A Joke for Jesus
Surely God understands
An ugly winter day.
I would change that.
Bundled in scarves and coats, my buddies and I faced the altar, standing in the packed front pew at the heart of our church. We craved to steal conspiratorial peeks at each other, but none of us dared — not so long as Mr. Garcia, an usher, was fast approaching us.
He was footsteps away. Yet already the man offered his thin, brown hand — a symbol of Christian fellowship, you know — as I held and hid my right arm tight against my body.
A goofy friend tittered.
I couldn’t blame him, though. All of us wished to howl. We craved to curl our lips, hoot like wild apes dangling from tree branches, and flaunt our teenage monkey-teeth when Mr. Garcia ended up standing beside me.
We anticipated a more intoxicating treat.
So my friends and I checked our mania.
Set at the edge of our pew, I would deal with Mr. Garcia. After all, this genius plan belonged to me. I diverted his attention with an innocent look. I still had the face of a child. Wicked as a kid can be, however, I snaked my arm out to him. He never saw it coming. As he seized the mannequin’s hand that I held out my coat’s sleeve, I delivered our prank.
