Per Your Suggestion #5: "Zacchaeus Reloaded"

Today's blog post/story was suggested by my friend David Edwards. His writing prompt was simply "Whatever happened to Zacchaeus?" Today being Easter Sunday, I decided to incorporate Zacchaeus' story into the last week of Christ's life, as well as his eventual death, burial, and resurrection. The story's a little rough around the edges, I know, and likely needs some rewriting. But I hope you'll enjoy this early version of it at least. Happy Easter, everybody!




March 30th, A.D. 33

Wow, what a day! I'm still trying to process everything that's happened, so forgive me if my words come out a bit jumbled. It all started around mid-morning. I had just opened for business, but customers were few and far between.

Nobody wants to have to pay taxes, so I'm not the most popular guy. Up till today, I've not really cared much for my clients, either. Sure, I'd take their money -- and then some -- but I couldn't care less about them personally. You wouldn't believe how many sob stories I hear in a typical day -- "I can't afford to pay my taxes because I can't find any work." "I have so many kids, they have to eat -- I must choose between starving my children and paying my bills." "I refuse to pay taxes to a government that cares nothing about me." Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! After a while, it all sounds the same. Which is why I've never felt that guilty about overcharging those poor saps. I've got the power to do it, and I've always figured why not. Who's going to stop me? Besides, I've got a wife and kids of my own, and they've got to eat too, you know.

Anyway, I'm getting off-topic. So I had just opened the tax office, and all of a sudden, I hear a hubbub of activity outside. I peek out the front door, and the street is literally wall-to-wall packed with people. I try to see what's going on, what all the fuss is about, but it seems like everyone who passes by me is at least a head taller than I am, and I can't see a thing.

I've always preferred to think of myself as more grounded than everyone else, but the truth is I'm just plain short. My father, an average-height man himself, always told me when I was growing up that I was just one growth spurt away from catching up to all my friends. I kept waiting, but it never happened. By the time I'd reached twenty-five years of age, I knew it never would happen. Fortunately, I found a nice woman who didn't mind my being short, and we fell in love -- a good thing, too, because we were betrothed to be married by our parents anyway, no matter how we felt -- and we soon started our lives together.

Anyway, back to our story. I told you I might ramble. So, I was standing there at the front door to my office, unable to see a thing. I tried to glean any snippets of information from the passersby, but all I could make out was a name: Jesus. I didn't know any Jesus, personally, but I had heard talk of a popular teacher who was headed through Jericho. Seemed to have quite a following. Must be this Jesus fellow everyone was talking about. I thought I'd better check him out, to see if he was worth listening to.

I closed the door to my office, and crawled out my back window. The alleyway behind the office led to the edge of town, where there were more trees than structures. Maybe if I could climb a tree -- something I always loved to do when I was a boy -- and get a better vantage point so maybe I could see and hear what was going on. A sizable sycamore tree just at the edge of the woods looked like the perfect spot and I quickly scaled the tree -- just like old times! -- and waited for the crowd to approach. I didn't have long to wait.

As they approached my position, the man at the center of the crowd -- who I could only assume was this Jesus fellow -- stopped at the opposite side of the road where Old Man Marcus, the blind beggar, sat calling out for help (like he always does). I assumed this Jesus was going to drop a coin or two in Old Man Marcus's lap, a kind gesture from a charismatic teacher. Plus, how great would that make him look to his many followers? They'd lap that stuff up like it was gravy!

But I was shocked and amazed by what this Jesus actually did. He put his hand on the old man's forehead, bowed his head, and appeared to be praying. Then he leaned down and spoke to Marcus quietly and the old man looked up at him, smiling. To everyone's astonishment, Old Man Marcus stood up and started shouting, "I can see! I can see! My eyes! I can see!" If I didn't know the old man personally as a life-long resident of Jericho, I'd have sworn he'd been planted there and the whole thing was a big act. But it wasn't! Old Man Marcus could see! The crowd only got louder in their adulation of the man at that point. I could definitely see the appeal. He was either the real deal, or he was a very good actor. Either way, I could appreciate what he was doing.

A minute later, Jesus and his entourage were passing just below me. I got a good look at him now. He wasn't a particularly handsome fellow, but he wasn't too ugly, either. He was just your average guy, by the looks of him. But there was something about him that stood out -- something you can't easily put in words. His followers felt it, and I have to admit -- I felt it too. I was still staring curiously when Jesus surprised me by glancing up at my tree and looking me square in the eye!

"Hello, Zacchaeus," Jesus said matter-of-factly.

"How do you know my name?" I was floored.

"Never mind that," he continued. "Why don't you come down from that tree now?"

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" For some reason, I felt guilty, even though I don't think his comment was intended to shame me in any way.

"Of course you weren't, Zacchaeus. You simply wanted to get a better look. Come down from the tree now. We're going to your house for supper."

"My house?" This guy was crazy! First of all, I didn't know him from Adam. Second of all, if he was such a great person like all these folks thought he was, he wouldn't want to associate with the likes of me (a dreaded tax collector) in any way, much less share a meal with me and my family. Thirdly, my wife will kill me if I bring home some strange man and his close friends for a meal with out warning her in advance. But all my objections seemed not to matter in that moment.

