to me. “Please Mrs. Carroll, just sign the paper.”
As I picked up the pen, Stephen pushed the door open and started crying and screaming, “No Mom, you have to listen, you have to listen!”
“Out of the room Stephen. Take your foolishness “out the room”,” was Mrs. Joseph’s scolding.
Stephen had one hand on the mahogany chair squeezing so tightly that his knuckles were pure white, and his other hand was on my arm holding tight enough to draw blood. He had never been this emphatic or pathetic. He dropped to his knees and my seventh grader was now pleading with me to listen. “Get up Stephen and take your place outside my door on the floor, Now!” said Mrs. Joseph.
“No, Mrs. Joseph, I think it is time we both listen to what Stephen has to say. I am not leaving until he is respected enough to express himself.” I pulled Stephen to me and held him for a few minutes, helping him find his composure. Stephen was small in stature and thin for his age. His little back was heaving up and down and his heart (his specially stitched heart) was pounding so hard I thought it would pound right out of his shirt. His trembling hand wiped the tears from his face. He turned around to face his accuser. Then he began to tell the whole story. I asked Mrs. Joseph what a child was to do if someone punches him. Her response was that they were not to fight. “So should Stephen stand there and get beaten?” She said he was to come to the office or tell a teacher. “What teacher do you want him to tell, the one who was here minutes ago laughing? She refused to answer. I asked where Shymel was.
Her reply was, “He is in class.” I asked if his mother was coming and if she was taking him home. The answer was no. Now it was my turn to get excited, but I was not falling to my knees, nor was I going to be ordered around by a school principal. She had belittled Stephen and I had just watched. Memories of Helen’s tears came to mind. Perhaps, just perhaps this time Stephen was right. I was so glad I listened.
“Mrs. Joseph, I know that Stephen gets into mischief,” I continued. “I also know that he tells the truth. If you want to send him home for fighting, that is your decision. However, you are not sending him home without the same treatment for Shymel who started the fight. You are not making my son sit on the floor in the hall to wait for his mother, while the other mother was not even summoned. Mrs. Joseph, I walked here from the market place thinking there was an emergency, and I was right. The emergency is that you are being unfair to my son and I am taking him home. However, I will take the necessary steps to see that this and other incidents are handled correctly. My husband and I will be here tomorrow. As far as I am concerned, Shymel owes Stephen an apology. If you and your teachers choose to show favoritism, then my husband and I will deal with it. There is more to this incident than a fight. It is a fight for fairness for every child.”
Mrs. Joseph was speechless. As she would put it, she was not “a custom” to a parent or student talking back to her. I guess I was surprised myself. Upon reaching the outside steps of the school Stephen stopped. He took his hands and pulled my face directly even with his and said, “Mom, I am sorry and I love you. Thank you for listening and believing me.” I didn’t speak. We sat down on the steps and I just held him for a while. It was my turn to cry. This was my son, my only son. How could I allow him to be hurt?
My husband is much more forceful than I. He handled Mrs. Joseph just fine. It was a defining moment for my son. He knew I believed in him. I wish I could say he never had another problem in school, but there were a few. He graduated from Arlington High School, Eastern Nazarene College, and Salvation Army Training School. He is now a minister with a son of his own. He and I will always remember the day Mom listened.
How thankful we can be that God looks at us in fairness. And He always listens!
Steve
Listen This Time
Major Betzann Carroll
Listen this time! Had there been other times? Yes, too many to count! Stephen had open-heart surgery at the age of two. Up until that point he was a perfect little person. So after his surgery he began making up for lost time. He was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. Later, the doctors said he had minor motor skill difficulty due to his surgery, which made it almost impossible for him to accomplish detailed work with his hands. Dancing was not high on his list either, and I don’t think he ever learned to skip. He could not participate in organized sports, because of his heart condition.
With all the “could nots” Stephen learned quickly the “coulds”. He made people laugh. He was ingenious and creative when it came to communication skills. His stories were captivating and his delivery superb. He was not disrespectful to adults but he did and said some funny things. He was the class clown. Most of the time I had to turn my head and laugh too. When he got to high school he joined the drama club and excelled at stand up comedy. Until high school his problem was finding a place to fit. We moved constantly and Stephen struggled to fit in. I was often called to school. I remember one night around 8:00 PM, having a second grade teacher call and say she just didn’t know what to do with Stephen. “Today he climbed the pole in the hall of the school.” She was a young teacher and was crying at 8:00 PM. I thought this poor teacher needed a break.
I told her, “the next time Stephen climbs the pole tell him to come down.” I talked to him that morning.
