Well, it's that time of year again. I thought I'd share a Christmas story I wrote a few years back with you. It's about faith, and family, and it's got comedy and action, but if you've read my stuff before, you know you're in for a treat. Here's part one.
Part One
Some of the world's greatest stories begin in some of the weirdest places. Christmas began in a barn. This story that I am about to tell you started in a prison in Georgia, in a flower shop in a little town in Oklahoma, and in the passenger seat of a U-Haul truck.
Mostly, it takes place in Rogers Oklahoma.
Rogers is a little town between Tulsa and Oklahoma City. Like so many little Oklahoma towns, it got skipped over by the interstate back in the middle of last century, according to my dad.
All I know is all little towns in the Midwest are basically the same. They have the same wood framed houses, the same tree lined streets, and the same brick school houses. They all have a downtown, with the same small town businesses -the ones that Walmart left alive-, the same city hall, the same city parks named after some long dead councilman, and the same church buildings.
On the surface, it all looks very familiar. Oh, sure, each town has its own cast of characters. But once you figure out who's really in charge, it's pretty much the same thing as the last town, at least for a twelve-year-old.
My name is Jeremy Roland, and what you are about to read is mostly true, or as near as I can get to the truth, since I wasn't there for all of it.
Anyway, I'm Jeremy, and I am a New Kid.
Now, I know what you're thinking, you think I meant to say “the” new kid, right? Nope. After moving ten times in the first twelve years of life - through four different grade schools in four different states- I figure I have just about achieved professional status.
There are three major categories of us professional New Kids. First, you got your vagabonds. These are kids whose parents either have to, or just like to move a lot for change of scenery, or whatever. Tommy would have been my best friend at my last school, but he only stayed nine weeks. He was one of them, and once he moved, we lost track of each other.
Next you got your Army/Navy/Airforce/Marine brats who move when Mom or Dad gets reassigned. The last place we lived was Manhattan Kansas, the Little Apple, near Ft. Riley, so I had been friends with quite a few army kids.
The last category is one some people might not think of, but it's where I come in, pastor's kids. Now, not all pastors move a lot, and I understand it may not be as common as it used to be. But for ministers who prefer congregations in small towns, it happens a lot, or at least it did for my dad.
On about grade school number three, when I was entering fourth grade, I had a talk with my dad about what it meant to be a new kid. He pointed out that the ultimate “new kid” understood what I was going through, and would go through it with me. He showed me how Jesus really fit that mold. He came from another world, and gave up, not just his friends, but his status as a part of the creative team who built the universe.
Not to mention he was not exactly welcome from the beginning, I mean, he was only two when he had a hit put out on him by a king, right? After that, I sort of took it as a badge of honor to be a new kid. The one thing I never forgot was what my dad shared about how Jesus went about it.
Even though he had the right to be mad and take control and make things the way they should have been, or get real moody about how much he missed his real home and friends, he didn't need to upset everybody's agenda to get his point across. Instead, he was real cool about it and tried to help out and serve as many people as he could. Anyway, it made me feel better.
I'm telling you this right up front, because it has a lot to do with all the other stuff I am about to tell you, which you'll understand later. When this story starts, I am about to move into my eleventh home town, Rogers Oklahoma, where most of this actually happened.
If you saw the place, you'd never believe that this story happened like it did. It didn't seem like the kind of place where a preacher's kid could get mixed up with the mob, become best friends with an escaped prisoner posing as a pastor, and end up saving the day, but that's exactly what happened.
Moving days were always eventful, but if I could have seen what this one would lead to, I wouldn't have believed me either.
If you're enjoying the story so far, upvote, resteem and comment! Thanks. Part two coming later today, stay tuned for more, it gets good!