"Certainly. Now come on down from that tree." Jesus spoke with quiet authority, not scolding, but persistent nonetheless. I could only obey his wishes and follow him. What was that all about?

I could tell that some of the people outside of Jesus' close circle of friends were also in disbelief at this strange remark. I could hear the whispers. "What is Jesus thinking, taking a meal with an old sinner like Zacchaeus?" "Serves him right! That fool Zacchaeus is finally going to get what's coming to him!" Who was I to argue with that? As strangely exciting as the thought of entertaining this stranger was, I was also exceedingly nervous and unsure what to expect from him. I climbed down from the tree, in wonder.

Two hours later, as we -- me, my family, Jesus, and his disciples -- were finishing our meal, I realized what it was about this man that made him so different. He was completely unselfish, completely unconcerned with who I was or what I did for a living. He cared about me -- Zacchaeus -- and he knew I needed what he had to offer. What I needed, what he provided was forgiveness. Without judging me, without telling me the wrongs I'd done (though he undoubtedly knew, and I can't tell you why I think that, I just do) -- he forgave me. He said, "Your sins are forgiven."

Now I'm not stupid. I know no man has the power to forgive sin. Only God has that power. But as I looked at this man, and listened to the words he spoke, and was fully convinced that what he had said was true, I knew. This was no ordinary man. This was God in the flesh. This was my Messiah, the one I -- and all of our people -- had been waiting for, for so long. And I believed.

"Jesus," I said, as he finished his last bite of bread. "I am a very rich man, as you may well see from my home and my belongings. But I have not gained this wealth through honest means. I have cheated and defrauded others to fill my own pockets. But no more! I will repay all that I owe four times over. I will give half of my belongings and wealth to the poor. I will make right what I have made so very, very wrong."

Jesus didn't say a word in response. He just smiled, put a hand on my shoulder, and rose. His disciples followed suit, and gathered their things and headed toward the door.

Just before he left, Jesus turned to me and my family and spoke these words: "Today salvation has come to this house. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost. You were lost, Zacchaeus, but now you are found in me."

"Thank you." I couldn't think of anything more profound to say. But I don't think anything more was necessary. I was grateful. For his forgiveness, for his love, for his presence in my life, unexpected though it was. I know that my life is forever changed. The Messiah has come!


April 6th, A.D. 33

I still can't believe this is happening. It all happened so fast. Too fast! This is not the way this story was supposed to end. I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. I can't help it.

They've killed him. They've killed my Jesus! A mockery of a trial, a plea to Pilate, and just like that, Jesus is on a cross, dying for crimes he didn't commit, and too soon it's over. He's dead!

But this doesn't make sense. He was the Messiah! God in human form! He can't be dead! Who can kill God?

Unless...unless I was fooled too. Unless he was just a man like Caiaphas and his lot were saying. A man who spoke blasphemy, claiming to be God's Son. Maybe that makes more sense than this. I don't know. Nothing makes sense anymore. All is lost.


April 8th, A.D. 33

This is unbelievable! I've spent the last three days moping around because Jesus was killed, and for good reason. My Messiah was murdered in cold blood, and for what? For me, that's what! Or who, rather. But now!

But now, the news has come from his disciples. Jesus is not dead -- not anymore at least -- he is alive! He's risen from the dead! I don't even know how that's possible, but apparently it's more than just rumors. Many have seen him, not just the disciples, but hundreds of others too.

I have to wrap this up quickly, because my wife is packing our things right now, and we're heading to Jerusalem to see him for ourselves. I'm ashamed that I ever doubted him, because now I know the truth. He is the Messiah! Who else could raise themselves from the dead but God? Jesus IS alive!

A Touch Of Primer, A Ton Of Boxes, And A Taste Of Mexico

We're getting our house back into better shape, one step at a time. Fortunately, we don't have to do most of the work ourselves. I say fortunately, not because we're lazy, but because we're none too handy when it comes to do-it-yourself projects. So we found a guy who can do practically anything we need him to do, and he's been doing it all week -- exceptionally well, I might add.

First, he fixed a couple of places in our ceiling where we had some water damage from a previous roof leak. Looks good as new now, almost as though we'd never had a problem. Then he stripped the hideous wallpaper from our bathrooms and shower area, and primed them to be painted next week. He then installed new bi-fold doors for two of our bathroom closets that had no doors at all. Next week, he's painting the bathrooms upstairs, stripping the kitchen and downstairs bathroom of their hideous wallpapers and painting both, and putting in new laminate floors for the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. As for us, we're painting the downstairs, up the stairwell, and the upstairs hallway.

Today, while he was doing his thing on the second floor, we were up on the third floor with one major, overwhelming task as our focus: decluttering, decluttering, decluttering!!! In preparation for that, I went to two different ABC stores and two strip malls this morning, collecting empty boxes to pack our keepable junk and haul it off to the storage unit. Trash bags would handle all the stuff that didn't make the cut for the keep pile. Several hours later, we'd filled up most of the boxes I brought home, and now you can actually see more floor than junk. We're probably two-thirds of the way to being done -- and that was the worst area in the house for accumulated stuff!