Sometimes he would put his little head in his hands and cry, “I don’t mean to be bad Momma. It just happens.” And it did, all the time. So it was no shock that I was summoned to the school on that hot Wednesday afternoon.
Stephen and Helen were both attending the Wesleyan Academy, a private school in St. Thomas, USVI. We were stationed there. I left The Salvation Army right away. I had to walk in the blistering sun, because my husband was picking up a donation at the waterfront. I grabbed my pocketbook, locked the door behind me and started the 45-minute emergency journey to the school, all up hill. Mrs. Joseph the principal, said it was imperative that I come right away. Nothing ever happened right away on the Island.
What was it this time? Last week they were reprimanding Helen for having two pencils on her desk. The week before Helen had entered an island-wide contest by making an art poster for the centennial. She came home in tears because the winners were being announced at the community gathering, which her school attended, and her poster was still sitting in the corner of the classroom. When I inquired, the teacher said that no one else submitted one, so she didn’t bother to submit Helen’s poster. Although Helen had dyslexia, she was an excellent student, at least until that week. It was not unusual to get a call about Stephen though. What had he done now? I was ready to punish him this time. If I made it! My face was beet red. The sweat was dripping down my forehead. The road, which was all up hill, was full of rocks, broken glass, and holes.
Roads, which tourists did not use were, at best, paths, shared with animals of every sort. With every step I thought how I would handle this incident. No television, no desserts, no friends over, no no, no!
My feet were now covered in dirt, the same dirt that was causing my throat to cough. I hunted in my purse for some change. There was a little food stand at the top of the hill and it had bottled water. I hunted but without success. Even the contaminated water at the fountain was looking good.
When I finally reached the school, I stopped to empty the stones from my shoes. There were no mirrors in the bathroom, which was just as well. As I reached the principal’s office I saw Stephen, my eighth grader, sitting on the floor outside the door. My child looked lost for more than one reason. But I had no time for sympathy now, I was too angry. How could he be in trouble again? “Get up, we are going home!”
“Mom, please, you have to listen,” he begged. I was not listening and I didn’t think I could. I could see the door was partially open, and a woman was with Mrs. Joseph. I asked Stephen if that was the other boy’s mother in the office. “No, Mom, it is one of my teachers. The other boy is back in the class. That is why you have to listen.”
I could barely hear the conversation coming from the office, but I knew they were discussing my son. I looked at Stephen and asked, “Has the other boy’s mother had been there already.”
“No, and I don’t think she’s coming. Shymel is back in class, Mom, and that is what I am trying to tell you. Shymel bumped into me at lunch and my tray spilled on his sneaker. I said I was sorry and tried to wipe it up with a napkin. Shymel wanted me to lick his shoe. When I said no, he punched me. The next punch, I punched back. Now I am getting kicked out and Shymel is back in class. Please, mom, you have to listen.”
As I thought for a minute, the teacher walked out of the office and Mrs. Joseph beckoned me with her finger. “Stephen, you sit down and stay there while I talk to your mother!” The sharpness in her voice was a wake up call, because she had never used that tone of voice with me. “You sit here Mrs. Carroll, and I will lay out Stephen’s conduct and why he is going home. He was fighting, and fighting is not allowed. Sign here and then you can go get his things. He is not allowed in the class.” I asked Mrs. Joseph if she had talked with Stephen. “Absolutely not. I talked with the teacher. He was fighting and that’s that. Sign here please, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Is it the mother of the other child who Stephen was fighting with? Is that who is waiting? What was the other boy’s name and has he been dismissed.”
She, Mrs. Joseph, took up the paper, and seeing that I had not signed it handed it back to me. “Please Mrs. Carroll, just sign the paper.”
As I picked up the pen, Stephen pushed the door open and started crying and screaming, “No Mom, you have to listen, you have to listen!”
“Out of the room Stephen. Take your foolishness “out the room”,” was Mrs. Joseph’s scolding.
Stephen had one hand on the mahogany chair squeezing so tightly that his knuckles were pure white, and his other hand was on my arm holding tight enough to draw blood. He had never been this emphatic or pathetic. He dropped to his knees and my seventh grader was now pleading with me to listen. “Get up Stephen and take your place outside my door on the floor, Now!” said Mrs. Joseph.
