The church I serve has a summer ministry at a chapel. At our first service last summer, the chairman of the board of deacons met me at the door with the information that there were no offering plates to be found. None of the men wore hats, and he thought it undignified to pass a shoe. He had tried to borrow something suitable from a house nearby, but no one was home. When I went to the chancel to begin the service, the problem was still unsolved.
Time came for the offering, and two ushers walked down the aisle wearing broad grins and carrying shiny receptacles. The deacon had resourcefully borrowed two hubcaps from a parishioner's car.
Little Johnny was in church when the wine and wafers were passed out. His mother leaned over and told him that he was not old enough to partake in the Communion.
"The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it."
Catching her in the act, I confronted our 3-year-old granddaughter, "Are you eating your little sister's grapes?" I demanded.