What is it about a substitute teacher that brings out the mischief, laughter, and downright silliness in three mature adult women? OK, mature might not be the word to use, older, Titus 2 women? I don't know but we fell into fifth grade shenanigans during the Sunday School hour this morning. The poor teacher had the assignment of teaching on the battle of Armageddon. It was obvious she had done a lot of research and studying but this ADD riddled mind could not take in all the facts, figures, and excerpts from experts. Maybe a story would have helped. Lessons without stories are soon forgotten by this attendee. I was totally overwhelmed with it all. Not too dormant is the attitude I took through most of my early school years and childhood Sunday School experiences, find something fun in all the boring statistics and have a good time. I mean that attitude must be lying on the very surface with me. It has been a long, long time since I have had this kind of fun in Sunday School. I have fun in Sunday School almost every Sunday, but not this kind of fun. Peggy drew a wonderful picture of the battle of Armageddon complete with soldiers, horses, blood and the valley of Meggido. I added the drawing of a tour bus in the corner because surely some tourist group will be visiting on the day of the battle. When I was in Israel, it is one of the first places we went to. There is so much I have forgotten from that trip in 1988, but seeing the Meggido Valley is not one of them. You totally can see how all the armies of the world will do battle on that vast plain. We also sang something anytime anything sounded like a familiar song. I forget one song that all three of us altos wanted to take the low part, so the others, Peggy and Cynthia made me the soprano. The only time I want to be a soprano is when I watch the A&E version of the Sopranos. "Hey, you...somebody is going to get whacked and ya take it to your grave." Now that is Soprano.
Let's see, what other childish things did we amuse ourselves with? Oh yes, the class was asked if we knew what the word hooda meant. Uh, no surprise here, no one raised their hand. It was a loaded question. I wanted to answer in my best hooda voice... yo, yo, yo...don't be playin' while dog is in the hooda. Peggy used the word in a sentence... when I buy a sweatshirt, I like to buy one with a hooda. a hooda is over the engine of your car and if you make a Soprano mad, you might just be a hooda ornament. I also remember this question, "does anyone remember what happened on the plain of Dura?" We all acted like we knew but were eagerly awaiting the revealing...so no one answered until we got another clue, when King Nebuchadnezzar set up the golden image? Well duh, why didn't she say that part cause we could have all answered about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendigo in the fiery furnace. Punk...yo would have been popped in the hooda for that. When Peggy's daughter Jenny was little, Peggy asked her what she learned in Sunday School that morning. Jenny replied, oh something about the three bad boys that went to hell and this was complete a drawing that Peggy still has. I just called Peggy, she says the word was hoodna, but it works either way and the song we all wanted to sing the low part on was, Have a Little Talk with Jesus. I busted out with an oldie but goodie by the Happy Goodmans, He's Coming Again.
Next on our agenda of things to amuse ourselves with is, the three of us texted Dena and asked how her Sunday morning off was going. We also let her know, we missed her. Well, the end of class was wrapping up and I had told Roy I would leave early so that we could grab some lunch and he could get over to Reckling Park. I was just about to leave when the sub wanted us all to pray, good, but asked that we get on our knees if we are able to. Well, I couldn't leave early without tripping over legs trying to get out the door. You know how you can get clumsy when trying to be quiet.
I wish my mom didn't have Alzheimer's, cause I would have loved to call her this afternoon to let her know she would be getting another visit from a Sunday School teacher. This seemed to be an annual thing when I was a kid. I was the kind of student you loved to hate, I knew the lesson backwards and forwards and would use it against the teacher with endless unanswerable questions. Sunday School, especially opening assembly was a total bore to me. It became my mom's usual habit to call the new teacher for the year at Promotion time. She said it saved a lot of time to do that.
In church Pastor Gregg taught on the anti Christ. An excellent sermon. Today, Peggy, Cynthia and I were the anti class. It is just horrible what happens when there is a substitute teacher.