“No, Mrs. Joseph, I think it is time we both listen to what Stephen has to say. I am not leaving until he is respected enough to express himself.” I pulled Stephen to me and held him for a few minutes, helping him find his composure. Stephen was small in stature and thin for his age. His little back was heaving up and down and his heart (his specially stitched heart) was pounding so hard I thought it would pound right out of his shirt. His trembling hand wiped the tears from his face. He turned around to face his accuser. Then he began to tell the whole story. I asked Mrs. Joseph what a child was to do if someone punches him. Her response was that they were not to fight. “So should Stephen stand there and get beaten?” She said he was to come to the office or tell a teacher. “What teacher do you want him to tell, the one who was here minutes ago laughing? She refused to answer. I asked where Shymel was.
Her reply was, “He is in class.” I asked if his mother was coming and if she was taking him home. The answer was no. Now it was my turn to get excited, but I was not falling to my knees, nor was I going to be ordered around by a school principal. She had belittled Stephen and I had just watched. Memories of Helen’s tears came to mind. Perhaps, just perhaps this time Stephen was right. I was so glad I listened.
“Mrs. Joseph, I know that Stephen gets into mischief,” I continued. “I also know that he tells the truth. If you want to send him home for fighting, that is your decision. However, you are not sending him home without the same treatment for Shymel who started the fight. You are not making my son sit on the floor in the hall to wait for his mother, while the other mother was not even summoned. Mrs. Joseph, I walked here from the market place thinking there was an emergency, and I was right. The emergency is that you are being unfair to my son and I am taking him home. However, I will take the necessary steps to see that this and other incidents are handled correctly. My husband and I will be here tomorrow. As far as I am concerned, Shymel owes Stephen an apology. If you and your teachers choose to show favoritism, then my husband and I will deal with it. There is more to this incident than a fight. It is a fight for fairness for every child.”
Mrs. Joseph was speechless. As she would put it, she was not “a custom” to a parent or student talking back to her. I guess I was surprised myself. Upon reaching the outside steps of the school Stephen stopped. He took his hands and pulled my face directly even with his and said, “Mom, I am sorry and I love you. Thank you for listening and believing me.” I didn’t speak. We sat down on the steps and I just held him for a while. It was my turn to cry. This was my son, my only son. How could I allow him to be hurt?
My husband is much more forceful than I. He handled Mrs. Joseph just fine. It was a defining moment for my son. He knew I believed in him. I wish I could say he never had another problem in school, but there were a few. He graduated from Arlington High School, Eastern Nazarene College, and Salvation Army Training School. He is now a minister with a son of his own. He and I will always remember the day Mom listened.
How thankful we can be that God looks at us in fairness. And He always listens!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
You’re the One, The Only One!
You’re the One, The Only One!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Two for One
Everyone Pleave note that the 'Steve Carroll' in this story in not me but my dad let's be clear i would never have invited to girls to the same date. Well except the time...
Two for One
Major Betzann Carroll
It is said that there is someone for everyone, but this time there were two!
Two for one!
Could it be true? Steve Carroll, a tall, handsome, and very intelligent man asked me out. We were actually going to a special farewell for mutual friends. It was all I thought about for two weeks. Meet him at the switchboard in the main hall of The Salvation Army Headquarters at 4:00 PM. Details played over and over in my mind. I had to work until 4:00 P. M., but surely I could get off a few minutes early.
The day had been overwhelming: five volleyball casualties, four lost lunches, three early dismissal complete with special arrangements, two nose bleeds, and one accident. (Use your imagination!) The last child left our summer day camp at 3:48 P.M. There were exactly twelve minutes to change my clothes, run a comb through my hair and get to that switchboard. I can do it, I will do it, and I have to do it. I flew across the street, praying that my body could keep up with my legs. In front of the main door I took a deep breath and tried to walk in calmly, straight toward the switchboard. “When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but …” There stood a young woman who was quite attractive, conversing with the switchboard operator. She had a southern accent and looked about as excited as I was. I had never seen her before and I worked at the headquarters office three days a week. I asked a friend who was passing by, “Who is the woman at the switchboard?”
My friend seemed surprised that I had to ask. “That’s the visitor from Carolina who stopped to see Steve Carroll. She is meeting him here at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”.
“Are you sure? You mean Steve Carroll, Steve Carroll who works up-stairs?” “Yes, that is exactly who I mean, I just spoke with her. She is to meet Steve Carroll at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”
Now it’s 4:02 PM and I wanted to run. My day seemed mild compared to this dilemma. Then the elevator door opened and my wondering eye beheld Steve Carroll in person. I eased back trying to make myself invisible, while Miss Carolina made a mad dash for him. Was this the right switchboard, the wrong time or a bad dream? I wasn’t sure. Why would she go to a farewell for folks she didn’t know? After she finished greeting him, she placed her arm in his and said, “I am ready.” Ready for what would have been my reply, but I never spoke.
