Tales from the Basement, Part 2
Once upon a time, I etched on these pages a story of how I survived the clutches of a wild gang of children who had me confined in a basement. I lived to tell the tale of my captors’ exploits and how their barbaric curiosity and unbounded energy led to a gospel presentation and an afternoon nap. Today, nearly two years later and by God’s mercy, my heart still beats. It beats partially for the sake of these children’s souls, and therefore I will share with you again another gripping tale from the basement of Foundry Church.
The Explorers consist of fourth and fifth graders—the wisest, maturest, and most cunning scalawags in Kidztown. On this occasion, I tally eight unbearded swashbucklers eager to interrogate their captive pair of victims/teachers. From the onset, their strategy predictably entails dividing and conquering. Shelby utters, “Can I get a drink of water?”
While my co-teacher monitors Shelby’s voyage through the corridor, I am left for a few minutes outnumbered and without a lifeline. My only defense is to unsheathe my double-edged sword, a Bible. To my surprise, several of the rogues have arrived at this showdown prepared, brandishing their own sacred texts like a wily militia. I remain no match for their guile.
Thankfully, some of the regulars have invited neighbor friends, a fledgling and unarmed platoon. Though drastically outnumbered, I am able to distract the greenhorns with my intriguing hardcover tome. “Would you like one of these to take home,” I offer, thanking God and Elissa for my stockpile of children’s Bibles.
One visitor eagerly accepts my offer while another looks timid as he considers what might happen if he brings a book like this into his home.
At this point, I am in better control of the tenuous predicament with Shelby’s thirst sated and my first mate once again at my flank. I commence reading the story. It’s about Jesus, a mysterious miracle-maker and friend of sinners. The ancient rabbi captivated his audience with a story about home construction. “The rain fell, the rivers rose, and the winds blew and pounded that house. Yet it didn’t collapse, because its foundation was on the rock.” (Matt 7:25)
To keep their attention firmly in my clutches, I allure my captors with building blocks—some slippery and unstable from a land called Jenga, others strong and secure with interlocking bricks. With their youthful minds fixated on the blocks, I gain the upper hand as they pour their vigor toward toppling their meager, newly-built structures. “The Legos don’t fall over!” one cries, and like parched horses to a stream, I guide them back to the Bible story.
The children begin to understand the value of a life built on the foundation of Christ. Eyes are opening, hearts are softening, and I thank God I hear the footsteps of my reinforcements descending the stairs. It’s 11:45 and the battle is over. I have escaped unscathed.
As I wave goodbye to each child, the boy with fear in his eyes earlier gasps to me, “I changed my mind. Can I have a Bible, too?”
