The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String by Kris Knorr, Barb Froman Page B

into each other.
    “Marcus, take the angels for a hike.”
    “Mom, I’m a shepherd, not an angel herder. I’m all dressed. I’m minding my own business. Why am I being punished?”
    “Take them on a hike, sweetie. Take some other shepherds with you. Wear off a little of this energy.” She pointed to the wiggling, bouncing, bumping bodies in front of her.
    “Okay! Come on, rug rats.”
    “Stop calling them rug rats,” Vera commanded.
    “Come on, midgets. Follow me,” he said as he took off.
    Kay stared at Vera. “Why don’t you go somewhere private, and yell at God for a while, Vera.”
    “What?”
    “Your tail’s in a twist about something. Now you’re taking it out on the kids. Go yell at God about it.”
    “I have never yelled at God.”
    “Then your God is too small.”
    “Kay, you open your mouth and utter all sorts of obscenities. Could you just be helpful for once?” Vera’s clipped words accompanied the invisible darts shooting from her eyes. The noise in the room had dropped significantly.
    “Why don’t you ask God where your pen is?” Kay said quietly.
    Vera looked at her. There was no spite or malice in Kay’s voice; it sounded like merely a suggestion.
    “I would never presume to bother God about a pen.”
    “Then your God is too small,” Kay repeated. Their eyes locked. The room grew quiet. Kay’s face showed no emotion. Vera’s lips pulled into a tight line, her eyes narrowed.
    “What did you say to me?”
    “Kay, not now.” Micki hurried toward them, carrying sheep ears on a headband. “Vera, I’ll help you look.” Kay snapped her hand toward Micki, five fingers splayed into a barrier sign.
    “In just a few minutes we’re going to tell everyone, in our own inept words, about God coming as a tiny little baby to provide a way we can get home again. God, who orchestrated this plan, this universe, and worlds we don’t even know about yet, knows where your pen is. Ask Him. This is the God who loves you enough to notice if you lose a hair out of your head. He voluntarily died for you. You can’t give Him too much to deal with.”
    Vera’s lips were pursed. Her jaws clenched. Everyone was silent, watching. Even the sheep had stopped butting each other.
    Kay flicked off her halo, smiled, raised her eyebrows twice, then turned and walked away.
    Silence hung in the air. Micki said, “Now where is that box of myrrh?” A shepherd hooked his staff around a camel’s leg. They began to wrestle. The sounds of pre-show jitters slowly returned to the room.

“The Light Shines in the Darkness” John 1:5  

    THE PLAY’S FIRST scene—the meal—went smoothly. Hettie placed an elbow on the table, held her drinking glass to her face, and read her lines. When the script ended, she picked up another glass and began reading again. Sometimes she had to adjust her eyeglasses and look down the tip of her nose to make out the words, but she didn’t stop. Not even when Kevin tripped and sent the roasted chicken sliding to the floor. Hettie kept reading her lines, picked up the bird by the drumsticks, and smacked it back on the platter. She seemed to have no idea what the audience was laughing about.
    During the second scene, angels and shepherds fidgeted outside the sanctuary, awaiting their cue. Johnny let out a plaintive squeal, “I don’t wanna do this! I’m not singing!” Marcus bent to Johnny’s eye level, made a menacing face and claw-like hands, whispering, “Sing, or sit with St. Scary.”
    Johnny went silent and marched in with the group. He continued his rebellion by standing on the top step rather than his assigned position. Because there wasn’t enough room, he clung to the child on the end as they sang “Away in the Manger.” Tiring of being an anchor, the kid elbowed Johnny in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.
    Johnny hopped up like a TV cage fighter and gave his opponent a two-handed shove. They jostled each other off the riser once more before Marcus worked his