I watched as he looked around, as though he were missing an umbrella. No, not an umbrella, he was looking for me. He saw me standing against the wall, which I wished could have swallowed me up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was I ready? I had been ready for two weeks!
I just was not ready for Miss Carolina. Being the gentleman that Steve was, he introduced me to her. He said she had arrived unexpectedly and wanted to see him before she went home.
This was the only night she had free. He told her he was going to a farewell and she said that was just fine. Thus, two for one! My first date with the man of my dreams and now I was sharing it with the woman from Carolina. She clung to him like flypaper.
Miss Carolina was sweet, mushy, and very comfortable. I was the exact opposite.
Well, a little sweet. I tried to make an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go. “There is a nose bleed, no I mean a child I had to check on. My friend standing near offered to check on the child for me and urged me on. How unbelievable was this! We walked down the street to get to the subway, with none other than Steve Carroll in person; Miss Carolina to his left and I to his right. It was a long night, not to mention the ride home. When they dropped me off, Miss Carolina wanted a picture to remember the great evening. “Could you all take a picture of me and Steve?” she asked me in her southern speech. Could I take the picture? I wanted to do more than take her picture. I reminded myself that love was kind.
Two for one is great when it comes to special offers at the grocery store, but not for Steve Carroll. He was (is) a kind person, who never wanted to hurt anyone. He was gracious. I wasn’t as gracious in this situation. Disappointed, bewildered, perplexed for starters, but I was not gracious. Two for one, not for Steve Carroll! He was the man of my dreams and thirty years later I am right by his side (the right side).
I love you Steve.
Two for One
Major Betzann Carroll
It is said that there is someone for everyone, but this time there were two!
Two for one!
Could it be true? Steve Carroll, a tall, handsome, and very intelligent man asked me out. We were actually going to a special farewell for mutual friends. It was all I thought about for two weeks. Meet him at the switchboard in the main hall of The Salvation Army Headquarters at 4:00 PM. Details played over and over in my mind. I had to work until 4:00 P. M., but surely I could get off a few minutes early.
The day had been overwhelming: five volleyball casualties, four lost lunches, three early dismissal complete with special arrangements, two nose bleeds, and one accident. (Use your imagination!) The last child left our summer day camp at 3:48 P.M. There were exactly twelve minutes to change my clothes, run a comb through my hair and get to that switchboard. I can do it, I will do it, and I have to do it. I flew across the street, praying that my body could keep up with my legs. In front of the main door I took a deep breath and tried to walk in calmly, straight toward the switchboard. “When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but …” There stood a young woman who was quite attractive, conversing with the switchboard operator. She had a southern accent and looked about as excited as I was. I had never seen her before and I worked at the headquarters office three days a week. I asked a friend who was passing by, “Who is the woman at the switchboard?”
My friend seemed surprised that I had to ask. “That’s the visitor from Carolina who stopped to see Steve Carroll. She is meeting him here at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”.
“Are you sure? You mean Steve Carroll, Steve Carroll who works up-stairs?” “Yes, that is exactly who I mean, I just spoke with her. She is to meet Steve Carroll at the switchboard at 4:00 PM.”
Now it’s 4:02 PM and I wanted to run. My day seemed mild compared to this dilemma. Then the elevator door opened and my wondering eye beheld Steve Carroll in person. I eased back trying to make myself invisible, while Miss Carolina made a mad dash for him. Was this the right switchboard, the wrong time or a bad dream? I wasn’t sure. Why would she go to a farewell for folks she didn’t know? After she finished greeting him, she placed her arm in his and said, “I am ready.” Ready for what would have been my reply, but I never spoke.
I watched as he looked around, as though he were missing an umbrella. No, not an umbrella, he was looking for me. He saw me standing against the wall, which I wished could have swallowed me up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was I ready? I had been ready for two weeks!
I just was not ready for Miss Carolina. Being the gentleman that Steve was, he introduced me to her. He said she had arrived unexpectedly and wanted to see him before she went home.
This was the only night she had free. He told her he was going to a farewell and she said that was just fine. Thus, two for one! My first date with the man of my dreams and now I was sharing it with the woman from Carolina. She clung to him like flypaper.
Miss Carolina was sweet, mushy, and very comfortable. I was the exact opposite.
Well, a little sweet. I tried to make an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go. “There is a nose bleed, no I mean a child I had to check on. My friend standing near offered to check on the child for me and urged me on. How unbelievable was this! We walked down the street to get to the subway, with none other than Steve Carroll in person; Miss Carolina to his left and I to his right. It was a long night, not to mention the ride home. When they dropped me off, Miss Carolina wanted a picture to remember the great evening. “Could you all take a picture of me and Steve?” she asked me in her southern speech. Could I take the picture? I wanted to do more than take her picture. I reminded myself that love was kind.
