Published: June 30, 2008 12:04 pm            

Bible school memories

Vacation Bible School – the signs are on front lawns of churches nearly everywhere I look.

I wish I were a kid again. I’d love to go. Looking back, I think that perhaps VBS was my father’s favorite week in the liturgical calendar.

The pastor of a small church, he was excited to see the new “pupils” that came to church – many for only that one week.

But above that, I think my stern-looking father genuinely loved children.

He turned the details over to the very capable Miss Emigh.

A high school librarian, she ran VBS with the same efficiency with which she ran her library.

Planning for the big event started weeks earlier.

Teachers and assistants were appointed and lesson plans and themes were discussed and decided on.

Finally, opening night arrived.

Somehow Miss Emigh managed to raise her voice above the happy din of metal chairs and babbling children. She called us to order and led the prayer and the pledge to the flags – American and Christian.

Then she led the merry band in some rousing songs.

“Boys and girls for Jesus,” we belted out with the gusto only children seem capable of producing. How well we sang mattered not – it was all about volume back then.

After singing, we studied the books of the Bible. The goal was to memorize the names of all 66.

“Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers ...,” we recited.

Then we had our Bible lesson. Lots of times these were given with a “flannel graph.”

Miss Emigh told the story while putting up flannel pictures on the board to illustrate.

Or she held up large pictures while reading a story printed on the back.

I loved storytime. But more than that, I loved craft time!

Kids were divided by age, then herded into classrooms where teachers tried to get stubby fingers to create something beautiful.

At 5 or 6, I made a paper flower with my picture in the center. (I still have it – my haircut is bad, but I am wearing a huge, toothless grin that makes up for it.)

The sounds and smells of craft time stay with me.

There was lots of paste splattered around – some even making it onto the paper. You could catch the snipping sound of scissors (rounded tips for the little ones) and the smells of spray paint.

We produced some wonderful creations.

Door stops from old Reader’s Digests, crosses made from burnt matches, bird houses from milk cartons and picture frames from Popsicle sticks.

At the end of the busy week, we had a closing service. Parents and grandparents proudly crowded into the church.

Miss Emigh lined us up outside and we marched in – led by boys carrying the flags – singing at the top of our lungs.

Moms and dads gazed on us adoringly as we took our places up front.

I still can remember my father’s big, benevolent smile as he sat on his special preacher’s chair up front.

I hope kids today have half as much fun as I did at Bible school.

I hope their leader is as dedicated as Miss Emigh. I hope the priest or minister is as delighted at the young charges as my father was.

And I hope parents proudly hang that crooked flower right in the middle of the refrigerator.

It will mean a lot to a kid with a bad haircut and a toothless grin.

        

• Click to discuss this story with other readers on our forums.