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This week I jumped into a little writing competition again, and the prompt was… well, it was puzzling to say the least. The story had to include the anagram Diapers, Praised, Despair, and Aspired. Yes, diapers! Who slips that into a contest?

At first I scratched my head, but once I got going, inspiration flowed and a story was born. It’s so much fun to let your thoughts flow and I’m always amazed how so much can come out once you start writing. Writing is like a journey of discovery as you always bump into ideas and new things you never even dreamed off before.

The Story of the Week this time is about an old church janitor who… well, I’d better not give away too much. I just hope it will truly bring a smile to your face and that perhaps even the lesson may stick.

Thanks for reading.

The Day I Had No Pants

By J.K. Stenger

I was asked to preach.

In a dream. Of course, it was a dream. I am no preacher; I am just the janitor of our church.

But honest to God, I’ve always aspired to be a preacher and I dare say I’ve been tempted, on occasion, to murmur that I missed my calling. After all, as the janitor, I’ve witnessed hundreds of sermons. I know which jokes work and how a good preacher ought to conduct himself.

Of course, none of that really makes me a preacher. Still, the yearning for the calling has always spurred me on. That was true until I had my dream.

Let me clarify.

In my dream the pastor told me he wanted me to preach, and that God was fine with that. My heart leapt. At last, the hidden brilliance of my soul had been recognized. The congregation, wise as ever, had recognized the deep spirituality that had been guiding me all these years. The time had come for me to soak their parched and weary souls with my words.

A rush of pride coursed through me as I rose with a benevolent smile, glancing left and right at the adoring parishioners. With great dignity I ascended the steps to the stage.

I strode to the pulpit and, with a confident swoosh of my hand, straightened my hair as I looked down at the open Bible before me. My eyes fell on the words of King Solomon: “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” *

Ah … pride. I was to preach about pride, my favorite subject.

I cleared my throat, looked out over the sea of faces and in a booming voice declared, “Pride… an insidious enemy that plagues even the best of us.” Gripping the Bible in one hand so I could wave it for emphasis, I stepped away from the pulpit and began pacing back and forth, just as I had seen famous preachers do.

Pausing for impact, I caught restless stares and even some muffled laughter from the back.

Laughter? 

How disrespectful. Perhaps, the ushers needed to remove the culprits.

However, it seemed the laughter spread. More people let out soft giggles and subdued snickers.

I tried to ignore it. These people needed a hard sermon on pride. I swallowed and roared, “A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something above you.” 

I loved that quote. It wasn’t mine, but I’d read that somewhere and it sounded just about right. 

“You should definitely look down yourself,” someone shouted while the laughter became louder. 

Excuse me?

People did not even try to hide it anymore. Soft giggles became roars, and snickers became loud guffaws.

My sense of greatness drained away like water through a sieve. Indignant fury rose, veins bulging. Just as I opened my mouth to rant about humility, someone shouted, “Pastor … you forgot your pants.”

 “Yeah, your pants, preacher. You look silly,” another roared while slapping his legs in joyful laughter.

I froze.

Even as a janitor, I always wore my best suit. Fine pressed pants that were carefully dusted off and a fitting jacket with a colorful tie that said, ‘Jesus saves.’ A true testimony to my immaculate attitude. 

My jacket was there. I felt it. And so was my tie … but my pants were not. I wasn’t wearing pants.

No, it was worse. I was dressed in … diapers. 

A large white cloth covered only my middle. My hairy, crooked legs made me look ridiculous, and I immediately understood the source of their merriment.

My heart froze in despair. I stumbled back to the steps hoping to disappear.

Dear Lord, deliver me from this horror. The despair is more than I can bear.

Then I heard a whisper: “Son, if you had climbed up with the humility you now carry on your way down, you would have come down with the joy you carried when you went up.”

What?

I did not want to hear it, but it was the gentle but firm voice of my Savior teaching me a lesson.

I screamed, only to hear a warm voice nearby.

“Wake up, Charles … You are having a nightmare.

I opened my eyes and stared in the concerned eyes of my beloved Annie, my wife for almost fifty years.

Oh, Annie,” I cried. “I’m still in diapers, no, worse, I’m in despair. I dreamed of preaching. I aspired to lead others, but I’m not ready for that, immature as I am. I’m only just the janitor.”

“Of course you are, my dear,” she said, planting a gentle kiss on my sweaty forehead. “And God be praised, you are a very good one. That is a calling too, you know.” 

“I know,” I said as the last remnants of the dream ebbed away and my heartbeat returned to normal. That nightmare had come a year ago.

I never wanted to preach again. Yet last week, Annie and I ascended the stage, not as preachers, but for the occasion of our 50th wedding anniversary. They had organized a party to honor our years of service and make us feel special.

The stage was grand, but I tell you, for me, being a janitor beats preaching every time. Because in sweeping floors, I have learned what I once missed at the pulpit, that joy comes not from being seen, but from serving. 

_____

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