Two for one is great when it comes to special offers at the grocery store, but not for Steve Carroll. He was (is) a kind person, who never wanted to hurt anyone. He was gracious. I wasn’t as gracious in this situation. Disappointed, bewildered, perplexed for starters, but I was not gracious. Two for one, not for Steve Carroll! He was the man of my dreams and thirty years later I am right by his side (the right side).
I love you Steve.
You’re the One, The Only One!
You’re the One, The Only One!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Major Betzann Carroll
(Responsive Reading – God listening in on a conversation of two individuals)
You know me, you know me better than I know myself,
From the day I was born to the day I die
Every hair on my head, every blink of my eye,
Through the good and the bad, Lord it’s easy to see,
That you, oh you, you know me.
(Praiseworks)
Speaker #1 That is a great song, fair tune, and an okay voice, however?
Speaker #2 However?
#1 However! I wonder if anyone actually knows who he or she is. I mean, in the scheme of things, which we are (in the scheme of things, of course), it gets so muddled. Am I who I am because of my environment, my experiences, what I have made myself or what my parents have made me? You know!
#2 Right, I understand. I am not from around your neighborhood and you sure are not from around mine. We have not had the same space, opportunities, or even meals.
#1 Obviously!
#2 One of us has had a few more, meals that is.
#1 So if we don’t quite get it, how does God?
#2 Well, God’s got an advantage, you know. He made us. And He knows everything.
#3 I agree with that!
#1 He is the creator as far as the Bible is concerned. I know what you mean. Evolution and all that! Well, the some people may think about that and have an opinion or two. But when it comes to most people, people like you and me, we want the real truth. Hey, this is flesh and blood we are talking about. And I am not sure I can even figure out why I do what I do, so God would have to be good at figuring it all out.
#3 I am perfect, I am omnipotent! I know everything…it is not hard for Me.
#2 You’re right. We are pretty complex. Women are different from men, men are different than women, family members are different, husbands and wives, kids … they are different; not to mention culture and distance…
#1 And just plain being who we are, that makes us different.
#3 There are differences!
#2 But there are likenesses too. You know mothers talk about children, and fathers talk about the cost of raising children! Then Bosses talk about employees or is it the other way around? And doesn’t everyone talk about the Red Sox!
#1 No…and politics is not universal either. Politics and Religion…two subjects not to talk about because we don’t agree.
#2 Yea, but that means there are likenesses. Seems some things are the same no matter where you go.
#3 That is because I created man in my image. That’s not too hard! Perhaps they will get to that.
#2 Do you believe then that God is the creator?
#1 Well, someone had to do the creating it didn’t just happen… It is easier for me to believe God created rather than some other theory. And I don’t see any one person smart enough.
#3 Here it comes. This is one of the hardest concepts. Man can believe I created the world, but when it comes to them. To believe that I created them, loved the and want to be a part of their lives, well…
#2 Why would such a mighty God care about the one person? Take me for instance, who has never been president, never been a famous person, never been on TV, except local TV. I have never been places or done things.
#1 But we have to be important to someone.
#2 Ah ha! My mother ones me, most of the time.
And I Once sang in the Sunday school play and they clapped.
#1 Come on, be serious.
#2 I am, who can know me, cares about me? God is too busy, too powerful, too preoccupied.
#1 If that is the case, we are on our own. We will believe in God and his creation, but flounder like a fish, please!
#3 I do know you, you are valuable to me.
#2 I think the song might be right. I choose to believe God loves me, me.
The person I am now…even if I never make a home run or get on TV.
#1 Well, you won’t be disappointed about TV then. Some things just are not meant to be. I wish I could believe. It would be nice to know that someone is in my corner.
#2 Me too. He knows me, loves me, and I can keep going.
#1 Every hair on my head though, that’s a little much.
#2 Not for some, think about it. Every worry in my heart, every tear from my eye, now that’s hard.
#3 Hard for you, not for me. I can do all things. I am interested in every aspect of your life. I know all about you and love you more than anyone else could, more than you love yourself. I created the world. I love the creatures in the world. I sent my Son to save my creatures and make them my children. I want to claim them – My Son died so that there might be life! You are all different, but special. Only one of a kind!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
I’ve Been There Before
I’ve Been There Before
Major Betzann Carroll
Perhaps you have explored the Rocky Mountains or experienced the view of the great Niagara Falls. You may have watched the sunset over the dancing waves of the Caribbean Sea or climbed the stairs that ascend the Great Wall of China. Some people have gone as far as the corner store and climbed the three or four flights of stairs to a cold cramped apartment. Perhaps you have explored local neighborhoods and experienced the thrill of family reunions and church suppers. Our travels are as varied as our dreams and visions.
