The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String by Kris Knorr, Barb Froman

Kevin tried to flick Marcus’s nose, but his brother dodged.
    “What kinds of meat can I have on my sandwich?”
    “Huh?”
    “Do I get a choice of meat and cheeses?”
    “There’s a flyer.” Marcus pushed a vampire-doodled paper at the parishioner.
    The man studied it. “There’re no prices. How much are they?” Kevin shrugged.
    Vera leveled a glare at the boys as she stepped next to the gentleman. “Could you be any more unhelpful?” Kevin gave her the sullen stare perfected by high-schoolers.
    “I’ve got this.” Hettie patted Vera’s shoulder. She elbowed Kevin with a “Stop-it” nudge and answered questions, providing on-the-job training. Vera gave the boys a dark frown and left, glancing over her shoulder. The boys were busy giving half-answers to another member. Satisfied no one was making faces at her, she walked on.
    Back at the table, five-year-old Johnny had grabbed the sock puppets. His dad had paused, with a whining daughter on his hip, and asked, “Can I take a flyer home? We’ll call in our order.” Johnny stuffed his hands in socks and made them eat his sister’s leg. She squealed and kicked.
    “Johnny, put them back.” Fred grabbed. “They don’t belong to you.”
    “He can have them. I never want to see ’em again,” Marcus said. Johnny grinned, holding the puppets over his head, their sock mouths chomping at the boys.
    Kevin leaned forward with bared teeth and claw-like hands. He hissed, “How’d you like to sit with Saint Scary?”
    Johnny became quiet, his hands clamped to his sides as he stepped behind his father.

“Forget The Former Things” Isaiah 43:18  

    “I ESCAPED BEFORE the juice cup disasters,” Allie called out as the February wind followed her through the church doors. Flyers on the bulletin board flapped. Newsletters somersaulted through the air and dropped around the ladder in the middle of the narthex. “Sorry,” she groaned, stooping to pick up papers as the doors wheezed shut.
    “Miserable day, huh? Thanks for coming out.” Kay balanced on the ladder, a pair of pink-toed footies in her hand. Fifteen pairs of socks already dangled from the ceiling.
    “I’m thrilled to get out of the house. Besides,” Allie hung her coat on the rack, “my husband needs more experience with spills and stickiness.”
    “You may be sorry. We’re hanging so many socks Vera will have a new benchmark for overdoing it. Will you give me a break and tape for a while? I’ll string them.”
    “O…kay.” They traded places, Allie gingerly climbing the rungs. She blinked several times, took a breath, then stuck a fishing line to the ceiling, a pair of baby booties twisting on the end.
    “You all right?”
    “Bad morning. Let’s leave it behind.” She held out a hand, waiting for another pair. “You like to mess with Vera, don’t you?”
    Kay paused, giving the young woman a studied look. She carried the marks of a weary mom. Dark semi-circles lined her eyes. A frazzled ponytail. Food stains on baggy sweat pants. Kay nodded. “Does that bother you?”
    “Well…it seems like someone should say something to her.”
    “And you think no one has.”
    “I…don’t know. I thought people in a church would have these problems worked out.”
    Kay laughed as she held a pair of athletic socks up. “Think of the church as a hospital for sinners. That’s what it is according to Martin Luther. In other words, we all need some reconstruction. Nobody’s close to perfect—even me—if you can believe that.”
    Allie’s eyes widened in feigned shock. Kay smiled as she threaded a sock with fishing line. “We try to work together. We mess up. We forgive it or forget it. Most people hate conflict and confrontation.”
    “You don’t.”
    Kay stared at her. “Do you work with any annoying people or have any quirky relatives?”
    “Who doesn’t? My brother’s so cheap; he still has his first communion money.”
    “And when you tell him how that irritates you, he changes