It was a long day, but a very productive one. Maybe that's because it started off with a bang. Our super-handy contractor/repair guy told us yesterday that his wife makes and sells authentic Mexican tamales to a store near their house. Having made four separate missions trips to Mexico ourselves, and loving every minute of it (especially the food!), we practically begged him to bring us some tamales the next time she made a batch (no matter what they cost!). As it turns out, that next batch was this morning. He brought us six (still hot!) tamales -- two with chicken, two with chicken and red sauce, and two with peppers, onions, and cheese! They were UH-MAZING! It was just like being back in Mexico again. It made us miss Mexico so much! We tried to pay him for them, but he refused to accept any payment. He just said that if we liked them, maybe we'd order them again sometime. We told him that it was not a matter of "if" we'd order more, but when. Tamale party, anyone? She also makes something called a torta loca, which is like two different meats, beans, cheese, and what not all baked into one huge pie -- think a Mexican version of a pot pie, or something like it. Yeah, we'd eat that, too!

So now that I've made you hungry, I'll call it a night. Oh yeah, and to anyone out there who wants to buy our house, it'll be on the market at the end of the month. Good as new!

Words I Wish I Wrote: 21 Quotes About Easter

I've often thought that Good Friday is a misnomer for the "holiday" we observe this time every year. Because what happened to Christ on the cross of Calvary was anything but good. It was horrific, it was gory, it was excruciating, and ultimately it was fatal. But then came Sunday! I think we should call Easter "Good Sunday", what do you think?

Christ's death on the cross wasn't the end of the story. His resurrection from the dead three days later was, however, just the beginning. Everything changed that day, and all for the better.

He is risen!

(And you say: "He is risen indeed!")

I hope you'll enjoy these quotes by people much smarter than myself in regards to the truth about why we celebrate Easter...Feel free to use any of them for your Tweets or Facebook statuses this weekend. I'm probably going to do so myself.



1)  "The great gift of Easter is hope – Christian hope which makes us have that confidence in God, in His ultimate triumph, and in His goodness and love, which nothing can shake."  ~  Basil Hume

2)  "To a Christian, Easter Sunday means everything, when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ."  ~  Bernhard Langer

3)  "I believe that His [Christ's] death and resurrection transformed humanity's relationship with God."  ~  Timothy Radcliffe

4)  "If one does away with the fact of the Resurrection, one also does away with the Cross, for both stand and fall together, and one would then have to find a new center for the whole message of the Gospel."  ~  Hans Urs von Balthasar

5)  "Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime."  ~  Martin Luther

6)  "Questioning the Resurrection undermines the very heart of Christian belief."  ~  Dan Brown

7)  "The foundation of our religion is a basis of fact – the fact of the birth, ministry, miracles, death, resurrection by the Evangelists as having actually occurred, within their own personal knowledge."  ~  Simon Greenleaf

8)  "Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there."  ~  Clarence W. Hall

9)  "Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer; Death is strong, but Life is stronger; Stronger than the dark, the light; Stronger than the wrong, the right..."  ~  Phillips Brooks

10)  "We live and die; Christ died and lived!"  ~  John Stott

11)  "Once more to new creation Awake, and death gainsay, For death is swallowed up of life, And Christ is risen today!"  ~  George Newell Lovejoy

12)  "There is not room for Death, Nor atom that His might could render void; Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed."  ~  Emily Bronte

13)  "Live in the awareness that Christ lives and that He lives in His people."  ~  Julien B. Weil

14)  "The tomb of Christ is famous because of what it DOES NOT CONTAIN."  ~  Sam Miller

15)  "The point is not that the resurrection is the price paid for our sins. The point is that the resurrection proves the death of Jesus is an all-sufficient price. If Jesus did not rise from the dead, then His death was a failure, God did not vindicate His sin-bearing achievement, and we are still in our sins."  ~  John Piper

16)  "Christianity begins where religion ends...with the resurrection."  ~  Herbert Booth Smith

17)  "Men point to the sad incidents of human life on earth, and they ask, 'Where is the love of God?' God points to that Cross as the unreserved manifestation of love so inconceivably infinite as to answer every challenge and silence all doubt forever. And that Cross is not merely the public proof of what God has accomplished; it is the earnest of all that He has promised."  ~  Sir Robert Anderson

18)  "The resurrection proclamation could not have maintained in Jerusalem for a single day, for a single hour, if the emptiness of the tomb had not been established as a fact."  ~  Paul Althus

19)  "The stone was rolled away from the door, not to permit Christ to come out, but to enable the disciples to go in."  ~  Peter Marshall

20)  "For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures...And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins! Then also those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable."  ~  Apostle Paul – I Corinthians 15: 3 - 4, 17 - 19  (NKJV)

And last but definitely not least...

21)  "It's Friday...but Sunday's coming!"  ~  A black minister from Mount Carmel Baptist Church in Philadelphia, PA  (Tony Campolo is responsible for making his own minister's sermon the well-known piece that it is today, though the minister's actual name [to my knowledge, at least] has never been publicized.)

A text version of this amazing sermon does not do it justice. You just have to watch (and listen to) the video!

