The Prisoner’s Houseboat Habits
Stories
Contents
“The Prisoner’s Houseboat Habits” by David O. Bales
“Loopholes” by David O. Bales
The Prisoner’s Houseboat Habits
by David O. Bales
Luke 16:1-13
“Embezzlement for certain,” Emmett, the county’s rooky Assistant District Attorney said as he ran a hand over his crew cut in irritation. He sat with T.J. at the corner table in Sharon’s Super Coffee Shop. “And the defendant even pled guilty. Never a doubt from anyone. Didn’t use the public’s money spending time prosecuting him. Police report stated that as soon as the officer had stepped into his cubicle he stood, bowed his head and said, ‘I did it. I confess. Do I have to wear handcuffs?’ The officer was so taken back he just walked him to the squad car.”
“I agree that’s strange,” T.J. said. He was Emmett’s college friend and he always stopped at least for a coffee when his sales representative route brought him to Oregon’s high desert. “Every case is different.” He spun his glasses around in his hand and said, “Why the fuss?”
“Shouldn’t be,” Emmett said. “So easy the DA turned it over to me and it was like sleep walking through the hearings. Sentenced to 20 months and then restitution. Didn’t even have to send a car to transport him to the prison. The sheriff drove him in his personal car to the gate of the penitentiary.”
“Sounds nice for your department, no strings left hanging.”
“Should’ve been clear and clean,” Emmett replied, shaking his head, “but I should’ve figured that something out of the ordinary was going on. At every hearing, right to the sentencing, the courtroom was full, and not the usual gawkers. Here were people from Main Street — suits, ties, well dressed and courteous. No upsets during the proceedings, just moans when he was sentenced.”
“Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before,” T.J. said, chewing on the bow of his glasses.
Two men stepped into the shop laughing. One spotted Emmett and raised his voice, “Hi Em!” Emmett acknowledged him with a quick wave then ducked his head and spoke lower, “Here I was in my first solo case and like my eyes were glued to the bench. Never looked around. I knew. I really did know the place was full, but it didn’t march into my consciousness to wonder why.”
“So, you won the case,” T.J. said, laying his glasses down with click. “The guy’s guilty. You did your job. You look to your next case.”
“Except,” Emmett said, pursing his lips, “except you can’t believe what’s happened. I went to high school with Cooper, who’s one of the chaplains at the penitentiary. A month after the guy’s sent away Cooper phones me, ‘What’s up with this new prisoner?’ Seems his visiting hours are full day after day, and not the criminal types showing up to find out where the guy stashed the booty from the last break-in. In a couple weeks the visitors start sitting in Cooper’s office, imploring him to intercede for their dear, contrite friend. He’s been in this chaplain business for a while. When it comes to requests for leniency, there’s hardly a story he hasn’t heard.”
Emmett closed his eyes tightly and grimaced. “After a few more people request his intervention in the state’s penal system, he starts listening to them. Everyone says the prisoner’s a bundle of generosity. He shifted money from the company to his own bank, but he never hurt anyone. And, they all tell of his loaning them his houseboat. When there’s only one large lake in 50 miles, a houseboat in the summer’s a bit like owning an ice chair in hell. Seems the prisoner had this giant houseboat. Kept it at the lake and he loaned it to just anybody. Every one of his fellow Lions borrowed it for a weekend. It wasn’t a hit and miss thing. You ask him, he loans it to you. He had a calendar in his office especially for recording who he’d promised it to and his wife complained she had to get on his calendar early or she’d never get a summer vacation.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” T.J. said. “I’d like to help his family get onto his calendar, but I don’t understand why this is such a problem.”
“Problem is,” Emmett said with a gasp of exasperation, rubbing his hands on his hair as though trying to brush them clean, “two weeks ago I get a call from some aide on the governor’s staff who wants a copy of our case file. I try to explain the circumstances, but the fellow has the comprehension of a gravel pit. So I don’t seriously worry about it. I thought about it but I didn’t worry. Until yesterday. I get a visit from the governor’s office. This woman comes in with her brief case, chin forward, and looking like she can leap tall buildings with a single bound. Says Petition for Pardon forms have been requested by a dozen people and almost certainly one of them will cross the governor’s desk soon. ‘So what’s the deal?’ she asks, ‘with the state’s most popular prisoner?’”
“Okay,” T.J. said, “I see it. If he gets a pardon this soon in his short sentence, you’ll look foolish.”
“I’ll smell like two week old road kill,” Emmett said. “And this aide from the governor’s office only came to me after bouncing out of the DA’s office first. He didn’t exactly walk her to me and introduce her. Just shooed her down the hall, like this is my problem and he wants to stay beyond range of any publicity shrapnel.”