However, we have all walked through doors of rejection; climbed mountains of fear, stared at sunsets of doubt and confusion. We have experienced storms of disappointment. The value of our experiences depends on the way we honestly see them. If we can see Christ in the midst of the worse situation, we will find healing and love.
Weeks in advance we start to prepare for Thanksgiving at The Cambridge Salvation Army. With several large dinners to prepare and serve, numerous Thanksgiving food baskets for families to pack and deliver, and services to conduct, we continue our regular weekly programs. One of the dinners is a sit down family style dinner for moms, dads, siblings and children from “Our Place” a homeless center for children. It is a festive event. We decorate, serve and entertain the families. The room was filled with mouthwatering aromas, volunteers excited chatter, and, of course, moms, dads, and children everywhere.
As the turkey and trimmings were being cleared from the table and the squash pie was being loaded with whipped cream, I happened to see a birthday cake on the counter. I asked the cook what the cake was for. There were so many events happening at once I was afraid that I had forgotten someone. She explained earlier in the week one of the moms called and asked if she could serve a cake to surprise her child’s father. She brought in a small cake and the cook frosted it for her. For the mom to bake a cake would be next to impossible. She would first have to find a kitchen stocked with such things as cake pans, a mixer, and an oven. Shelters were equipped with only the basics. The cook said, “She has been calling all week to make sure everything was ready.”
“I will turn out the lights and then would you bring the cake out?” she asked. She was bubbling with excitement.
“Sure, I would be pleased to bring it out,” was my reply to what I thought was a simple request. I looked down at the little round cake covered with chocolate frosting. “Happy Birthday” was written with white chocolate chips and an eight inch lighted candle was stuck in the center. The cake was placed on a foil covered cardboard. It appeared that most of the other mothers were in on the secret, because when the lights went out, they began to sing.
First, the father said nothing. His silence started to make everyone uncomfortable. His face became red. Then he rose to his feet as if he were ready to explode.
He slammed his chair against the wall. Before we had time to even respond he ran out the door. The mother burst into tears, pulling her child out of the highchair, and she too was out the door. The day care director followed them. There I stood with the little cake, as the 8” candle provided a pool of red wax for the white chocolate chips to swim in. Everyone’s face displayed his or her disappointment. At first they, as I, were trying to make sense of this situation. They felt the hurt the young mother experienced and more. It was as if they identified with her. They seemed to know the pain she was feeling. They were left wondering why the loving gesture she had attempted to provide was rejected. And then I heard the piercing words come from the front of the room.
“I have been there before!”
I felt helpless! I had been there before as well! I had stood in the place where what was meant as a kind and loving act was rejected. I looked again around the room as the lights were turned on. For a few minutes the room seemed to be in slow motion. Then gradually the chatter of the children broke the silence. The volunteers passed out the desserts. Soon there was whipped cream everywhere and the dinner continued, but without any birthday celebration. The cake found its way back on the counter in the kitchen.
Perhaps you have been there! Not the Rocky Mountains or the great Niagara Falls, but a place most uncomfortable. The place where your dreams were shattered, your confidence betrayed, your love spurned. It is in those places that Jesus asks us to draw close to him. Walking through the storms of disappointment and rejection we can find a shelter in His comfort and love. It is in the very lonely places of our life that Jesus wants to be. He promises to take us up when we are abandoned, to walk with us when we are alone. We can choose to allow Jesus to heal our wounds and be our source or we can remain broken and abandoned. We can be thankful for his presence while we mourn the hurt or loss. We can choose Christ.
Have you been there before? Look to a new beginning. Find a way to be surrounded by his love. Christ’s love allows us to say,
“I have been there…but I am not there anymore!”
Major Betzann Carroll
Perhaps you have explored the Rocky Mountains or experienced the view of the great Niagara Falls. You may have watched the sunset over the dancing waves of the Caribbean Sea or climbed the stairs that ascend the Great Wall of China. Some people have gone as far as the corner store and climbed the three or four flights of stairs to a cold cramped apartment. Perhaps you have explored local neighborhoods and experienced the thrill of family reunions and church suppers. Our travels are as varied as our dreams and visions.
However, we have all walked through doors of rejection; climbed mountains of fear, stared at sunsets of doubt and confusion. We have experienced storms of disappointment. The value of our experiences depends on the way we honestly see them. If we can see Christ in the midst of the worse situation, we will find healing and love.
Weeks in advance we start to prepare for Thanksgiving at The Cambridge Salvation Army. With several large dinners to prepare and serve, numerous Thanksgiving food baskets for families to pack and deliver, and services to conduct, we continue our regular weekly programs. One of the dinners is a sit down family style dinner for moms, dads, siblings and children from “Our Place” a homeless center for children. It is a festive event. We decorate, serve and entertain the families. The room was filled with mouthwatering aromas, volunteers excited chatter, and, of course, moms, dads, and children everywhere.
As the turkey and trimmings were being cleared from the table and the squash pie was being loaded with whipped cream, I happened to see a birthday cake on the counter. I asked the cook what the cake was for. There were so many events happening at once I was afraid that I had forgotten someone. She explained earlier in the week one of the moms called and asked if she could serve a cake to surprise her child’s father. She brought in a small cake and the cook frosted it for her. For the mom to bake a cake would be next to impossible. She would first have to find a kitchen stocked with such things as cake pans, a mixer, and an oven. Shelters were equipped with only the basics. The cook said, “She has been calling all week to make sure everything was ready.”
“I will turn out the lights and then would you bring the cake out?” she asked. She was bubbling with excitement.
“Sure, I would be pleased to bring it out,” was my reply to what I thought was a simple request. I looked down at the little round cake covered with chocolate frosting. “Happy Birthday” was written with white chocolate chips and an eight inch lighted candle was stuck in the center. The cake was placed on a foil covered cardboard. It appeared that most of the other mothers were in on the secret, because when the lights went out, they began to sing.
First, the father said nothing. His silence started to make everyone uncomfortable. His face became red. Then he rose to his feet as if he were ready to explode.
He slammed his chair against the wall. Before we had time to even respond he ran out the door. The mother burst into tears, pulling her child out of the highchair, and she too was out the door. The day care director followed them. There I stood with the little cake, as the 8” candle provided a pool of red wax for the white chocolate chips to swim in. Everyone’s face displayed his or her disappointment. At first they, as I, were trying to make sense of this situation. They felt the hurt the young mother experienced and more. It was as if they identified with her. They seemed to know the pain she was feeling. They were left wondering why the loving gesture she had attempted to provide was rejected. And then I heard the piercing words come from the front of the room.
“I have been there before!”
I felt helpless! I had been there before as well! I had stood in the place where what was meant as a kind and loving act was rejected. I looked again around the room as the lights were turned on. For a few minutes the room seemed to be in slow motion. Then gradually the chatter of the children broke the silence. The volunteers passed out the desserts. Soon there was whipped cream everywhere and the dinner continued, but without any birthday celebration. The cake found its way back on the counter in the kitchen.
Perhaps you have been there! Not the Rocky Mountains or the great Niagara Falls, but a place most uncomfortable. The place where your dreams were shattered, your confidence betrayed, your love spurned. It is in those places that Jesus asks us to draw close to him. Walking through the storms of disappointment and rejection we can find a shelter in His comfort and love. It is in the very lonely places of our life that Jesus wants to be. He promises to take us up when we are abandoned, to walk with us when we are alone. We can choose to allow Jesus to heal our wounds and be our source or we can remain broken and abandoned. We can be thankful for his presence while we mourn the hurt or loss. We can choose Christ.
Have you been there before? Look to a new beginning. Find a way to be surrounded by his love. Christ’s love allows us to say,
“I have been there…but I am not there anymore!”
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Call to Worship
I have been avoiding my mom's sketches skits and other dramatic presentations. I realized tonight that that is a mistake. I had been skipping them because while most of my mom's material fit the traditional format of most blogs these sketchs don't. But as i read this over i thought this isn't about 'you' the reader. It my tribute to my mom. and these sketchs are a significant part of her writing ministry.
Growing up i would often be handed on of these scrips fresh of the press on a thursday ocasionally even later. In some appointments it would be me and mom some times it would just be me. One Easter she came to me with a monologue from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene I was around 13 and that monologue became the sermon that easter morning mom got up after and gave the alter call and people came. So feel free to read the scripts use them in your services send me an update on how God worked through them. ~Steve JR~
Call to Worship
Major Betzann
(A Responsive Conversation - taking place between two friends in church)
Reader #1 Hey, I am not sure what they mean by “call to worship.” I know the leader in the front is asking us to be quiet.
Reader #2 Yes, we can’t talk anymore. We have to listen now and ask questions later!
#1 But, I don’t know what he means by “call to worship.” You invited me to come, so can you tell me? What are they calling us to do now?
