Flights of Paper Angels

Tea: Chinese Melon Seed

Music: Missing Persons, "Words"

Time: Night.

I'm going to invoke proud father's privilege and brag on my teenagers.

Year after year, they race to an artificial Christmas tree in the church lobby and scrutinize the paper angels hanging from its branches.

Each angel bears a child's name and age, something the child would like for Christmas (or that the parent would like to give, if the child is too young to speak for himself or herself). There's also a message from the parent to the child -- messages the parents can't give in person because they're behind bars.

The Angel Tree program is not unique to Prison Fellowship International, of course. Other Angel Trees benefit children of poverty, or families facing severe financial hardship. But this is the one we know best.

It's a lean year here, too. But my teenagers weren't about to give the Angel Tree a pass. They saved up money they'd been given, they each picked a paper angel -- and tonight, we dropped off the wrapped gifts at church. They'll be opened at a party for the children on Saturday.

(The kids and their parents won't be forced to profess any faith to take part and receive the gifts, by the way. I wouldn't support the program if they were.)

Occasionally, there are grumbles that we shouldn't "reward" convicts by purchasing Christmas presents for their children -- as though somehow the kids deserved to be punished for their parents' misdeeds. (Do people really think, "Hey, that's a great idea! Let's further isolate these children and convince them they're not worthy of Christmas! What better way to show Christian charity?")

Anyway ... they'll never brag on themselves. They just do it because they love doing it. And that's another reason to be proud of them ...

Stray Cat Strut

Tea: Christmas

Music: The Archies, "Sugar Sugar"

Time: Night.

I often go on and on about being an animal lover -- if they're properly cooked. But I do have somewhat of a soft spot for living creatures, especially if they're in peril [well, the sort of peril that doesn't involve me hunting them.]

(A friend of mine will dart into traffic to save a stranded animal. I haven't done anything like that ... yet. Never know, though.)

While I was waiting for church activities to start this evening (I'm Baptist. We do Sundays and Wednesdays.), I took a short stroll in the park across the street. Suddenly, a gray-and-white cat pounced from behind a bush and started batting at my bootlaces.

"Okay," I thought. "I'll play." And so I danced around for a bit, and the cat pounced and rolled and seemed to be having all sorts of fun. Even had it not been wearing a collar with a nametag, it was clear this was no hungry feral stray. This cat belonged to someone -- or more likely, someone belonged to this cat.

But where was the owner? Nowhere to be seen, and it would be dark before long. So I finally got the cat to hold still long enough to ascertain that his name was Arnold and that his tag bore a telephone number.

I called it. No answer and no answering machine. I tried again with the same result. I pictured a family, most likely with one or more tearful children, out searching for a beloved pet. I tried again, and a man answered.

"Hi," I said. "Do you have a gray and white cat named Arnold?"

"Yes, we do."

"I found him across from the Baptist Church, by the water park."

"He's kind of a wanderer, but he's only a block from home. See the house with the white car? That's ours."

We exchanged a few more pleasantries, he thanked me for calling, and I hung up and gave Arnold one more scratch behind the ears.

Somehow, I have the feeling I'll be seeing him again.

Tonight's scary story: W.C. Morrow, "The Gloomy Shadow"