“Gads, Emmett, I don’t know what to suggest,” T.J. said, putting his glasses on slowly, “Maybe if you keep your head down, your part of the prosecution won’t come up. If the guy gets pardoned, maybe he’s genuinely a good fellow and won’t make trouble for you.”
“Well, he was certainly stupid to embezzle. Every person’s a jumble of conflicting traits; but, I’ve got to hand it to him, whether he just curried friendship or was genuinely concerned for others, his houseboat habits are getting results.”
“Hey,” T.J. brightened, “maybe he’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Thanks a great big heap.” Emmett rose quickly. He back peddled toward the door and said, “After such cheap advice, you can pay the bill.”
Preaching point: Grudging admiration for a strategy that ensures one’s future welfare.
* * *
First Of All
by David O. Bales
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Ariel and Angelica’s deepest memory was their parents telling them no one was sure which of them was born first. As children they asked their parents to repeat their birth story to every new person who entered their home.
“Your Mama was quite occupied,” their father said, “and you can’t accept her version of the event.”
“Right,” their mother replied, “like you could be objective while fighting the fire?”
Their births began in a hospital delivery room jammed with people. Because of the expected condition of the twins (not quite to term), two gynecologists, two pediatricians, and a handful of nurses attended the delivery — along with student nurses as well as the girls’ father and grandmother. When one child was almost out of the birth canal a flame burst from a computer monitor beside their mother and spewed sparks like a berserk Fourth of July sparkler.
“It was all jumping, screaming, coughing, running and swatting hands at the smoke,” their father said. “Someone grabbed the newborn and, as they got your mama onto a gurney to roll her into the hall — dragging behind a drip pole still attached to her — someone else pulled the second of you from between your mama’s legs. By the time the fire was out and you girls were safely tucked into incubators, no one was positive which came first.”
So Ariel and Angelic a —or “Angelica and Ariel” as Angelica said it — were unique for being “almost identical twins” as they put it, except for their disagreement about which was born first. They always tossed the question of “first” between them.
They’d come running down the stairs before school and one would yell, “I was first to get dressed.” The other would follow immediately, “I was first out of the bathroom.” All their friends knew the story of their births and the constant “firsts” banter. It was their exclusive intellectual property. Their father and uncle often performed Abbot and Costello’s routine “Who’s on First.” Angelica and Arie l— or “Ariel and Angelica” as Ariel said it — tried to come up with a similar routine for “I was born first, then who was born second?” but their giggling sent them into rolling laughter, thus never completing their routine.
The girls grew up seldom bored, partly because as twins they always had a playmate, but also they had their game of “First,” in which they were not only the players, but the umpire and scorekeeper. When they were 12 their pastor visited their Sunday school class and told them it was the time for them to decide to be baptized and live in the Christian faith. He asked the class to pray for a week and decide who would follow Jesus into his baptized life. Next Sunday as the students filed into the classroom, Ariel told the Sunday school teacher that she wanted to be baptized. Thus, she declared herself first in the faith. On the Sunday of the class’s baptism, however, Angelica was called to the pool first, so she said she was the first in the faith.
The girls’ grandmother attended the baptism. She didn’t think that faith in Christ and baptism should include rivalry. “You shouldn’t be competing about faith,” she said, wagging her finger. “As the Apostle Paul says, you should be first ‘in supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings for everyone so that you lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.’ That means your whole life needs to be in God’s spirit so that all you do is first and always an expression of God’s love for others.”
The 12 year olds smiled and tried to look ashamed, but their grandmother obviously didn’t understand her granddaughters. Within the year the girls’ friendly competition continued in diligent Bible study. They hit on how the Bible distinguished each name. Angelica learned that her name came from Greek for “angel.” Ariel found that her name was used for “Jerusalem.”
So, their life direction was set and continued through school and into adulthood. Even after they were married and with children, they’d talk on the phone every night, beginning each conversation with a variation of another first.
Seven weeks after their twenty-ninth birthday Ariel phoned Angelica and began the conversation with the news that her viral infection had promoted her to first with kidney disease. Three years of treatment didn’t slow progression and the discussion of a possible donor was short, because Angelica was a perfect match.
Before the two were wheeled into adjoining surgery suites for the transplant procedure, they held hands and prayed, ending with their favorite saying, “a real first.”
Three hours later as Angelica opened her eyes in the recovery room, she swallowed, coughed, and searched for the nurse attending her. Barely able to push words through her throat, the first thing she said was, “How’s Ariel?”
Ariel, recovering a few steps away, managed to move her head and gulp as she regained consciousness. With her eyes still closed, the first words she said were, “How’s Angelica?”
Preaching point: Putting God’s life first puts others first.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 22, 2019 issue.
