Just toTalk

By Timothy Asher

            "Hello."

            "Yes, Mr. Asher, please.  This is the police department calling."

Slight pause.  Instant paranoia.  I began to check off a little list in my head. Had all the traffic tickets been paid?  How about that rented hand tool I'd returned one day late?  Then a clever ploy came to mind.

            "Mr. Asher isn't home.  I'm his son Tim; may I help?"

            "Yes, Mr. Asher, you are just the person I am calling for."  The law gets its man!

            I confess I have a low threshold when it comes to telling nothing but my name, rank, and number.  No need to shine the light in my eyes.  I started rattling off every pencil I'd ever taken, every library book overdue.

            Finally, the officer cut me off.  "Mr. Asher, I am sure every citizen at one time or another has torn up a parking ticket.  That is not why I am calling you today.  You see, sir, the police department's boys team is selling tickets for its baseball league.  Now how many boys would you like to sponsor?"

            "How many are going?"

            "Two hundred."

            "Are you sure this is the only reason you are calling?"

            "That is the only reason, sir."

            "I'll take all two hundred!"

            "But, sir, that will cost ---"

            "I don't care. Send me a bill. Goodbye." Slam! I stood there with beads of sweat standing on my forehead.

            Later that evening the phone rang once again.

            "Tim?  This is Pastor Martin calling.  Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."  Panic!  Find a calendar.  What month is this?  Is it time for Ingathering already?  No, it's only May and the church does not start hounding you until July.  In that case...

            "Hello, pastor!  Good to hear from you."

            "Well, Tim.  I hate to impose, but we need someone to teach in the junior division and feel you would be just perfect for the job." What he's telling me is that he has been turned down by everyone else.  Funny how he never calls unless there is money or work involved.  Perhaps I could refuse gently by offering him my Ingathering goal early.

            Ring!

            Not again!

            "Timothy."

            "I don't want any!"

            "Oh, my son, I'm not selling anything.  I just want to talk a few minutes."

            "I don't know your voice.  You are not my dad."

            "Not your earthly father, my son. Your heavenly one. Remember? The one you keep telling people that they should get closer to?"

            "You're kidding."

            Silence.  Paranoia sweeps over me again.  What have I done now?  But He said He just wanted to talk!  Why am I feeling guilty? Afraid?  Cold beads of sweat form on my forehead.  I've got to squeeze out something.

            "I'm sorry, Master!"

            "Why"—the voice on the phone sounded perplexed—"I'm not here to judge, son, just talk."

            "But everyone wants something."

            Suddenly I wake up. Just a silly dream, of course.  God does not call up on the phone.  Silly dream. No meaning whatsoever.

            Then why can't I go back to sleep? Funny how we sort of relate to our Father as a cop or maybe as the pastor who has time to call only when he needs help.

The Strange One

Eileen Lageer

            Once there was a colony of ants with only five legs. Whenever they walked they went one-two-hitch, one-two-hitch, all along the path.

            These ants lived on decayed banana leaves and nothing else. I shouldn't say lived, for many of them died. Banana leaves, you know, especially in their rotten state, are rather hard to find and so these ants had a very hard life. Many died young from overexertion and starvation.

            Now it happened that one day a very strange ant was born among them. This ant had six legs. Everyone clicked his tongue in consternation. Many tried the best they could to console the parents on their child's deformity. Some suggested that for the good of the community they ought to kill him in infancy. But the mother begged hard, so they let him live.

            Strangely enough, the little ant was soon rushing around faster than his elders. This was ominous. And worse than that, he had a very awkward way of walking.

            "Look," they tried to tell him, "you don't know how to walk right. You have to go one-two-hitch, one-two-hitch. Now try it properly."

            So the little ant would try to put a little hitch in his step, but every time he tried, that sixth foot would come down and he'd leave his teachers far behind. They gave up in disgust.

            When he was half grown, the elders noticed another peculiarity. He was eating bread crumbs.

            "Stop!" they cried. "They're poison. You mustn't do that. If you eat even two little mouthfuls, you'll die!"

            But the little ant continued eating. They waited to see him fall over dead, but nothing happened. Instead, as the days went on, he grew strong and big, bigger even than the biggest of the grown-ups. This was outrageous.

            But the real crisis didn't come until he was fully grown. The colony had been told to move quickly from their home to another place, for dreaded driver ants were marching against them.

            The job of moving was very slow, for in order to move the nest an egg had to be loaded onto the back of an ant. Then two other ants climbed on his back and rode along, holding the egg in place. They had to keep it from rolling off at every hitch, you see. So the egg was carried along, and the ant under the egg would be more dead than alive when they arrived.

            They had just started moving their eggs in this way when they noticed the six-legged monstrosity coming toward them at a rapid clip.

            "Hurry up, you lazy thing," they cried between puffs. "You have to work too."

            They had barely gotten the words out of their mouths when he passed them on the double and was back again carrying an egg, of all places, in his two front feet.

            "You can't do that!" they screamed. "You'll break it. And anyway, you'll never get there."

"I've already been there and back twice," he replied, "and I haven't broken one yet. Let me show you how to do it."

