Village Shepherd

The disciples may not have understood or agreed with Jesus' instructions to lower their nets on the other side of the boat. But they complied, nevertheless, and hauled in a huge catch of fish, way beyond their wildest dreams.

This is a story about Martin's difficulty in building a church from a matchstick kit, until he followed the advice and directions of someone who was wiser and more experienced in model making than he was.

'It's the perfect solution,' thought Martin as he ran up the stairs to the loft. 'Gran's always been interested in things I've made, and she loves her church, so it should be the ideal present.'

He rummaged about in one of the old boxes thrown into a corner in the loft. Every so often, Martin's mother had what she called "a good clear-out", which meant a number of Martin's older toys would disappear from his room, never to be seen again. Not that he minded. His Mum always checked with him first, and only cleared out the things he'd outgrown.

He'd been given the kit a couple of Christmases ago, although his brother James was the acknowledged model-maker in the family. Martin had been quite intrigued at the time, and had taken a good look at both the outside of the box and its contents. He'd even pulled out the instruction leaflet and given it a quick glance, but it had looked so complicated he'd put the kit to one side and had conveniently forgotten all about it. His Mum had left it lying on the floor of his room for a year before she'd carted it upstairs with a lot of other junk and the usual tutting noise, which Martin always ignored.

He'd remembered the kit while he was racking his brains for a birthday present for his Gran. He'd been unable to think beyond chocolates, when a picture of the kit popped into his mind. It was inspired! The perfect gift, and he knew his Gran would love it because he'd have made it himself.

Martin dusted the box with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and peered at the picture. It looked easier than he remembered, quite a simple church with some stained glass windows and a spire. Of course, he was two years older now, so something that had seemed fiendishly difficult then would probably be child's play now. Anyway, if James could make things, so could he.

Martin tipped out the contents of the box onto the kitchen table, taking care to keep each matchstick in its correct group. There were hundreds of matchsticks of varying lengths, but all quite small. It looked as if it was going to be a fiddly job, and for a moment Martin felt a little daunted.

Then he reminded himself he was doing it not for himself, but for his Gran, and felt better. He poked about in the kitchen drawer for some of his brother's modelling glue, and sat down to study in detail the picture on the box. The instructions had long since disappeared, probably thrown out with the Christmas wrapping paper two years ago, but Martin didn't think it would matter too much. All he had to do was follow the picture.

The project started quite well. Martin even remembered to cover the kitchen table with newspaper, just in case. He studied the picture carefully, then started with the base of the church and began to build up the walls, carefully gluing each matchstick in place. It was a little tricky round the door, but he managed to sort it out.

The problems began with the windows and the spire. Try as he would, he couldn't get the matchsticks to fit. Either they were too long, or too short, or he needed a curve and couldn't make one. Martin could feel himself growing angrier by the minute. Stupid kit! Why couldn't they make it easy, like it looked on the box?

When his brother came in, took one look and started to laugh, Martin wanted to burst into tears or throw the kit across the room. Of course he didn't do either. He jumped up and punched his brother instead. James fended him off and said tolerantly, "You need to start with the spire. Build that first, and everything else'll fit."

"Think you're so clever, just because you've made a few model cars," retorted Martin. "What d'you know about buildings? Nothing! Anyway, this isn't plastic like your silly cars, it's real wood and it's delicate work."

James roared with laughter and shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, "I'm off to play football."

"Good riddance," snarled Martin, and slammed the door after his know-it-all brother.

Then Martin made himself a drink, and went in to watch some television. He felt fed up and miserable and angry, and wished someone would come and help him.

When the programme finished, Martin went back to his model. He couldn't think how to tackle it, so decided to try the spire, if only to prove James wrong. He started to glue the matchsticks together, and found they fitted quite well. This was better. Martin began to hum to himself as the spire grew and took shape. He became so absorbed in his task, he didn't notice the hours passing.

When the spire was complete Martin sat back and looked at it. It was perfect! An exact miniature replica of their own church spire. Eagerly, he returned to the rest of the model, and before long the church began to fit snugly to the spire. He left the windows until last, and covered them with some tiny pieces of coloured cellophane, to look like glass.

At last he was finished, and he was delighted with his work. It looked better than he could ever have imagined. He knew his Gran would be thrilled, although actually, he felt so proud of his achievement, it would be a wrench now to part with his church.

James came in from football, and peered carefully at the finished. Then he nodded approvingly.

"Told you so," he said.