When I was
a little girl, my family attended an old Methodist Church in downtown Fayetteville,
NC. The pews were hard and I was
skinny. An hour seemed an eternity. The sermons addressed intricacies of
Christian theology that were of no concern to me. Predictably, I squirmed, whispered, giggled,
and was generally a nuisance.
Dad was a
senior staff member at the local Sears store and often worked well over 50
hours a week. By the weekend, he was
exhausted. At church, he always sat at
the end of the pew and I sat beside him.
It was my job to make sure that when he fell asleep during the service,
he was properly elbowed so that he wouldn’t snore or fall out of the pew. I often considered letting Dad fall. After all, it would liven up things a bit and
the look on Dad’s face when he hit the carpet would be really funny. But in the end, I always decided that it was
much more entertaining to poke Dad’s ribs and watch him jump.
Dad,
raised in the Baptist faith, often complained that the Methodist service had
too much standing and sitting.
Apparently, the Baptists let you settle in comfortably for the duration
of the sermon. Eventually tired of my
constant rib poking, Dad started leaving church after Sunday School to go play
golf. While I missed him, Mother
explained that he needed some time to himself.
One
Sunday in the middle of the sermon, an unexpected storm broke out. The minister had to speak loudly over the thunder
claps. The organist pounded out every
hymn. No one slept through that service.
Dad
was already home when we got there. He
was pacing around and was very upset. He
told us that he was walking back to the club house when the storm started
up. As he hurried past a huge oak tree,
lightning struck it. The lightning hit
so close that it burned Dad’s pants and singed his backside. He was in quite a bit of pain.
I
knew how he felt. After all, I had
gotten my share of spankings in the same general location where he had been
burned. I figured that God was sending
him a message about skipping church. I
sure hoped God had no messages for me.
Years later, I learned that a Judge who decides to send you message can
also be dangerous.
I
had been stuck in non-support court for hours waiting for my client’s case to be
called. I had earlier irritated the
judge by successfully appealing an order he had given in a child custody
case. Now I was paying the price as my
case would be the last one heard that day.
I
watched as one man after the other was called before the judge. Each gave a lame excuse for not paying court
ordered child support and each was appropriately chastised and punished. Things proceeded quietly until one man
approached the bench with somewhat of a swagger. I could tell that the judge recognized this
defendant and that he was extremely angry with him. “Mr. Smith, I am getting sick and tired of
seeing you in my court!” the judge thundered.
“And it looks like this case involves yet another child. So, this is the fourth child you have fathered! I can’t even support three children. What gives you the right to continue to bring
children into this world and abandon them?”
As
the defendant shot the judge a defiant look, the judge began yelling at him. “You
think this is funny! Well, I tell you
what’s funny. I’m going to put an end to
this. I’m sending you and all these
other men a message that’s LOUD AND CLEAR.
I’m ordering the sheriff to take you out right now and throw you in a
cell. And you are NEVER getting
out! And just in case you think I can’t
do that, there’s an appellate lawyer sitting right here and she’s going to tell
me how to draft an order to keep you locked up forever!” At that the judge pointed at me. The defendant took one look at me and bolted
for the door, knocking his attorney to the ground. The 62-year-old bailiff took off after him,
but as far as I know the defendant was never found.
Both
the judge and the Lord were good enough to give warnings before using the
ultimate weapon at their command. As for
Dad, having gotten a holy kick in the pants, he never again skipped church to
play golf. As for me, I learned that
there’s just so far that you can push even the best of judges. When you go too far, lightning is bound to
strike.