            That was the last straw. Rage came up in their throats and choked them. They dropped their eggs in a heap and rushed at him.

            "He has a devil!" cried his enemies.

            "He is beside himself!" cried his friends.

            "He perverteth the people!"

            "He is spoiling our nation!"

            "He is teaching others this perfidy! "

            "Away with him!"

            "Kill him!"

            "There!" they growled in grim satisfaction sometime later. "He'll never try to teach us again. We'll solve our own problems, thank you."

            Then they went back to work.

            One-two-hitch. One-two-hitch. One-two-hitch.

The Way it Was… The Way it Wasn't…

            There was great excitement in the little town of Mill Creek, Illinois, that afternoon in 1845. Eighth Illinois circuit judge David Davis of Bloomingdale had just arrived. As usual, he was accompanied by several circuit lawyers, including one named Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln's presence added to the stir of excitement, for Mill Creek's citizens had not forgotten the other times when he had come to town with Judge Davis. And in addition to being an excellent lawyer, Abe Lincoln told the funniest stories anyone had ever heard.

            It had been almost six months since the last court session in Mill Creek, and there was quite an accumulation of cases to be tried. Old Thomas Jacobs was suspected of setting fire to the blacksmith's shop. He and the blacksmith had had words. Old Thomas had made some pretty dark threats, and that very night the blacksmith's shop had burned to the ground. There were witnesses who said that they had seen old Thomas there at the fire, laughing like anything and slapping his knees.

            Then there was the fight at the tavern between Henry Whitney and Ebenezer Bates. Whitney had finally pulled out his pistol and shot Ebenezer in cold blood. Some said that Ebenezer had asked for it and that Whitney was only defending himself. But others sided with Ebenezer and said it was murder, plain and simple.

            Perhaps the most outstanding case was that of Jesse Adams. He had ridden into town one day and gone straight up to the Mill Creek Bank, shoved his gun at the teller, and demanded all the bank's cash. He'd managed to get about fifteen miles out of town before the sheriff and his deputy caught up with him. And he had been in the town jail ever since.

            In addition to these more spectacular cases there were the usual disputes over property lines, debts and foreclosures, slander suits. And a man named Silas Foster had been accused of stealing pigs.

            The announcement was made that court would convene the following week, and the people brought in their legal business. The lawyers went to work on the cases assigned to them. And when the time that had been announced arrived, the circuit court convened.

            The whole town crowded into the courthouse, and during each recess could be heard hotly discussing the pros and cons of each case. The lawyers examined and cross-examined and called out objections at every opportunity. Abe Lincoln had a knack for bringing the truth to light, and in the cases that he defended, even the prosecuting attorney ended up admitting that he was right. As the people listened to each case and heard the evidence for themselves, they were convinced that justice was being dealt.

            One by one the cases were brought before the court. The juries withdrew to deliberate, and a verdict was reached guilty or not guilty. As Judge Davis sentenced those who had been found guilty, and acquitted those found innocent, the town was satisfied.

            The last morning the judge and his lawyers were in town, there was a hanging. Henry Whitney had been found guilty of murder. And the circuit judge and his company moved on to the next town.

            The second part of this parable covers the same ground. Back up and start over, please! Are you with me? This time, the story is:

The way it wasn't

            There was great excitement in the little town of Mill Creek, Illinois, that afternoon in 1845. Eighth Illinois circuit judge David Davis of Bloomingdale had just arrived, accompanied by Abe Lincoln and several other circuit lawyers. It has been almost six months since the last court session in Mill Creek, and there was quite an accumulation of cases to be tried.

            Old Thomas Jacobs was suspected of setting fire to the blacksmith's shop. There had been a fight at the tavern between Henry Whitney and Ebenezer Bates, and Ebenezer Bates was dead. Jesse Adams was in jail awaiting trial for bank robbery. And there were the usual assortment of lesser disputes.

            It was announced that court would convene immediately. The whole town crowded into the courthouse. Judge Davis banged his gavel on the desk and said, "Thomas Jacobs, not guilty. Silas Foster, not guilty. Henry Whitney, guilty as charged, to be hanged at sunrise. Jesse Adams, not guilty. Court is closed."

            The prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet. "You can't do that," he cried. "Who do you think you are, anyway? You can't acquit these people without a fair trial or sentence them before they're proven guilty."

            The town' s people sided with the prosecution. "He's right," they said. "How does the judge know who's s guilty and who isn't?"

            Abe Lincoln raised his voice to be heard above the tumult. "Don't you people trust the judge? The judge knows those who are his to acquit. He has been keeping tabs on things while he has been back at Bloomingdale. He has kept careful records. He has evidence, and he doesn't make mistakes.''

            But the people became even more upset. "The judge may have evidence, and he may not,'' they said. "But we don't have evidence. It's not enough just to claim to have evidence. The evidence must be examined openly before the sentence is given. The whole court needs to see the evidence, not just the judge."

            The circuit lawyers kept trying desperately to convince the people of Mill Creek that the judge could be trusted. But the people insisted that trust had to be based on an intelligent understanding of the reasons for the judge's decisions.

            The last morning the judge and his lawyers were in town, there was a hanging. It was the judge who was hanged.