Copyright 2019 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
“The Prisoner’s Houseboat Habits” by David O. Bales
“Loopholes” by David O. Bales
The Prisoner’s Houseboat Habits
by David O. Bales
Luke 16:1-13
“Embezzlement for certain,” Emmett, the county’s rooky Assistant District Attorney said as he ran a hand over his crew cut in irritation. He sat with T.J. at the corner table in Sharon’s Super Coffee Shop. “And the defendant even pled guilty. Never a doubt from anyone. Didn’t use the public’s money spending time prosecuting him. Police report stated that as soon as the officer had stepped into his cubicle he stood, bowed his head and said, ‘I did it. I confess. Do I have to wear handcuffs?’ The officer was so taken back he just walked him to the squad car.”
“I agree that’s strange,” T.J. said. He was Emmett’s college friend and he always stopped at least for a coffee when his sales representative route brought him to Oregon’s high desert. “Every case is different.” He spun his glasses around in his hand and said, “Why the fuss?”
“Shouldn’t be,” Emmett said. “So easy the DA turned it over to me and it was like sleep walking through the hearings. Sentenced to 20 months and then restitution. Didn’t even have to send a car to transport him to the prison. The sheriff drove him in his personal car to the gate of the penitentiary.”
“Sounds nice for your department, no strings left hanging.”
“Should’ve been clear and clean,” Emmett replied, shaking his head, “but I should’ve figured that something out of the ordinary was going on. At every hearing, right to the sentencing, the courtroom was full, and not the usual gawkers. Here were people from Main Street — suits, ties, well dressed and courteous. No upsets during the proceedings, just moans when he was sentenced.”
“Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before,” T.J. said, chewing on the bow of his glasses.
Two men stepped into the shop laughing. One spotted Emmett and raised his voice, “Hi Em!” Emmett acknowledged him with a quick wave then ducked his head and spoke lower, “Here I was in my first solo case and like my eyes were glued to the bench. Never looked around. I knew. I really did know the place was full, but it didn’t march into my consciousness to wonder why.”
“So, you won the case,” T.J. said, laying his glasses down with click. “The guy’s guilty. You did your job. You look to your next case.”
“Except,” Emmett said, pursing his lips, “except you can’t believe what’s happened. I went to high school with Cooper, who’s one of the chaplains at the penitentiary. A month after the guy’s sent away Cooper phones me, ‘What’s up with this new prisoner?’ Seems his visiting hours are full day after day, and not the criminal types showing up to find out where the guy stashed the booty from the last break-in. In a couple weeks the visitors start sitting in Cooper’s office, imploring him to intercede for their dear, contrite friend. He’s been in this chaplain business for a while. When it comes to requests for leniency, there’s hardly a story he hasn’t heard.”
Emmett closed his eyes tightly and grimaced. “After a few more people request his intervention in the state’s penal system, he starts listening to them. Everyone says the prisoner’s a bundle of generosity. He shifted money from the company to his own bank, but he never hurt anyone. And, they all tell of his loaning them his houseboat. When there’s only one large lake in 50 miles, a houseboat in the summer’s a bit like owning an ice chair in hell. Seems the prisoner had this giant houseboat. Kept it at the lake and he loaned it to just anybody. Every one of his fellow Lions borrowed it for a weekend. It wasn’t a hit and miss thing. You ask him, he loans it to you. He had a calendar in his office especially for recording who he’d promised it to and his wife complained she had to get on his calendar early or she’d never get a summer vacation.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” T.J. said. “I’d like to help his family get onto his calendar, but I don’t understand why this is such a problem.”
“Problem is,” Emmett said with a gasp of exasperation, rubbing his hands on his hair as though trying to brush them clean, “two weeks ago I get a call from some aide on the governor’s staff who wants a copy of our case file. I try to explain the circumstances, but the fellow has the comprehension of a gravel pit. So I don’t seriously worry about it. I thought about it but I didn’t worry. Until yesterday. I get a visit from the governor’s office. This woman comes in with her brief case, chin forward, and looking like she can leap tall buildings with a single bound. Says Petition for Pardon forms have been requested by a dozen people and almost certainly one of them will cross the governor’s desk soon. ‘So what’s the deal?’ she asks, ‘with the state’s most popular prisoner?’”
“Okay,” T.J. said, “I see it. If he gets a pardon this soon in his short sentence, you’ll look foolish.”
“I’ll smell like two week old road kill,” Emmett said. “And this aide from the governor’s office only came to me after bouncing out of the DA’s office first. He didn’t exactly walk her to me and introduce her. Just shooed her down the hall, like this is my problem and he wants to stay beyond range of any publicity shrapnel.”
