One Things Leads To Another | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: One Things Leads To Another | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
01/12/16
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SCOTTSDALE EVANGELICAL CHURCH, circa 2050

The children playfully threw snowballs at each other during Sunday School recess. They did not notice, however, the glorious beauty of the play area’s ice-covered tree limbs or the glistening sparkles from bright sun rays on the shoveled mounds of snow surrounding them. Intent on their tunnel-visioned game, THEY DID NOT SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE. . .

“Children, children!” Miss Abernathy guiding the excited mini actors into a semblance of order, “Winterfest play practice will begin in five minutes! Go put on your costumes—quickly, now!”

Exhilarated from their outdoor play, the rosy-cheeked kiddies shed their wet coats, hats, mittens, scarves and boots and scurried to the class’ designated dressing room. Like multiple Frosty the Snowman discarded garments, their puddled piles of wet clothing lay abandoned behind them. The majority of them transformed into pointy big-eared elves, they gathered toy-making tools and pieces of brightly painted wood.

Mr. & Mrs. Claus, Rudolph and his team of reindeer and a gay, green and red sleigh stood off in the wings. Another team of elves busily arranged wrapping materials consisting of scotch-tape, rolls of paper, ribbons and bows, and took their assigned positions as Miss Abernathy clapped her hands. . .

The annual Scottsdale Evangelical Church’s annual Winterfest program took place in mid-December and was attended by students’ parents and relatives, as well as by the city’s dignitaries. The Atwaters, newcomers to the area a month previously, were there to support their 7-yr.-old daughter, Emily, who had a major role. Grandmimi Ethel waited patiently as the play commenced, convinced that Emily must be the figure of Mary, mother of the Christ child; or, at least the angel, Gabriel. But this was not to be. There was no stable, no children depicting moo-ing cows or bleating sheep, no straw-filled manger, no bright tin-foiled star hanging from the platform’s ceiling. No shepherds holding staffs were dressed in cast-off striped pajama robes, no wise men with sequined crowns and tinsel-adorned boxes, no babe wrapped in swaddling clothes.

“Oh, it was a sweet rendition of “T’was the Night Before Christmas”, but there was no religious meaning,” exasperated Ethel exclaimed to her daughter even as the program’s ‘THE END’ placards, held up precariously in the six actors’ hands spread across the stage, “but where was the TRUE meaning of Christmas?”

“Shhh! Mother—someone will hear you! We don’t call it that anymore—I told you, it’s ‘Winterfest’!”. . .

SCOTTSDALE, USA SCHOOL BOARD OF EDUCATION MEETING, circa 2025

“I make a motion that we dissolve the term ‘Christmas’ from our schools and call it ‘Winterfest’! My constituents are up in arms about the blatant unfairness of only a small segment of our society ruling this holiday.”

“I second it,” shouted School Superintendent Earl Abernathy.

“Support!” “Support!” “Support!” echoed around the politically correct non-smoking room.

Put to a vote, a two-thirds majority were in favor of the measure so that it would become the official position of the administrative body.

“But, this is only a resolution,” complained Department head Murphy, “and therefore, can only apply to this year, and it cannot be enforced.”

“But it reflects the ideas and values of most of our people, especially concerning the separation of Church and State. We have the support of the Teachers’ Union, as well. Next year, we will address taking away all Christian fables of the Bible’s rendition of Christmas. It is a start. . .”

SCOTTSDALE EVANGELICAL CHURCH Board of Administration Meeting, circa 2035

“All those in favor of reformatting our annual Christmas program to the more secular ‘Winterfest’ already in the public school system, say ‘Aye’,” Pastor Stuart bringing the discussion to an end.

“Aye!” “Aye!” “Aye!”

“It is carried. This will be our official position as a church, regardless of how our members celebrate the holiday in their own homes.”

“I move that we discuss the policing of members’ home celebrations after they have become accustomed to this first change,” offered Deacon Phillips.

“I second it!” from across the body, drowning in the quicksand of the politically correct.

It was a start.

ATWATER RESIDENCE, SCOTTSDALE, USA circa 2060

“Shhh! Emily, remember: no mention of the crèche we have packed away in the attic when they ask,” her mother admonished as the Board of Elders scoured their house for any religious artifacts.

Deceased Grandmimi Ethel’s presence seemed to waft through the air, mourning, “’Tis the beginning of the END,” and,

“IF ONY THEY HAD SEEN THE BIGGER PICTURE. . .”

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