by Manfred Koehler

Greg Phelps walked into Sunday school, chin buried under the zipper of his jacket. His eyes cut around the room. Only one empty chair.

This was sooo not good.

Fighting the rumbling in his chest, Greg shuffled toward a corner of the room and slid into a crouch. The loud scraping of his nylon jacket made him wince. Greg needed to keep quiet. He was a loner. He hated being noticed.

The more alone he was, the safer he felt.

Cornered

"Hi, Greg," he heard someone call. Greg closed his eyes. The voice sounded like Camille Thompson’s. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut, she would go away.

"Sit over here, Greg. You look miserable balled up in the corner like that."

Camille was nice. Greg wasn’t used to nice, so he didn’t move.

"Come on, Greg! You can’t stay there."

Reluctantly, Greg stood. No one could say no to Camille. She could charm a thirsty camel away from water. Besides, he wanted her to be quiet.

Greg shuffled his way toward the empty seat beside her. Sitting down, he leaned as far away from Camille as possible. Greg hoped her niceness had run out.

No such luck.

Camille reached over, patted him on the arm and gave him a big smile. Greg blinked, then returned Camille’s smile. For a short moment, he felt full of warm fuzzies. Greg pushed the feeling away. Camille was a hard person to understand.

"Oh, gross!"

Greg turned to see who spoke: Sandra Evers.

"Don’t you ever wear anything other than that jacket?" She held her hands up like tiny claws. "It’s filthy!"

Now Sandra was someone Greg could understand. He gave her a small, cold smile. That was exactly why he wore the jacket—so grub worms like Sandra would stay far away. He leaned closer to Sandra. With any luck, the jacket’s musty smell would waft in her direction.

Scowling, Sandra turned to the girl beside her and started talking.

Suddenly, he felt a soft hand on his arm again.

"Don’t you pay her no mind, Greg." Camille whispered. "She’s still growing up, just like all of us."

Classroom Clowning

Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. Kennell, the Sunday school teachers, walked in. The door slammed shut behind them.

Greg jumped in his seat. He hated slammed doors. They reminded him of an angry dad.

With several fingers pointing Greg’s direction, everyone in the room laughed—everyone, that is, except Camille. Greg watched as she stared around the room, her face upset. Several kids began jumping in their seats. Others imitated the noise of a slamming door by slapping their Bibles. Soon the whole room bounced like popcorn.

"Stop!" Camille shouted, pressing on her neighbor’s shoulder. "You guys are sooo mean!"

The noise died down. Camille gave Greg an apologetic smile.

Mr. Kennell studied the room, a soft frown on his face.

"My apologies for slamming that door," he began, his eyes on Greg.

Turning to the rest of the class, he continued: "Okay, let’s use our Bibles for good, not for evil. Open them to Romans 15:7. Sandra, why don’t you read the verse for all of us?"

Open Bible in one hand, Sandra stood, straightened her dress and read: "Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God."

With a swallow and a sideways glance at Greg, she sat down.

"Thank you, Sandra. Now, Greg," Mr. Kennell was looking at him again. "Are you coming to Thursday’s Harvest Festival at the church?"

Greg nodded with a shrug of his shoulders. He couldn’t think of anything better to do on the 31st.

"Good." Turning to the rest of the class, Mr. Kennell gave them a stern look. "Greg and I are doing Sunday school together this morning. The rest of you pay close attention to my wife. If anyone gives her trouble, I’ll hear about it."

Good Talk

Greg sat before a steaming cup of hot chocolate and two doughnuts. Mr. Kennell sipped on a French vanilla cappuccino.

"You get teased a lot, Greg?" Mr. Kennell seemed as if he already knew the answer.

Greg stuffed a doughnut into his mouth and nodded.

"Where’s your dad these days?"

Greg just stared out the window, chewing. That’s one place he didn’t want to go, even with Mr. Kennell. Greg kept chewing. He wished he could tell Mr. Kennell about his sad life. Maybe someday.