Poems For Your Perusal: Still More Alpha Poetry

No introduction required. You know the drill by this point. I wrote these a few days ago, and was saving them for a busy day when I didn't think I'd otherwise be able to get a blog post in. That would be today. Enjoy!

Almost I call attention to myself.

The redness in my face and ears

Gives me away. I am nervous

But no one else can know.

They must believe I am confident

In their abilities, in serendipity

In happily ever afters.

If they didn't believe, then

My worry would be contagious.

Basking in the glow

Of a job well done

We examine our motives

And find them to be pure.

Humbly bowing before

An appreciative crowd

We fend off accolades

And give credit

Where credit's due.

Common knowledge

That I am blessed

To know people like these

Who give of themselves

Who sacrifice free time

To do something great

That helps others

Enriches their own lives

And makes a difference.

Doing what's right

Is never easy

And rarely popular.

But it's one of the

Non-negotiables.

Every time I hear those words

I will be reminded

Of you and how it felt

To finally know the truth.

You felt it too.

Flash forward ten years

Am I still here? Are you?

Are we still moving

In the same direction?

Are we still looking

Toward the same future?

Or are we there already?

Two can only hope.

Good thing you checked!

I had fallen asleep

And wasn't ready

To face the world

Or even a handful

Of eager faces.

I was dreaming

About escaping.

Hit the brakes

Unlock the doors

And let me out.

I can't handle

All the potholes.

At least not

On an empty stomach.

I knew it all along.

This was a joke.

But I'm not laughing.

Not anymore at least.

Just the way you planned

You saw the outcome

Long before it happened.

How do you do that?

Kindhearted stranger

You have no boundaries

When it comes to helping.

I wish I was like that too.

Listen closely

You'll hear it if you want to.

The sound of a life

Lived without regrets.

Mine to keep

I'll never let you go

Unless you want me to.

And even then

I'll fight for you

Until breath fails me.

Not what I'm used to

But not altogether

Unpleasant. I was

Hoping for something

Familiar. But change

Can be a good thing.

On the fence

About returning.

Not sure I can

Excel. But then

What's so wrong

With being average?

Answer: Nothing.

Passing for the real thing

Because it looks so lifelike.

You have to know, that's

Really creepy. Have your own

Or someone else's. Collecting

Lives that never lived

Is somehow less than human.

Quite the contrary

You were my first choice.

I just didn't know it

Until I'd taken one too many

First steps backward.

Right up your alley

And just around the bend.

Of all the places in the world

Who'd have guessed that

Danger lurked so close.

Sitting ducks, treading water

Getting nowhere rather fast

Do they know, or don't they bother

Watching life whizzing past.

Tumbling down like a ton of bricks

Suspended from a high place

Your carefully constructed world

Is quickly left in shambles.

Now you know how it feels, too.

Um, not really!

What makes you

Think that?

Did I say something

To steer you wrong?

Viewfinder shows you smiling, waving.

From here, you seem so far away.

Just know, you're always welcome back.

What difference does it make?

You're just going to do

Whatever you want

Whenever you want

However you want.

It doesn't matter

What I think

Or what I say

You're going to do

What you're going to do

No matter what.

So why do I still care so much?

X's and O's

It all boils down to strategy

Who are you going to cover

And who's covering you?

If you think you can just

Go out there and run roughshod

You have another think coming.

They'll clobber you first

And ask questions later.

Your first question was a good one

But you answered it yourself

With your second inquiry.

Listen to the words you just said

Therein lies the answer.

You always knew the truth

But you couldn't admit it to yourself.

Zap the pesky sucker

Before it sips your blood!

Swat the buzzing beastie

And nip it in the bud!

Life is full of problems

A bug should not be one.

No use feeling guilty

What's done is done.

Per Your Suggestion #4: "The Mannequin Memoirs"

Today's blog post, like two previous ones in this series, was suggested by my friend Bryce Kime. The writing prompt was simply "Mannequin Memoirs." I had no idea where it would go when I started it, and I was actually quite surprised at where it ended up. This is bizarro fiction at its most...well, bizarre. It's even weird for me, and that's saying something. I hope you enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it (as twisted as that is to admit). Ready! Set! Go!...

"THE MANNEQUIN MEMOIRS"

The first time I saw Quin, my heart – much like the rest of me – stood still. She was tall and leggy, even for a mannequin, with sky-blue painted-on eyes you could get lost in. Her blond wig fell in ringlets just past her shoulders, and she'd been dressed in a sharp-looking royal blue blouse with khaki slacks and pointed-toe flats. Her delicately crafted, molded plastic hands bore painted-pink nails, the very essence of femininity. Needless to say, it was love at first sight – for me at least.

Though she was positioned only a few feet away from me – facing me, in fact – at the entrance to Macy's – we could not properly introduce ourselves just yet. I wondered if she was staring at me, or if that was just the way her head had been angled. It was difficult to tell in her current state, but I would find out shortly. The mall was closing soon, and when the workers left we would all be able  to animate ourselves, as we did every night.

At that moment, Judith, the night manager, made her way to the front of the store, and began tugging at the gate which secured the interior mall entrance. 

"This stupid thing sticks every time!" Judith complained, and muttered an unsavory oath. I smiled inwardly. Judith was a good person, but she was too grumpy for my tastes. And too human.

