Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

Hardly any other time of the year makes me recall my childhood more than summer. For some reason I seem to recall more about the summers of my youth than any other season, whether those memories are good or bad (for now we won't mention the summer bike ride accident that I am convinced paid for college for my dentist's children). Recently, one of the most special rites of my past summers, Vacation Bible School, came to mind, in the form of a plain cookie, a cookie I like to refer to as a Vacation Bible School cookie.

What exactly is a Vacation Bible School cookie? The answer is a bit more involved than just a simple answer in a handful of words, so bear with me while I try to explain. To do this, we need to talk a bit about Vacation Bible School.

For the uninitiated, a quick review of Vacation Bible School is in order, and for those very familiar with Vacation Bible School, maybe a quick trip down memory lane will make you smile. Vacation Bible School is a time a church sets aside during the summer vacation from school for kids to have an intensive time of Bible school. Think of it as Sunday school on steroids. I remember we usually had it one week during June or July, during evenings Monday through Friday. I recall once or twice we had it during the day but as more and more moms joined the workforce that seemed to disappear. I even know some churches get all fired up and do the whole thing in one day.

Usually there is also a theme to the week. This year, Crocodile Dock seems to be popular, which I am sure thrills Elton John (“Crocodile Rock”, 1972) to no end. And of course, since one generation called a thing one thing another generation comes along and decides to call that thing something else. I realized Vacation Bible School wasn’t exempt from this form of rebranding a year or two ago when I saw a church near where we live proudly proclaiming one upcoming summer week as Neighborhood Bible Time. Well, okay, all righty then. Maybe it's me, but Vacation Bible School still sounds cooler to me.

Anyway, Vacation Bible School, or VBS, as it is also known, usually is geared for the kids of a church. But it is also geared to the friends of the church kids as well as the grandkids and nieces and nephews of the rest of the church who do not attend this particular church or any other church regularly. So, during VBS, you see not only the usual kids you would see on any given Sunday there but also the neighborhood kids and the kids of relatives of church members. So it really is one time of the year at a church when a future generation outnumbers the present generations. I suppose you could stand at the back of the church auditorium and get a good glimpse of what your community will be in twenty or thirty years just by watching how these young ones act and react with one another.

At VBS, kids get divided by age or school grade. Someone in the church has located the most patient women the church has and during this week these women become the teachers of these kids. Church pews are sectioned off for each group so kids in the same grade or the same age can all sit together. I can recall feeling a form of solidarity and empowerment during VBS week when I was a kid just because there were ten or eleven of us third-graders. Add a theme like “Warriors for God” and, hey, we were ready for battle…praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!

Also, at VBS, songs are sung which do not see the light of day during regular church services. Nothing raises the roof of a church building quite like a rousing version of “Booster! Booster! Be A Booster!” Segue way into “This Little Light of Mine”, followed by “The Wise Man Built His House” and the rousing “I’m in the Lord’s Army” and suddenly the singing in the building rivals the singing on Easter Sunday morning. And while the kids sing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Jesus Love the Little Children,” you can’t help but wonder why we don’t sing these songs more often since the songs are so simple, yet so loaded with meaning or why we don’t sing with more heart like kids do.

At some point, class takes place. The kids march off to their classrooms usually by grade or age. During the class time, there’s often a crafts event or some other activity occupying the attention of the kids for a few minutes. The adults usually have some similarly themed class while the kids are off in their class. There are some adults though, hard at work, in another part of the building, preparing the night’s finale. For the kids, the payoff at the end of each night at VBS is cookies and Kool-Aid.

This brings us back around to the topic of cookies and defining a Vacation Bible School cookie. Here is my take. Recently, my wife and I were leaving our church after services. As we passed by the kitchen, we noticed some cookies and cake on the counter that had been left behind following an earlier gathering. I picked up a cookie, looked at it and declared, “that is a Vacation Bible School cookie” just before I bit into it. I knew it was a VBS cookie from all my experience at eating them.

