Well, he sure had me beat to pieces!
© Celine Sparks, 2023
They always told us the most important word in VBS was Bible. We’ve been calling it by the abbreviation so long that I’m not sure what the other letters even stand for, but I’m pretty sure the S is for straitjacket. Kids mishear most of it, especially the “sit down and be quiet” segment, so I’ve heard Vacation Bible School called by a lot of initials other than VBS, including BBS, and just ABCD. And right now, I’m thinking it feels a whole lot like PTSD.
On normal Sundays and Wednesdays, the biggest excitement for most is walking in late, but fast, and hoping there are still back-row seats. But at VBS, there is far less scrambling for the back pew, and a little more knock-down drag-outs over the front one. If there’s no room there, they just make a new front row between the pew and the communion table. You’d think Elton John was about to walk out of the baptistry door.
Well, spoiler. He’s not. But what does is almost as flamboyant. We’ve had construction workers burst out, superheroes, train engineers, and the Chick-fil-A cow. A VBS around here can range in content from the overdone to the obscure. It seems we’ve been on the ark more days than Noah spent there. But we’ve also been to Shechem and to the Shunammite woman’s house. We’ve tried so hard to think of a unique story all the smarty Bible kids haven’t heard before that one year, we found ourselves acting out “The leech has two daughters.” Look it up.
This year at VBS, I took on a new job. It’s not enough that I have, in the past, converted the evangelism room into a movie theater, made the office a squash stand, dressed up like a pastry chef, and stayed up all night sewing tunics for the city of Corinth. In a moment of weakness and insanity this year, I answered the call for a craft lady. “I think I could do that,” I said, and then immediately popped my hand over my mouth. What was I thinking? I failed at making a paper bag puppet in the fourth grade. I miss when I cut out eye holes in a paper plate every time. I accidentally cut into the bedsheets when I was wrapping a Christmas present.
What I meant to say instead of “I think I could do that,” was “I don’t think there’s a person alive less suited for this than me.” But I survived. In my own offbeat land of ideas, we made it. Well, we sort of made something that looks similar to it. So let’s break it down (because breaking down is way more successful than constructing):
Night one: Scratch art. It’s not what it sounds like. If it were just scratching, we’d probably be pros in this part of Alabama. I ordered a hundred black frogs from We-Sell-Worthless-Things Traders, Inc. They came with the sticks designed to poke friends’ eyes out, but also after that, scratch the surface of the frog to reveal beautiful rainbow colors which I’m sure all frogs have underneath their rubber-wart exterior. There were some beautiful final products that night, and then there are some who probably will never make it to the finals of Miss Frog Teen Pageant. Let me just say that some of these kids were new to this, and some of them were so experienced that I’m thinking they may have been on a few trips across the state line. This wasn’t the first time they scratched off a piece of cardstock to see what was underneath.
Night two: Sermon notebooks. As most sermon note-takers know, these books would not be complete without sticky foam dinosaurs on the front, wearing rain jackets and carrying umbrellas. I may not have learned much about the Priscilla/Aquila application to this craft, but I learned three things:
1) I wish I had invested in sheets of foam fifteen years ago. They have taken over the craft industry like kudzu in Jemison, Alabama.
2) Whoever decided to include a sheet in the packet of tiny eyeballs and scales to be punched out by hand should be – yeah, punched out by hand followed by serving a lengthy prison sentence.
3) If I never see another composition notebook in this lifetime, I will be just fine.
Night three: Superhero masks. Oh, these were so cute. All the sweet children just kept embellishing them with tiny lightning bolts and stars (also sold by the foam villains). When they completed the masterpieces, they immediately put them on with pride, and ran in true Superman form, arm extended in front, to the game room. Which explains why there are millions of tiny foam pieces on the floor originally taped off for “Mother, may I?”
“No, you may NOT!”
Note to self: Let the glue dry before letting the kids wear the masks.
Second note to self: Apply tape over mouth before attending next VBS planning meeting. When they need a craft person, point to the person directly in front of you because she cannot see you to know who to hold a lifetime grudge against.
Night four: Paddle balls. We made those things where the bouncy ball is attached by a stretchy string to the paddle. These also go by the name Out of Control Demolition Going Any Direction Without Warning Before Breaking. They had the entire text of John 3:16 on the front, but should have had Acts 19:32 instead:
“Now some cried out one thing, some another, for the assembly was in confusion, and most of them did not know why they had come together.”
Yep. That’s a pretty good summary.
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