As she passed by me again, Judith stopped and stared curiously, apparently seeing a smudge of something on my face. She licked her thumb and rubbed at a spot near my mouth. Satisfied that the stain was gone, she continued on her way back to the center of the store.

I was hoping no last-minute shoppers would linger tonight, because I was literally itching to make my move on the lovely new mannequin who'd captured my lifeless heart. Twenty-five agonizing minutes later, the lights dimmed and the employees' door was shut and locked, and I was finally free.

I stepped down from my pedestal, stretched my arms and legs wildly to loosen up my joints, and sauntered over to the other side of the aisle where she stood. She hadn't yet moved.

"So, what's your name, beautiful?" I said, in the most charming of tones.

She craned her neck toward me and raised a painted eyebrow. "Does that line usually work for you?"

"What line? I just want to know what to call you in my dreams, baby!" I said, smirking smugly at my slyness.

"The only time you'll ever call me is in  your dreams!" she sneered. "The name's Quin. Who are you, and why are you bothering me?"

"I'm Manny. And I'm not bothering you. I'm making your dreams come true!"

Quin descended from her pedestal, looked at me skeptically, rolled her eyes, and turned her back on me. This wasn't going well. Perhaps I was coming on a bit strong.

"I'm sorry if I was rude," I offered. "I'm no good at meeting new people. Can we try this again?"

"You can," Quin replied. "I can't promise you the result will be any different, though."

"Okay," I said, frowning. This was one tough cookie! "Hi, my name is Manny. It's nice to meet you. And you are?"

"I already told you, I'm Quin," she hissed, and grudgingly turned to face me, plastering on an even faker smile than the one already painted on her face.

"So where are you from, Quin? That's a lovely name, by the way." I beamed at her, very little fakery required, smitten as I was.

"HQ. And thanks," she said, curtly.

"HQ? Is that near Albuquerque?" I asked, thinking the letters were shorthand for some unpronounceable Native American town out West somewhere.

"No, dummy! HQ as in Headquarters. You know, New York City?" Quin stared blankly, almost as though it were daytime again.

"Oh, yes, of course," I said, and almost let her epithet go unchecked. "You don't have to be cruel, you know. I'm just making conversation."

"Who's being cruel?" Quin retorted. "You are a dummy, aren't you? So am I, for that matter."

"I understand that," I answered. "But I'm kind of sensitive about that word. I prefer 'mannequin' – don't you?"

"I prefer to be left alone," she said. "But you aren't going to do that, are you, Manny?"

"I will, if you want me to," I murmured. I tried a different tack. "I'm from Cleveland, and thank you for asking."

"I didn't, but okay." Quin rolled her eyes in my direction again, and I sighed.

I hadn't bombed like this since they brought in that transvestite mannequin last winter – and even then, I didn't bomb so much as make a complete fool of myself. How was I supposed to know that she was a he?

"Yeah, Cleveland is where they make most of us these days. They got a big factory in the suburbs, somewhere near Akron, I think." I was losing Quin's interest more with every word I spoke, if that were even possible. "So, uh, you really are quite beautiful, Quin."

"I don't know," she replied, "I think they could've made me a little thinner. Look at these hips they saddled me with!"

"Oh, I am!" I answered too quickly. "I mean...I see 'em. They're quite...I mean, I don't see any problems with them. Not at all."

"You wouldn't. You're a man," Quin shot back. "Lard City is what they are! Is there a box cutter around here somewhere?" She craned her neck to and fro, and started heading toward the stockroom.

"What do you need a box cutter for?" Puzzled, I followed her, but not too closely. Quin's hands may have looked delicate, but I was sure they packed quite a punch.

"I've got to do something about these hips," she complained. "I look like Jennifer-Flippin'-Lopez!"

I watched her for a moment as she walked ahead of me. "Yeah, you kinda do." I giggled mischievously. Probably shouldn't have done that.

Quin stopped in her tracks, and turned to face me again. The look in her eyes was no longer sexy; slightly frightening, but definitely not sexy. I waited for her to speak. She didn't; but her point was made.

"Cutting yourself is not the answer," I remarked, helpfully.

"Then what is, Manny?" Quin cocked her head sideways, boring into me with those bright blue eyes.

"Accepting yourself. There's nothing wrong with you, Quin. Matter of fact, you're hot!" She reared back a fist, threateningly. "I didn't mean that! I mean, I did – but not in those words. In nicer, less-misogynistic words." I smiled thinly, to further delay her wrath.

"You don't even know me!" Quin shouted.

"No, I don't," I said. "But I'm working on that right now."

"Well, take a break, you're getting on my nerves," Quin replied, a little calmer this time. She walked a few steps further and disappeared into the stockroom. Seconds later, she screamed loudly and exited, shuffling past me quickly.

I didn't have to ask, but I figured I might as well, to keep the conversation going. "See something disgusting in there?"

"Oh my word! What was that thing, and what was it doing?" Quin turned toward me, scowling and grimacing at the same time. Neat trick, that.

"That thing was Steve. And he was probably eating his supper," I replied cryptically.

"Steve's a mannequin? Like us?" she asked. "And he eats –?"

"Himself. Yep, that's Steve, all right." I shook my head, mocking disapproval but laughing inwardly.

"You mean to tell me that we're sharing a store with a mannequin who eats himself?" She scowled/grimaced even more now. "That's sick!"

"Well, he only eats his legs and feet!" I said. "It's not like he's eating anything important! And besides, he'd never eat one of us. He says that would just be weird." I chuckled.

"I can't believe this, Manny!" Quin shouted. "How can you just stand there and act like this is okay? People don't eat their own legs. That's just crazy!"

"Maybe people don't," I said, "But Steve does. And he's not a person – he's a mannequin."

"But it's gruesome!"

"Yes."

"And disgusting!"

"Uh-huh."

"And inhuman!"

"Precisely."

"Manny, why didn't you tell me before I went in there?" Quin still looked horrified.

"I should have," I started. "But –"

"Darn right, you should have!" Quin started to cry, and didn't complain when I pulled her toward me and embraced her.

"It's okay, Quin," I said, patting her gently on the back. "Just keep your distance with Steve, and everything will be fine. He won't hurt you, I promise."

"Manny?" Quin suddenly stopped crying, and looked up at me quizzically. "Who did I replace in the front window?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, innocently.

"Well, they wouldn't have ordered me from HQ if they hadn't needed to replace another mannequin, right? Who was up there?"

I released her from my embrace, and looked away nervously. "Her name was Jeri. I didn't know her that well. I never got a chance to."

"Why? What happened to her?" Quin glanced suspiciously at me.

"I don't know. I think she had an accident of some kind." I had to change the subject; this was getting too dicey. "I'm glad they sent you, Quin. You're way prettier than she was."

"What kind of accident, Manny?" She took a step back, subtle, but I noticed.

"Well, her head...it sort of, fell off."

"How did her head fall off? That doesn't make any sense." Quin was clearly worried now. "Did you–?"

"Did I what?" I said, and took a step toward Quin. She took another step back.

"Did you do something to her, Manny?"

"Okay, you got me," I said, in mock defeat. "I lied to you. Truth is...you look just like Jeri. Spitting image of her. She was gorgeous, just like you are, Quin."

"You're scaring me, Manny," said Quin, taking another step back.

"And technically, her head didn't fall off, per se. I sort of, well, tore it off myself."

"You killed her?"

"Technically, I didn't. Because she wasn't alive to begin with." I snickered at my own joke. "I guess you could say I discontinued her."

"But why, Manny?" Quin was shaking her head continuously, confusion clearly overwhelming her at this point. "Why would you want to hurt her?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "It's just something I feel like doing every now and then. But only with the pretty ones. The beautiful ones. Like you, Quin."

Quin turned to run, but I was quicker than she was. I grabbed her by the leg, causing her to fall on the carpet-covered concrete floor. 

It was over in seconds.

###

The next morning, I stood in my usual spot as Loria, the opening manager, rolled up the gate to the interior mall entrance, opening the store for business.

She turned to find Gracie, her lead window-dresser, standing right in front of her.

"We lost another one last night," said Gracie, sighing sadly as though it mattered.

"You mean the one with the missing leg that we just replaced yesterday?" Loria didn't see the point of this stupid game that Judith and the night crew were playing on her, but she'd had enough and planned to address it with the store manager this time. No more covering for the foolishness of others.

"No, not that one. Although his right leg is gone again – surprise, surprise!" Gracie continued. "No, I mean the new one that just came in from HQ. That tall blond one we outfitted with the blue and khaki getup yesterday morning."

"She's missing?" asked Loria. "Shoot, that was a good one, too! Looked a lot like that one we had and lost last month."

"But she isn't missing. She's back in the Kids' Department, over in that back corner. Head's torn clean off. Just like all the other ones."

"You gotta be kidding me!" spat Loria. "Not again! That's the sixth one this year, and it's not even June!"

"Tell me about it!" Gracie exclaimed.

"You best believe I'm gonna tell somebody about it!" Loria replied, and the two ladies made their way toward the Kids' Department where I had left Quin.

As soon as I was sure they were out of sight and no shoppers were approaching, I glanced across the aisle at Quin's empty display pedestal – and I smiled.

The Old Trash Can: A Dialogue

I recently got rid of an old plastic trash can that my wife and I received as a wedding gift, and I feel sort of guilty about it. Not a whole lot, but a little bit.

Now I know what you're thinking: A trash can as a wedding gift? But before you rush to judgment, you need to know a few more facts.

The trash can came from a close friend of mine, who was also a member of my wedding party. He lived out of state at the time, and coming here and being a part of the wedding was almost gift enough in itself. I hadn't seen him in a while, and it was nice to get to hang out with my buddy a little bit before the wedding, even if our "hanging out" consisted mostly of last-minute runs for decorations – real pumpkins and other such fall stuff.

Couple that with the fact that my friend didn't have a whole lot of disposable income, and his not only making the trip but giving me anything at all (not to mention the tux rental fee he had to pay) must have been quite a struggle for him at the time.

Also, it's important to realize that the trash can was not empty – it was packed full of household cleaning supplies. Very practical things that we would – and did – use.