Mr. Kennell frowned that soft frown. "Remember the day you accepted Jesus?"

Greg smiled. How could he ever forget? That was a great day.

Mr. Kennell pulled a small Bible from his jacket. "Greg, I want to read you something."

Greg stopped chewing and listened.

"Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God." Mr. Kennell paused, letting it sink in.

Greg’s sipped his hot chocolate.

"Greg, when you accepted Jesus, Jesus totally accepted you. He loves you dearly, just the way you are. And for what it’s worth, so do I. If you could let that sink deep—especially that Christ totally accepts you—it would help with the hard things you face from all the people who don’t accept you."

Greg chewed on his second doughnut.

"Will you memorize this verse and give it some thought?"

Greg nodded and smiled, full of warm fuzzies.

Party Time

Greg stood outside the church, not sure he wanted to go in. He felt stupid in his shepherd outfit. About to walk back home, he heard a familiar voice.

"Greg, I don’t believe it! You look great." Camille beckoned, holding the church door open. She was dressed like a ballerina.

"Come on in. Everyone is going to love your outfit!"

Greg swallowed the urge to run. Since Camille accepted him like Jesus did, he could understand her now. Camille’s friendliness was real.

Stepping through the door and into the auditorium, Greg stared in astonishment. The place was bustling with costumes—mostly superheroes, animals and Bible characters. Mr. and Mrs. Kennell were dressed up as a fat king and a beautiful queen. The scariest thing in the room looked like a cheesy version of Shrek.

Several of his Sunday school classmates greeted him. "Hey, cool outfit." Someone even offered to bring him a drink.

But Greg’s heart went cold. Behind some of the smiling masks, he remembered last Sunday’s laughter.

Suddenly, the whole room seemed scary.

Greg looked around the auditorium. He needed a dark corner in which to disappear. Finding one, he scrunched himself into a crouch.

Party Crasher

"Greg! There you are." Camille’s familiar voice rose above the noise. "Look who’s here."

Beside Camille, the world’s friendliest ballerina, stood something that made him blink.

A sheep. Boy, did she look real.

Suddenly, a door slammed nearby. Greg jumped to his feet, his heart thumping. Embarrassed, he stood before the wooly creature.

Greg gazed into her face. Who is she? Then he recognized her: Sandra.

"Our costumes go together," she offered, her voice tiny. She tried to smile a little wider and put out her hand, waiting for Greg to shake it.

Greg’s memory of Sunday morning filled him with anger. Sandra had been one of the loudest laughers in the crowd. He could still see her wrinkling her nose as he sat beside her.

Something inside Greg erupted.

"I’d rather spit on your hand than shake it," Greg shouted.

Sandra’s nervous smile disappeared. Her hand fell to her side. Then she turned away and ran.

Getting the Point

"Greg Phelps. That was sooo mean!" Camille said, glaring. "You’ve got some major growing up to do."

Greg stared at the ground. He didn’t feel angry anymore. Just stupid.

A fat king’s belly moved into Greg’s line of sight. He gazed up into Mr. Kennell’s unsmiling face.

"Greg, did you memorize that verse we talked about?"

Greg nodded.

"Quote it to me."

"Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God. Romans 15:7. " The words came quickly.

"Good," Mr. Kennell replied. "Did you think about how much Christ accepts you?"

Greg nodded.

"How much does He?"

"Totally," Greg said, believing it more than ever.

"Well, you better find a way to pass that acceptance on to other people who aren’t always nice to you . . . like Sandra."

Greg stared down at his sandals.

"You can do it, Greg," Camille encouraged.

Greg looked at her, then back at Mr. Kennell. All he saw was acceptance in their warm smiles. Greg turned to find Sandra. He saw her sitting alone in a back corner pew—trying to hide.

"Time to grow up and be like Jesus," Greg said, taking a step in the right direction.

	Q: What do you get when an antelope and a caribou collide? A: A cantaloupe. Jacy and Joe C., 8 and 6, North Carolina Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe