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Z J lie
and the Tigers
By Marjorie F. Zimmerman
A Bible teacher wonders if the results are worth all the effort and energy it takes to interest children in the things of God
M RS. Stanley’s door burst open, and twenty-two boys and girls tore out of the little white house. Blood-curdling Indian war whoops rang from her porch; numerous handsprings were turned on the tender green of her new lawn. Then suddenly there was silence. Seemingly, in an instant, every last child vanished from the face of the earth. Mrs. Stanley collapsed- on her daven port with a sigh of relief. The sight of the cookie crumbs strewn over her new rug, the greasy fingerprints on the wallpaper, the wildly scattered chairs, and the confusion in the kitchen did not lower her spirits. They had already taken a nose dive. “ Dear Lord,” she entreated, “ I just can’t go through with it another year.” How she loved her “ little tigers,” as she called them, but what a toll they had taken of her nervous system! Of course, the end-of-the-year party was always a wilder occasion than- the weekly Bible Story Hour. At the regu lar Wednesday afternoon sessions there were no cookie crumbs on the floor, no paper plates and cups and crumpled napkins in the corners. There were merely the Herkimer twins pulling hair and pinching neighbors; the raucous giggles of Isabel and Nancy during the brief prayer; the constant irrelevant questions of little Connie Beck while the story was being told; the “ smart aleck” comments of Philip, just enough older than the other children to feel his superiority to Bible Story Hours; and the howlingly funny stunts of Gladwyn St. Pierre, such as yanking chairs from behind people’s backs and sticking pins into the handiest portions o f their anato mies.
Mrs. Stanley pressed white fingers to her aching temples and thought with weary satisfaction of the long quiet hours of the summer stretching before her, hours when there would be nothing to do but wash, iron, bake, mend, get meals, wash dishes, do the gardening and canning, and take part in ordinary Sunday school and church activities. “ Tired, dear?” Her husband asked, coming in from work. “ How’d the party go?” He looked at her sharply. “ Never mind, no more Story Hours until next September.” “ Don, I don’t believe I’ll take it on next, fall.” She sat up and made room for him on the davenport. “ If I could feel that it was really worth while—but I can’t see that I’m getting any place with them. Henry and Horace are just as rowdy as ever. Gladwyn professed Christ last spring, but he’s still pulling his mean little tricks. And Isabel, too; she accepted Christ when I gave the invitation a couple of months ago, but she shows no reverence or understand ing—no growth, that I can see.” “ Oh, give them a chance,” pleaded Mr. Stanley. “ Think how long it takes some adults to get over their foibles when they become Christians.” Mrs. Stanley colored, thinking of a few items in her life that she had been intending to cancel off long ago, and which were still outstanding “ Even if the Jcids aren’t showing the' results,” Don went on rea sonably, “ the class has done you worlds of good. You’re a lot more patient than you were. Then think of all the Bible verses you’ve had to memorize along with the kids, and you have sure become a dandy story-teller.”
“ Oh, Don!” she laughed helplessly. “ If it takes twenty-two youngsters to teach one adult, the course is too ex pensive.” A couple of weeks later Mrs. Stanley came into the house, wearing a dazed expression. She had been talking over the back fence with Mrs. Herkimer. “ What happened?” inquired her hus band laying his newspaper aside to regard his wife with interest. “ Some one just hand you a million dollars?” “ Better than that. Do you know what Mrs. Herkimer just told me—that this summer, for the first time in her life, she hasn’t had any trouble getting the twins to do their chores—mowing the lawn and so on. She claims it has some thing to do with a verse they learned at my Story Hour, about doing whatever you do in the name of the Lord Jesus. Henry and Horace! Imagine!” “ So something actually did sink into those thick little skulls.” “ Don Stanley! That’s no way to talk about those lovely little boys!” Mr. Stanley threw up his hands, and returned to his newspaper. Then he laid it down again. “ We ought to make another try to get those kids into Sun day school.” “ I did. I invited them to go with us tomorrow morning, but they made ex cuses. They aren’t interested in going where they have to behave,” Mrs. Stan ley admitted with a grin. “ They’d rather go to someone’s house where they can tear up the furniture.” Don lifted a thoughtful eyebrow. “ So, if you don’t have your Bible Hour next fall, they won’t be getting any Bible training at all?”
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