The Surest Sign of The Holy Spirit

Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:

 
THE SUREST SIGN OF THE HOLY SPIRIT
 
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was approaching his usual booth at The Good to the Last Glop Coffee Shop and Gravy Bistro, with a copy of a red-letter New Testament under his arm, to put on the table in front of him to keep any Bible-believers from sitting with him, since Bible-believers think that the black words are as good as the red words, because there are ways to exclude others in the black words and there aren’t any in the red words, which is why they claim to be Bible-believers instead of Christ-believers, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when he noticed that four-year-old Clara Wembley was already sitting in the booth across from his spot.
 
“At least I won’t have to worry about anyone else wanting to sit with me,” he muttered. “How come you’re in my booth, Clara?”
 
"Just waiting for you, Randy preacher. Mommy said I could hang out with you while I get the Holy Spirit.”
 
“How nice of her,” said The Rev. Nathan, “but if you must refer to me by my first name, I prefer Preacher Randy, as you well know.”
 
“Well no, to you, too,” said Clara. “Do you have two dimes?”
 
Randall pulled out his change purse and pressured the top into opening. “Why, yes, I do,” he said.
 
“Good,” said Clara. “Give ‘em to me. Pastor Polly said yesterday during the children’s sermon that we have to learn to accept the pair of dimes shift. I’m going to accept the shifting of your pair of dimes to me.”
 
“Sounds like a good children’s sermon,” said Randall, shifting the pair of dimes into Clara’s brown-stained hand. “But I thought Pastor Polly was at the Methodist.”
 
“No, that’s Pastor Patty. Pastor Polly is temporary at the Luteran. At least I don’t think she’ll be back. When she was handing out the wafers yesterday for communion, when she took one herself, I yelled ‘Polly wants a cracker.’ No loss. I don’t know why they call her a Luteran, anyway. She never plays the lute.”
 
“What’s that brown stain on your hands, Clara?”
 
“Oh, I’m getting the Holy Spirit.”
 
“Yes, I remember you mentioning that you were here for that purpose, but I don’t think I understand…”
 
“Not to worry,” said Clara. “I don’t mind explaining. Yesterday when Pastor Polly read the Bible, she said that when Jesus was talking to that Baptist guy while they were swimming in the river, that Baptist splashed some water on Jesus, the way guys do when they’re horsing around in the water, and the Holy Spirit clanged down on Jesus’ head like a dove bar.
 
“Are you sure there was a bar after the dove, Clara?”
 
“Sure. Bars are always after doves. That’s what they do in the woods. That’s why doves don’t go in the woods anymore. But I figure it doesn’t have to be just a dove bar. Any chocolate will give you the Holy Spirit. So I’m drinking hot chocolate while I eat my dove.”
 
Rev. Nathan beckoned to Abby Rhodes, the waitress. He pointed at Clara. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said.
 
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
 
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
 
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