#2 Be quiet, that’s what.
#1 No, I am serious. Why do they want us to listen?
#2 They say that if you listen, I mean zero in on what is being said, then you are able to get the point of the service now and later.
#1 What is the point?
#2 The point is…the point is…what you need to listen to!
#1 Okay, if now is right now, then when is the later?
#2 That’s why they want you to listen, to get the point. Get the point now and later. I guess the point is when you listen to God…or somehow you listen to the people speaking up in front and you hear God, you get the idea of what the service is about. You get a sort of preview. It helps now. And later is, this afternoon guess.
#1 Preview! A preview like at the movies. A preview, okay it is like an introduction.
#2 Right, I guess?
#1 So, why call us? We are here. Why say, “Call to Worship”?
#2 Because some folks, like you, need help to get zeroed in. So you are called to worship like you are called to dinner. You eat when you are called to dinner, so you worship when you are called to worship. Get it?
#1 How do I get zeroed in? I am hearing the call. Now what?
#2 Let God have your mind. Let Him be your focus. Don’t let anything around you be distracting. And certainly don’t let anyone around you be distracting. Just listen to Him.
#1 I am listening. I am quiet. And, I am not quiet too often!
#2 You’re telling me!
#1 God, are you there? God, do you hear me? Do you actually want to talk to me, help me, and teach me? I know, as I am quiet, my “rushy” spirit, “got-to-go” attitude is settling down. I am here for a while and I am trying to listen.
#2 What are you doing now?
#1 Quiet, I am listening. I am trying to listen.
#2 Listening to what?
#1 I am trying to listen to God. Why don’t you listen and focus in? God will talk to you! He will be there for you.
#2 So, you’re listening?
#1 God is good and His mercies endure forever. He is mighty! Yes, listening!
#2 Wow! I better listen.
Together Come, let us worship and bow down.
Let us give praise to God our maker.
For He is our God
For He is our God!
Growing up i would often be handed on of these scrips fresh of the press on a thursday ocasionally even later. In some appointments it would be me and mom some times it would just be me. One Easter she came to me with a monologue from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene I was around 13 and that monologue became the sermon that easter morning mom got up after and gave the alter call and people came. So feel free to read the scripts use them in your services send me an update on how God worked through them. ~Steve JR~
Call to Worship
Major Betzann
(A Responsive Conversation - taking place between two friends in church)
Reader #1 Hey, I am not sure what they mean by “call to worship.” I know the leader in the front is asking us to be quiet.
Reader #2 Yes, we can’t talk anymore. We have to listen now and ask questions later!
#1 But, I don’t know what he means by “call to worship.” You invited me to come, so can you tell me? What are they calling us to do now?
#2 Be quiet, that’s what.
#1 No, I am serious. Why do they want us to listen?
#2 They say that if you listen, I mean zero in on what is being said, then you are able to get the point of the service now and later.
#1 What is the point?
#2 The point is…the point is…what you need to listen to!
#1 Okay, if now is right now, then when is the later?
#2 That’s why they want you to listen, to get the point. Get the point now and later. I guess the point is when you listen to God…or somehow you listen to the people speaking up in front and you hear God, you get the idea of what the service is about. You get a sort of preview. It helps now. And later is, this afternoon guess.
#1 Preview! A preview like at the movies. A preview, okay it is like an introduction.
#2 Right, I guess?
#1 So, why call us? We are here. Why say, “Call to Worship”?
#2 Because some folks, like you, need help to get zeroed in. So you are called to worship like you are called to dinner. You eat when you are called to dinner, so you worship when you are called to worship. Get it?
#1 How do I get zeroed in? I am hearing the call. Now what?
#2 Let God have your mind. Let Him be your focus. Don’t let anything around you be distracting. And certainly don’t let anyone around you be distracting. Just listen to Him.
#1 I am listening. I am quiet. And, I am not quiet too often!
#2 You’re telling me!
#1 God, are you there? God, do you hear me? Do you actually want to talk to me, help me, and teach me? I know, as I am quiet, my “rushy” spirit, “got-to-go” attitude is settling down. I am here for a while and I am trying to listen.
#2 What are you doing now?
#1 Quiet, I am listening. I am trying to listen.
#2 Listening to what?
#1 I am trying to listen to God. Why don’t you listen and focus in? God will talk to you! He will be there for you.
#2 So, you’re listening?
#1 God is good and His mercies endure forever. He is mighty! Yes, listening!
#2 Wow! I better listen.
Together Come, let us worship and bow down.
Let us give praise to God our maker.
For He is our God
For He is our God!
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