Denise Day Spencer

A conversation that took place in my office this past week:

DENISE: (to Audie) Today’s Tamara’s birthday! I brought her some flowers and some mint. (as Tamara enters) Hi! (pointing to a tiny boquet of home-grown flowers) Here’s a birthday boquet for you! (pointing to a bunch of mint leaves) And here’s some birthday mint for your tea!

TAMARA: Oh, my! Thank you! (pause, turning on the computer) Well, we had a good time last night. We ate at the Mexican restaurant.

DENISE: For your birthday?

TAMARA: Yes.

DENISE: Oh, I see. You had to have your birthday dinner last night because you’re going to the track meet tonight, right?

TAMARA: We had my birthday dinner last night because yesterday was my birthday.

Now considering the fact that Tamara and I have worked together for 12 years or so, this would have been rather embarrassing were it not for the fact that she can never remember the date of my birth or even the month. Lesson learned: If you’re going to be forgetful, hang out with someone more forgetful than yourself!

Recently I was walking across our campus and saw that the teacher for our K-grade 2 faculty/staff children had the kids out doing foot races. Everyone was running gleefully except for one little fellow who was having a meltdown. He sat on a rock, the hood of his neon-orange raincoat pulled over his downcast head.

“It’s not fair!” he wailed. “I always lose! In every race, I always lose!”

One of his small buddies approached to offer support. He stooped slightly to get down on his friend’s level. “When I run really fast my brain hurts!” he offered. I have no idea how that was supposed to help, but bless his little heart, he tried.

Aren’t little kids the greatest?

Don’t you just hate it when you do something that makes you feel about a half-inch tall?

I work in our school’s print shop. One of our pet peeves is people who knock on the door. They’re not supposed to knock. They’re supposed to come in and then one of the kindly print shop workers will assist them. You see, when they knock we have to stop whatever we’re doing and go answer the door. We may be at the computer. We might be on the phone. We could be in the back of the shop, running the labeling machine (in which case we wouldn’t even hear the knock at the door.)

We used to have a particular employee who always–always–knocked, even though we’d told her countless times that she didn’t have to do that. And one of our former kindly print shop workers would tell her, “You don’t knock on the door at WalMart, do you? Just come in!” But the next time she came calling we’d hear that tap-tap-tap once more.

It seems to me that this week we’ve had an unusually high number of rapping knuckles at our door. So today, there I sat, alone at my desk when it happened again. Knock, knock. “Oh, bother,” thought I. “Now what?” It was a gentle tapping. Knock, knock, knock. “Who’s knocking? You know, I shouldn’t get up and answer it. If they want in badly enough, they’ll just have to open the door!” Knock, knock. Knock, knock. Persistent little devil, wasn’t he/she? “Oh, all right. I’ll get it!”

I opened the door and there stood “Molly,” our one-armed student. Her lone arm was holding a load of books and in her only hand was the note she was trying to deliver to my co-worker. I’m not even sure how she’d been knocking.

But Molly wasn’t irritated. She smiled brightly, as she always does. I meekly took her note and smiled back. That’s all you can do when you’re about a half-inch tall.

Michael and I must be two of the few remaining people in the U.S. who do not own a cell phone. So you may think I’m prejudiced, and perhaps you’re right.

But still I say, “People! When you go to a concert, a play, a recital, or for goodness’ sake a worship service, please turn your cell phone off!  And if you absolutely must leave it on, then ANSWER it when it rings, for crying out loud! If that call is so all-fire important that it was worth disturbing the mood for the audience and breaking the concentration of the musicians/actors/etc., then doesn’t it need to be answered?!”

In other words, when there’s a passion play and Jesus is suffering his last moments of agony on the cross and suddenly the silence is broken by the merry melody of a cell phone that rings…and rings…and rings…and rings…That’s not cool.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m not ready for grandchildren. Case in point: my tour of duty in the church nursery a few weeks ago.

Clay was going to be my helper and I knew most folks would be out of town for the holidays. I figured we’d just have one or two children. How hard could that be? And I had a plan. We were going to make things to remind us of the gifts the wise men brought Jesus. The first project: paint small rocks yellow to represent the gold. Pretty creative, huh? Read the rest of this entry »

Well, I must still have what it takes. This morning I ate a rare breakfast at McDonald’s and two elderly gentlemen flirted with me–at least until their wives showed up. That kind of made my day!

Well, it’s that season of the year again–lovely Christmas time. The time when all hearts are filled with peace and goodwill toward brother, neighbor, stranger. The time when we dare to hope for childlike faith and innocence. Wait. Did I just say “childlike innocence?” Is there any such thing? If so, they lose it mighty early these days. Read the rest of this entry »

Well, I’ve done something different this year. I got a flu shot for the first time in my life. I used to think they were for old people. Now that I’m 50, I guess I am old people.

It was great to have the kids home for Thanksgiving. Michael thought it would be cool to record a family podcast. So we all five sat around the kitchen table and came up with…absolutely nothing. It seems we’re simply not nearly as interesting as we thought we were.

“Webshots” just gleefully announced to me, “You have a total of zero fans and zero friends!” C’mon, guys. Tell me something I don’t already know!

When my daughter calls me in the morning because she’s heard reports that Kentucky had some bad storms the night before, but she gets tongue-tied and asks if we were hit by a tomato…I know it’s going to be an interesting day!

Talk about your freaky goings-on.

Yesterday I got an e-mail at work from one Mr.–are you ready for this?–Tom Riddle. He was asking that two other people be removed from our ministry’s mailing list. The reason? “They are now deceased.”

Oh, really? I wonder, Mr. Riddle, how they came to be “now deceased.” For that matter, I thought you were now deceased.

I think this whole thing has gotten to be much bigger than J. K. ever planned. All I know is that when I get an e-mail from evil personified from beyond the grave, it kind of creeps me out for the rest of the day.