“Why I wish I were a Mennonite”

Confession: This almost seems egotistical for a Mennonite to link to. But a friend told me about it in the last month and I was blessed. I think we could probably take a moment to hear what Mr. Taylor had to say–to celebrate what we’re good at without forgetting we don’t have it all–

What do you think? Is he representing the Mennonites you know? What do you want to be known for?

Why I Wish I Were a Mennonite
by Aaron Taylor

A Grimm Tale for Our Time

But Mom, I wish there WERE no chores.

Oh really? Oh really, small son? Then listen to my tale…

*****

In the high and far-off times, oh best beloved, before iPhones, before sliced bread, before Adam and Eve, God created two special people: the very first man and the very first woman.

Now the man’s name was Doofus and the woman’s Dilly, and they decided right from the get-go that chores were for the birds; they would have none of them.

So they sat in their beautiful garden.

And they sat.

And they sat.

After a time, Doofus said “Sure am hungry. Maybe I should rustle up some food.” But he thought of the work of hunting an animal or picking a basket of fruit. He thought about skinning and hulling and slicing and frying. He thought about these chores. And after a great deal of thought he decided—he’d sit a while longer.

After a time, Dilly said “It’s getting frosty. Maybe I should sew myself a dress to protect me from the cold night air.” But she thought about gathering the materials, and weaving the fabric, and stitching the seams. She thought about these chores and decided—not to bother.

And so they sat.

And they sat.

Doofus starved to death, Dilly died of frostbite, and God the Ever Creative Innovator started over again with a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. He put His two new people into the garden and the first thing He said to them was “Children, you have chores!”

*****

Moral: Necessity is the mother of invention.

*****

I know, I know. I committed the unpardonable in letting my main characters self-destruct. Don’t read too much into it.

I need a better moral–a lighter, funnier twist instead of dark cynicism. Suggestions? “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”? “Clothes do not make the man”? :)

The Daily Lampoon

From Meadville, Pennsylvania, this is Omi Werd reporting.

*****

The staff and team members at Confessions were blown away last week by heavy winds of unprecedented interest. Mrs. Zook, author of Confessions, stated herself both “delighted” and “a little overwhelmed” as page views temporarily skyrocketed and comments flew thick and fast. Zook wishes to thank the community for its [mitigated] support and [unmitigated] patience during this time.

Both agreement and disagreement were eloquently voiced online, with some readers participating in a discussion thread on the topic. “The community really came together,” says Zook.

“I expected to strike, you know, a very small nerve,” said Zook in a statement to reporters, “but this has taken me completely by surprise.” Pleasant voices of agreement were appreciated, as were pleasant voices of dissent, and our first hit-and-run commenter added an authentic and delightful twist. Says Zook, “My writing has been called many things, both complimentary and uncomplimentary, but ‘whiny rhetoric’ is a new one. Totally dig it!”

When asked where she wants to go from here, Zook mentioned upcoming plans for titillating posts on birthday cakes and bar stool cushions. “So we’ll definitely keep the excitement rolling. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Until then, the Zooks can be reached at their local bomb shelter.

Pop!

Do you know the carnival game where those little balloons float up and you have to shoot them with a gun or a dart?

Some of us are like that in discussions, ever so good at shooting down the hopeful ideas and helpful suggestions of others. That just wouldn’t work, because… No, I thought of that already. Sorry, we’ve tried that too.

It’s easier to see this in others, but I’m most disturbed to recognize it in myself: the temptation to create the perfect empty gallery in which there are no more viable ideas and options to be raised, to look around with satisfaction that I won to the next level, unwilling to admit even to myself that I haven’t created a better balloon.