The trash can itself has served us faithfully (as much as an inanimate, non-living object can "serve") for eight-and-a-half years. But its lid was broken, there were cracks in the sides and bottom, and we really wanted a more updated model with a lid that flips up when you step on the lever. So out with the old, in with the new.

Now I'm not truly naive enough to believe that my friend would actually be offended if he knew (and he will now after this post) that I had gotten rid of the old trash can. But the thought of him (or anyone, really) overreacting to a seemingly innocuous revelation such as this just struck me as funny. Here's how I imagined a (fictional) phone conversation like this might go:



J:  So, what have you been up to lately?

D:  Not a whole lot. You know, just working mostly.

J:  I hear ya. About the most exciting thing that's happened around here lately is that we got a new trash can.

D:  You got a what?

J:  Um...

D:  Did you say you got a new trash can?

J:  Yeah. Uh, yeah we sure did. One of those fancy kinds with the lid that flips up when you step on the foot pedal thingie.

D:  What was wrong with the old trash can?

J:  Well, you know, nothing really. I mean, it was a good trash can –

D:  I know it was a good trash can. I gave you that trash can. For your wedding – remember?

J:  Yeah, yeah, I remember. And it really was a good trash can, but –

D:  But what? It wasn't good enough for you? You couldn't stoop so low as to use the crappy old can I gave you?

J:  No, it's not like that. It was just that it was cracking down the side, and one place in the bottom, and, you know, it was time for a new one.

D:  Do they sell duct tape where you live?

J:  Yeah, why do you ask?

D:  Duh! You tape up the cracks, and it's as good as new. The thing will last forever!

J:  Yeah, but duct tape – well, it looks kind of, you know, tacky!

D:  Oh, I see how it is now. You think you're better than me, don't you?

J:  No, I was just –

D:  You're Mr. High Class, and I'm Mr. Tacky, is that it?

J:  Um, no. What are you talking about?

D:  Pay attention! I'm talking about the same thing you're talking about – the trash can I gave you for your wedding. That I paid for with my own money, I might add – of which I had very little at the time.

J:  I know, I know. And I really appreciated it. I truly did. We got plenty of good use out of it, too. Eight-and-a-half years' worth, in fact.

D:  And then you just threw it out like – like garbage!

J:  Funny.

D:  I wasn't making a joke.

J:  Okay.

D:  How could you throw away a perfectly good trash can like that? Especially one that was given to you as a gift?

J:  That's what I'm saying – it wasn't perfectly good anymore. It had cracks up the side –

D:  Uh-huh, I get it. If it's not perfect, it's not good enough for you. You think you're all high and mighty, don't you?

J:  No, I just wanted a new trash can. Simple as that.

D:  Simple as that, you say? I bet you threw away all those cleaning supplies I packed in there, too, huh? I bet as soon as you opened that trash can, you just took all that stuff out and threw it away, didn't you?

J:  No! I mean, I did take it all out –

D: Mm-hmm, just like I thought.

J:  Let me finish. I took it all out so I could put a trash bag in it. So I could actually use the trash can, you know?

D:  And what did you do with the cleaning supplies?

J:  We used them. What were we supposed to do, put 'em behind glass like a shrine, and bow down to them three times a day?

D:  Don't be a wiseacre!

J:  Okay, I don't even know what that is, but I'll try not to be one.

D:  So you're telling me that you used all the cleaning supplies I had packed inside the trash can?

J:  Well, yeah. I mean, most of them.

D:  What do you mean "most of them"?

J:  Uh...well, we threw out the Comet Cleanser.

D:  What was wrong with the Comet Cleanser?

J:  Well, we tend to like the liquid cleansers better. So...

D:  So you threw away a perfectly good tin of Comet? That thing cost me 99 cents, you know!

J:  I'm sorry. Do you want me to pay you 99 cents?

D:  It's not about the money!

J:  Then what is it about? 'Cuz I'm confused –

D:  Are you stupid or something? It's about the trash can!

J:  Right, which you gave me, and which I threw away, which makes me a horrible person.

D:  Did I say that?

J:  I have no idea at this point! Listen, what do you want me to do? The trash can's gone. It was a great trash can – probably the best trash can the world has ever known. A veritable god among trash cans! But it was old, it was cracked, and it was time for a new one. End of story.

D:  End of story, huh?

J:  Sheesh, you're making such a big deal out of this! Maybe I should be asking you what you did with the pots-and-pans set I gave you for your wedding.

D:  No, you shouldn't.

J:  Oh, really? And why not?

D:  Just change the subject.

J:  No, I don't think so. You're not getting off that easy. What did you do with the pots-and-pans set?

D:  I don't want to talk about it.

J:  Tough, you're gonna hafta talk about it!

D:  Traded it.

J:  You what?

D:  I traded it. To my friend. You remember Matt from the wedding?

J:  I don't care about Matt-from-the-wedding. What did you trade it for?

D:  Call Of Duty.

J:  For what?

D:  The new Call Of Duty game, all right? Are you happy now?

J:  How could you? How could you trade away a pots-and-pans set, that I bought with my hard-earned money, for a video game?

D:  I know.

J:  How heartless can you get? I mean, really!

D:  I know.

J:  I just don't think I'll ever get over this injustice!