“Gads, Emmett, I don’t know what to suggest,” T.J. said, putting his glasses on slowly, “Maybe if you keep your head down, your part of the prosecution won’t come up. If the guy gets pardoned, maybe he’s genuinely a good fellow and won’t make trouble for you.”
“Well, he was certainly stupid to embezzle. Every person’s a jumble of conflicting traits; but, I’ve got to hand it to him, whether he just curried friendship or was genuinely concerned for others, his houseboat habits are getting results.”
“Hey,” T.J. brightened, “maybe he’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Thanks a great big heap.” Emmett rose quickly. He back peddled toward the door and said, “After such cheap advice, you can pay the bill.”
Preaching point: Grudging admiration for a strategy that ensures one’s future welfare.
* * *
First Of All
by David O. Bales
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Ariel and Angelica’s deepest memory was their parents telling them no one was sure which of them was born first. As children they asked their parents to repeat their birth story to every new person who entered their home.
“Your Mama was quite occupied,” their father said, “and you can’t accept her version of the event.”
“Right,” their mother replied, “like you could be objective while fighting the fire?”
Their births began in a hospital delivery room jammed with people. Because of the expected condition of the twins (not quite to term), two gynecologists, two pediatricians, and a handful of nurses attended the delivery — along with student nurses as well as the girls’ father and grandmother. When one child was almost out of the birth canal a flame burst from a computer monitor beside their mother and spewed sparks like a berserk Fourth of July sparkler.
“It was all jumping, screaming, coughing, running and swatting hands at the smoke,” their father said. “Someone grabbed the newborn and, as they got your mama onto a gurney to roll her into the hall — dragging behind a drip pole still attached to her — someone else pulled the second of you from between your mama’s legs. By the time the fire was out and you girls were safely tucked into incubators, no one was positive which came first.”
So Ariel and Angelic a —or “Angelica and Ariel” as Angelica said it — were unique for being “almost identical twins” as they put it, except for their disagreement about which was born first. They always tossed the question of “first” between them.
They’d come running down the stairs before school and one would yell, “I was first to get dressed.” The other would follow immediately, “I was first out of the bathroom.” All their friends knew the story of their births and the constant “firsts” banter. It was their exclusive intellectual property. Their father and uncle often performed Abbot and Costello’s routine “Who’s on First.” Angelica and Arie l— or “Ariel and Angelica” as Ariel said it — tried to come up with a similar routine for “I was born first, then who was born second?” but their giggling sent them into rolling laughter, thus never completing their routine.
The girls grew up seldom bored, partly because as twins they always had a playmate, but also they had their game of “First,” in which they were not only the players, but the umpire and scorekeeper. When they were 12 their pastor visited their Sunday school class and told them it was the time for them to decide to be baptized and live in the Christian faith. He asked the class to pray for a week and decide who would follow Jesus into his baptized life. Next Sunday as the students filed into the classroom, Ariel told the Sunday school teacher that she wanted to be baptized. Thus, she declared herself first in the faith. On the Sunday of the class’s baptism, however, Angelica was called to the pool first, so she said she was the first in the faith.
The girls’ grandmother attended the baptism. She didn’t think that faith in Christ and baptism should include rivalry. “You shouldn’t be competing about faith,” she said, wagging her finger. “As the Apostle Paul says, you should be first ‘in supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings for everyone so that you lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.’ That means your whole life needs to be in God’s spirit so that all you do is first and always an expression of God’s love for others.”
The 12 year olds smiled and tried to look ashamed, but their grandmother obviously didn’t understand her granddaughters. Within the year the girls’ friendly competition continued in diligent Bible study. They hit on how the Bible distinguished each name. Angelica learned that her name came from Greek for “angel.” Ariel found that her name was used for “Jerusalem.”
So, their life direction was set and continued through school and into adulthood. Even after they were married and with children, they’d talk on the phone every night, beginning each conversation with a variation of another first.
Seven weeks after their twenty-ninth birthday Ariel phoned Angelica and began the conversation with the news that her viral infection had promoted her to first with kidney disease. Three years of treatment didn’t slow progression and the discussion of a possible donor was short, because Angelica was a perfect match.
Before the two were wheeled into adjoining surgery suites for the transplant procedure, they held hands and prayed, ending with their favorite saying, “a real first.”
Three hours later as Angelica opened her eyes in the recovery room, she swallowed, coughed, and searched for the nurse attending her. Barely able to push words through her throat, the first thing she said was, “How’s Ariel?”
Ariel, recovering a few steps away, managed to move her head and gulp as she regained consciousness. With her eyes still closed, the first words she said were, “How’s Angelica?”
Preaching point: Putting God’s life first puts others first.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 22, 2019 issue.
Copyright 2019 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
