When They Come

The meeting adjourned. The parson tucked his notes away and headed out toward his car.

“Parson,” greeted Fred Abney, “how are you? You must have been sitting in the back. I didn't see you.”

“I was in the back,” Fred, the parson confessed. “Good to see you. How's things on your side of the district?”

“About the same as they've always been,” said Fred. “You know that church, Parson. They're never going to change.”

'I was thinking you might get some new members since they opened that new factory and the new elementary school.”

“I thought so, too, Parson. But it hasn't happened. We really need some families with children. That would be a God-send. But, well I don't know what we're going to do.”

“How many kids did you have at Sunday School this morning?” the parson asked.

“Not one, Parson. Not one.”

The parson shook his head. “That must be a real disappointment for the children's classes teachers.”

“Oh, I told you, Parson, we don't have any children coming. So, we don't have any teachers.”

“Fred,” the parson smiled, “have you ever given any thought to the possibility you haven't planned on any kids coming.”