D:  Now you're mocking me.

J:  Yes, I am. How's that feel?

D:  Not great.

J:  Good. Now can we talk about something other than trash cans and pots and pans?

D:  Sure.

J:  Finally! Now we can move on to the important stuff!

D:  Exactly.

J:  Who's gonna win the AL MVP this year, Prince or Albert?

D:  Gotta go with the fat guy. Fielder all the way.

J:  I've always been a Pujols fan, so I'm gonna go with him.

D:  You're crazy! Prince will kill AL pitching!

J:  And Albert won't? You're the one who's crazy...

No Blue Monday

It's the first day after the last night of the Easter drama, commonly referred to (by myself and others) as Blue Monday. But for some reason, I'm not feeling very blue.

Sure, I'll miss it – especially the good times and laughs we've all shared these past few months. But I know that most of us will probably work together (and laugh together) again very soon, maybe as early as this fall. So I'm not sad.

I am relieved that everything went well. Not that I was ever that worried – the individuals involved in this year's drama were consummate professionals in whom I had and still have full confidence.

The drama and music presentations combined to clearly portray the message of the Gospel, and I do believe hearts were touched, seeds were planted, and lives were (and will continue to be) changed as a result of it.

That's not because we have an awesome drama team (though we do) or a fantastic choir (though we do). It's not that I'm an amazing drama director ('cuz I'm not) or that we have a terrific music director (though we do).

Everything went as well as it did for one simple reason – God was working His perfect will through imperfect people. And we got out of the way and let Him. Because He's God, and we're not.

So the Easter drama may be over till next year, but the memories will linger much longer.

I'm not sad. Let's just say I'm looking forward. Always looking forward.






POSTSCRIPT:
To Tim, Meredith, Jamie, Cindy, Erick, Bryce, Kim, Mitch, and Nate: Thanks for everything! I enjoyed every minute of it! ~ J

Poems For Your Perusal: Even More Alpha Poetry

All the money in the world
Will buy you
Everything you want
But don't need
And not an ounce
Of happiness.

Borrowed time
Can never be returned.
It can only be passed on
To someone else in need.
Don't forget that
The next time you're late.

Charmed, I'm sure
To be enchanted.
Dazzle me with
Your eyes
Your smile
Your understanding.
I will lose myself
In the magic.

Dirt-smeared face, bearing scars
What has he endured?
Hard work, or a hard life?
Either way, he has lived
Which is more than can be said
About some people.

Edified by what you said
I held my head up high
And walked away
A gladder man
Than if I never tried.

Friendly exchange
Between strangers.
If you knew
What was said
You'd be surprised
They left as enemies.

Guy down the street
Tells me I should
Stay inside
Lock my doors
And disconnect
From my life.
The end of the world
(As he knows it)
Is near, and he
Doesn't want to be alone
In his paranoia.

Hold it right there!
That's the face we're looking for
Sad, a little hopeless
More than a little vulnerable.
We're hoping to change
Our image.

Is that right?
It sounds like conjecture.
Fitting the pieces together
I'm not certain
That the question
Is answerable at all.
Personally
I don't have a clue.

Just what I needed
But ten minutes
Too late.
That's the way
The cookie crumbles.

Keep the dollars
And give me the change.
I'm in no hurry
Time's worth more
Than money.

Low on the totem pole
Working my way
To the top
But stalled by the fact
That I refuse
To compromise
My integrity.

Made out of money
Growing it on trees
Loaded with the green stuff
Sorry, not interested.

No one believes you.
They know that
Every word that comes
Out of your mouth
Is a blatant lie.
You can smile
All you want to
But you're not fooling
Anyone.
Get over yourself.

Overwhelmed
By constant to-do's
Done in
By one too many
Undone deeds.
How will I ever
Catch up?

Polish off the rest
In one sitting
You know you want it
Insatiable hunger
For more, more, more
You've always had it.
You try and try
But you'll never be full.

Quickly learning
That things aren't always
What they seem. Neither
Are people, and some
Are better than others
At fooling you.

Repeat the process
You've done it all before.
You could do it
With your eyes closed
And one hand tied
Behind your back
If you really had to.
Doubt yourself if you must
But I have every confidence
In your ability.

Summarizing the past
Is easier said than done.
It happened, you were there
You can't change a thing.
You can change what happens
Next, but what happened then
Is over. So just move on.

Tomorrow I'll reflect back
On what happened today
And I'll smile, and maybe
Just maybe shed a tear.
Sad because it's over
But glad because it happened.
For one moment we shined
But we were just reflections.

Under better circumstances
We met, and laughed
And lived, and learned.
But now we know
That only when dreaming
Do things like this ever last.

Violently ill
Bleeding from the inside
The bruises are evident
And yet we pretend
That we're just fine.

Watch what you say
You never know
When your words
Will appear like
Speech balloons
In a comic strip
And everyone will see
What you really mean.

X is tense
He knows
He's being watched.
It's not the first time
But this time
He knows
He has something to hide.

Yes, you're right
I did enjoy myself.
I've never felt
So free before.
I guess that's why
They call it
Letting go.

Zealous fervor
He believes what he says
And says what he believes
He lives by his convictions
And may also die for them.