Dear Lord (and not Santa) We’ve wishes for you
And if it’s no bother, please make them come true…
An additional Bible to put on my stack
Make sure it’s KJV. Make sure it’s black.
A jean skirt that’s pleated, so modest (yet chic)
To wear when I’m soul-winning three nights a week.
A Sugar Creek Gang Book, more fun than TV
With Poetry, Circus, and sassafras tea.
Maybe Dutch Blitz? or a new game of Rook?
For rare evenings when ministry’s not undertook
A belt buckle cross, draped in red, white, and blue
With the words “We’re God’s Favorites! Too Bad for You!”
A shiny new pocket square; Blue Denim and Lace
And dear God, please…a ticket away from this place.
Brother Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. His death had been recorded in the Old Paths Journal, Revival Fires, and on the front page of the Sword of the Lord. Pastor Scrooge had preached his funeral. And once Pastor Scrooge had given a funeral invitation the deceased almost never recovered. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? He was Scrooge’s parishioner for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole confidant, his sole spiritual adviser, his sole standard bearer, his sole old paths finder, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of ministry on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an altar call such as would be remembered for years.