If you are a VBS veteran, consider this. Usually VBS cookies weren’t fresh baked cookies just out of the oven. They weren’t Rice Krispy treats. They weren’t lemon bars. They weren't slices of fruit. They were cookies. They were usually a white cookie with white cream or a black cookie with white cream or even sometimes, one white cookie and one black cookie with white cream in between. The actual cookie part would have some intricate design on top of it with maybe three or four small holes around it. I have placed a photo accompanying this post of what I am trying to describe so you can better visualize what I mean. I think when you see it you will understand.

Beyond the physical appearance, a Vacation Bible School cookie is one that you bite into and you automatically think your teeth will break into pieces. VBS cookies are also fairly good size cookies, they aren't wimpy size cookies the size of a quarter. These cookies could probably crowd the edges of the palm of your hand comfortably. They are also usually packaged under some generic sounding name like, ‘Cookies’. You know the kind; you can buy a package of them at the grocery store for one dollar. These cookies come in a plastic pack that holds one hundred cookies. These are not "name brand" cookies.

Think about this. These cookies become VBS cookies because the ladies of the church are trying to feed all those kids, the regular kids and their friends and the other kids just along for the ride this particular week. It’s much easier and cheaper to buy a couple packs of VBS cookies than to spend a lot of time, effort and money to home bake 200 cookies or buy the overpriced name brand cookies. Maybe this is why some churches also have potluck dinners. Maybe it keeps many of these women in practice for preparing large amounts of food for a hungry group of people. “VBS is coming in three months...time for a potluck dinner this week.” Is it for fellowship? Sure, but maybe it also is a trial run to see how the women of the church do preparing large amounts of food for a large number of people. No self-respecting VBS cookie-provider wants to be remembered as being part of a group that did not have enough cookies during the "Hungering and Thirsting for Righteousness" themed Vacation Bible School. Jesus feeding thousands with a few fish and some bread was truly a miracle but forty women feeding 200 kids with Hydrox and vanilla cream cookies for five straight nights only comes about after precision planning.

I recall the VBS cookie being paired with another cookie or two and placed on a plain white napkin. Then you are handed a cup of Kool-Aid. VBS cookies must be washed down with something. And let’s set the record straight, VBS cookies must be washed down with Kool-Aid. Let’s briefly mention the VBS Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid. It's not a drink box. It's not iced tea. It's not a soft drink. It's Kool-Aid. It's Kool-Aid made in Meemaw's kitchen earlier that very afternoon. She mixed it out of a packet, stirred it up, poured it into a clear plastic milk jug that she washed out with scalding hot water then saved for weeks with this very moment in mind. Once mixed, she probably even capped the jug, picked it up and shook it for a few seconds before setting it in the refrigerator until church time.

And one parting thought on VBS Kool-Aid, no matter what you think, the best Kool-Aid flavor for VBS is red. Mind you, red could cover a lot of different flavors, but during VBS, the best and most popular flavor of Kool-Aid is, and always will be, red. You can have your grape Kool-Aid, you can have your orange Kool-Aid but if you ask most kids what kind of Kool-Aid do they want with their Vacation Bible School cookies and the overwhelming answer will be red.

This summer is slipping away. School will be opening soon for another year. The time for Vacation Bible School will also be gone for another year. It seems as if everything moves so fast these days. Maybe it’s time to slow down and take a few minutes to reminiscence about this time of year from many years ago. Summer nights spent singing “The B-I-B-L-E” and hanging out with others my age just knowing that at the end of the night waited Vacation Bible School cookies and red Kool-Aid.

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition indeed.

Summer Lights

A veil of gathering darkness surrounds every step. Even though it’s just early July, it seems as if the summer has been here for months and, at this moment, it feels as if this summer has no end. The smell of freshly cut grass jams into my nostrils. The hot sticky summer air lays a thin line of perspiration all over my face, arms, legs and everywhere else where sweat pores reside. The dampness from my skin then magnetizes my clothes to the rest of my body. The sounds of tiny creatures all around, a summer night’s symphony, pound away in my ears like drums in the distance, seemingly amplified by the inevitable darkness. A soft, glassy moon shines high in the sky while the stars, set against a majestic purple backdrop, begin to leisurely twinkle.

