Jesus, tetherball, and Spot

Edith Glimshire was afraid of Jesus and Lily couldn’t understand why.

At her church, Edith said, Jesus was mad at everybody and planned to send all of them to hell. That’s what the minister said anyway.

Jesus was more mild-mannered at Lily’s church. He mostly wanted people to recite his prayer every week, sing hymns about the old rugged cross, and try not to trespass until the next week. Lily was sure that Jesus followed her family home after church to hover over the roast beef and listen to Lily recite the table prayer with her mom, dad, and older brother.

He came because they invited him – “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest.”

Jesus was a little scary at bedtime when Lily prayed “if I die before I wake,” but most of the time he was friendly.

Lily had a picture of Jesus on her bedroom wall. The picture was in a pink plastic butterfly frame. Inside one butterfly wing was a portrait of Jesus – a fair-skinned, blue-eyed man with a kind expression. In the other wing was a promise: “Prayer changes things.”

Prayer, for Lily, was simple – pray for Jesus to bless the meal, pray for Jesus to bless family, and pray for Jesus to change things. Ask him and he would. Lily was secure knowing that everything would always turn out fine. Jesus promised.

Jesus took care of the tetherball issues for Lily. The school playground had three tetherballs and kids lined up for a turn every recess. Lily never won. Ever. She took a couple of jabs at the ball, missed, lost, and went to the back of the line.

“I just need more practice,” she decided and asked her dad to put up a tetherball in the backyard.

“Maybe,” he said. “If I can find an old tire and some concrete for the base.”

Lily asked Jesus. “You know I’m terrible at tetherball,” she told him. “Please help my dad find an old tire and some concrete. Please tell him to buy the tetherball kit and set it up for me. Thank you. Amen.”

To send the message heavenward with extra emphasis, Lily looked at the pink butterfly Jesus while she prayed.

Two weeks later, on a Saturday, Lily’s dad said, “Hey, Lily, I need you to run an errand with me.”

Usually, dad asked Lily’s brother to run errands. She was flattered and intrigued. She put down her brother’s copy of Mad magazine and settled herself in the front seat of the family Chevy. When dad pulled into Rollinger’s Hardware, she was disappointed. “Is he teaching me to fix plumbing or rake leaves?” she wondered.

But dad led her back to the games section and pulled a tetherball set into the shopping cart.

“Really?” she asked her dad, looking him straight in the eye. “Yep,” he grinned. “And I’m going to teach you to pour concrete!”

All that fall, Lily coerced Edith Grimshire to play tetherball in the backyard. On the last warm day of fall weather, Lily beat Ernest Newsome at a round of tetherball during recess. “Thank you, Jesus,” she celebrated silently. “Prayer changes things! And everything always turns out right.”

As Christmas neared, Lily turned her attention to the dog. Her family did not have a dog, but Lily desperately wanted a dog. She knew that pink butterfly Jesus would help.

“Please, please, please,” she said to him, looking directly into his blue eyes. “All I want for Christmas is a puppy. Please celebrate your birthday by sending me a puppy. Amen.”

On Christmas Eve, Lily’s family went to church. Lily was Mary in the Christmas pageant. Her brother was a wise man. Lily knew most of the hymns but didn’t get to sing along because Mary was supposed to be silent and reverent.

After Christmas Eve service, Lily’s parents let everyone open presents because no one believed in Santa anymore. Lily, however, still believed in pink butterfly Jesus and expected a puppy.

Lily opened pajamas from grandma, a crossword puzzle from Uncle Albert, candy from her brother, and books from her mom and dad. She smiled sadly. Then dad said, “Uh-oh. I hear something in the kitchen. Lily, could you go check?”

She shuffled into the kitchen and flicked on a light. Tied to a kitchen chair was a small black puppy. “Oh, no!” she cried, folding the puppy into her arms. She carried him back into the living room with tears still running down her cheeks.

“Well,” said mom, “I guess Santa got your letter!”

“Santa and Jesus,” said Lily.

She named him Spot. What else could a student of Dick and Jane name a dog? Her brother snorted at the cliché but mom and dad shushed him. “Spot it is!”

And there he was. Spot. Her puppy. Her buddy. Her loyal friend. She fed him. She walked him. She taught him to sit up. She taught him to say “please.”

She wanted him to sleep with her, but mom said, “No. Spot sleeps in the basement.”

So every night Lily led Spot to the basement, tucked him in, covered him up, and said, “See you tomorrow!”

Then Lily went to her bedroom, looked pink butterfly Jesus in the eye and said, “Thank you. Thank you for Spot.”

Every morning, Lily let Spot out of the basement. She hugged and petted him while he licked her face. She filled his food and water dish while he wagged his tail in thanks. While he snarfed his dog pellets, Lily went back to her bedroom to get dressed. She looked pink butterfly Jesus in the eye and said, “Take care of Spot today!” Then, with one last pat on Spot’s head, she left to meet Edith Grimshire and walk the four blocks to Washington Irving Elementary.

February 10 was a normal Tuesday. Miss Champnie wrote spelling words on the board. Lily struggled with the math assignment and dodged a ball during gym. When the last bell rang, she hurried home, looking forward to Spot’s warm, slobbery welcome.

But today, this day, no welcome. A quiet front hallway. A suspicious silence.

“Spot!” Lily called while she shed her boots, parka, scarf, and mittens. “Spot?”

“Lily,” said mom, coming into the hallway and putting her arm around Lily’s shoulder, “Spot got out this morning. I’m so sorry. I opened the door to pay the milkman and Spot took off. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

Lily filled the food dish and the water dish. She lined Spot’s toys up by the back door. She stood on the back porch and called, “Spot! Here Spot! Here boy!”

At 9:00 mom and dad insisted that Lily go to bed. She slept but woke up early. Dad was making coffee when Lily came into the kitchen in pajamas, robe, and slippers.

“Did Spot come home?”

“No, honey, not yet.”

Every morning for a week Lily found dad by the coffee pot and asked the same question… and got the same answer.

Ten days later, when Lily came home from school, mom asked Lily to sit on her lap on the front room couch. Lily had given up lap-sitting two years ago, so this was a very, very bad sign.

“Lily,” said mom, “the police called this morning. They found a dog on the side of the road. Injured. Badly injured. His tags said ‘Spot’ with our address. I am so sorry but Spot won’t be coming home. Ever.”

Lily did not respond. She shrugged and walked upstairs to her bedroom.

She stared pink butterfly Jesus in the eye. She did not find compassion there. Jesus had a blank, distant look.

“Seriously?” she yelled at him. “Seriously?”

She pulled the pink butterfly frame off her bedroom wall and stuffed it in her bottom dresser drawer with old tinker toys and crossword puzzles.

Amen.