I could be doing so many other things right now. I could be listening to the hum of an ice cream maker mixing together ingredients for a tasty treat. I could be eating a slice of cold lightly salted watermelon taking time to spit the seeds as far as I can just before watermelon juice dribbles down my chin. I could have stretched my body across the front porch swing until the swing’s swaying and creaking lull me into a state of near unconsciousness. I could have turned on AM radio and located a baseball game to listen to like I did in days gone by, letting the announcers paint into my imagination each pitch, each swing. I could be inside the house slowly letting the air conditioning crush the summer heat.

Instead, here I am. My fingers wrap around the oversized glass in my hand. My hand sweats from the stifling humidity. My steps are deliberate, methodical, measured. My bare feet tread lightly on the ground as I scoff at the thought of wearing shoes outdoors during the summer.

Just one more I tell myself. Just one more.

Moths dance around the dim front porch light throwing odd patterns of shadow against the side of the house. A shard of light streams through a window pane from inside the house and as I glance in that direction I find it difficult for my eyes to adjust to the varied range of lights as I also try to focus on my mission.

I know it is too late to be here. I know I should call it a night.

But, it’s summer. Summer. And I tell myself again, just one more.

Suddenly, my wish comes true. I thrust out my hand and after a couple of swipes my prey is taken into custody. I acknowledge my persistence and skill by muttering ‘I told you just one more’. Quickly, the lid comes off the glass jar in my hand and I push my capture inside with all the others I have collected on this night. Just as quickly, I return the lid to the jar being careful not to place the full weight of my hand on the jagged holes I have punched there with a pair of scissors while being just as careful not to let any of my bounty escape.

I stand back and raise the glass just above my line of sight into the space at the very end of my hand. In the darkness I admire all the tiny lights flickering on and off inside the jar. I feel my senses exploding. The smell of grass becomes mingled with the earthy perfume lightning bugs give off when they rest on your hand. The sounds of the night grow louder only to fade away without notice. The hot sticky summer air seems so strong I can almost feel it bearing down on me, yet I feel re-energized. Nature’s light, for a moment, seems muted by the glass jar in my hand and the tiny lights glistening inside. Then, a small smile comes across my face and I faintly see that smile in the reflection on the outside of the jar I hold in my hand.

I bring the jar closer to me. Suddenly, I open the jar, shaking it gently, encouraging each lightning bug to escape. As tiny wings flutter to flight, all the bugs flee to freedom from the jar except for one. I tap on the side of the jar then reach out my hand as if to nudge him to leave his temporary home. He hops onto my hand, crawls around there for a moment and then, all at once, flies away, turning his light on and off to match the rhythm of my very own heart. As I watch the bug take wing away from me, I feel my smile stretch even wider than before.

It’s summer. Summer. Just one more summer.

Free

Holidays come and go. For so many of us all we really know about them anymore is that we don’t have to go to work on a holiday. We even tend to minimize some holidays by not really referring to them as maybe they should be. For instance, we often call that holiday in early July as simply, the Fourth of July, instead of Independence Day.

We also seem to get more caught up in the traditions of the holiday than the real reason for the holiday. I’m all for traditions, don’t misunderstand me there. I’ll probably spend time with some family that day. I’ll likely enjoy a barbeque on this day as much as the next guy. I’ll probably ooh and ahh at the fireworks in the night sky. But looking back I know I rarely find myself really thinking about the reason for the holiday during the holiday.

Maybe this year I will pause to remember a bit about this place called home, America. Maybe, I’ll remember how hundreds of years ago courageous people determined that freedom from tyranny was worth a fight and their lives. Maybe I’ll remember how those freedoms were considered precious enough to spell out in writing so that a clear direction for this country could be specified for later generations to understand and appreciate. Maybe, I’ll remember how time after time when others have decided our country was an enemy how my fellow countrymen, brave people, stood up to defend our borders, our way of life, our freedoms. Maybe, I’ll even stand in amazement at how we are so free that some of us can live in freedom and still despise it so much that we take that freedom for granted, all the while choking on the fruits that those freedoms provide, a nice job, a nice house, a future, and an opportunity to dissent.

America is not perfect. She is flawed. Still, no other place offers what she offers. There is no other place I would rather be, especially on a hot July 4th.

"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."