VBS and The Art Class

By: Sharon K. Shubert

(Previously published by Big Barn Books.)

"I Pledge Allegiance to the Christian Flag....", the children's voices said in unison. Holding right hands firmly over our hearts, we recited the pledge together. Pledges to our country and to the Bible followed; the usual summer Vacation Bible School tradition. Flag carriers proudly led the line of children into the auditorium, two abreast....marching....marching...to the piano music of "Onward Christian Soldiers". Watching those picked for the honor filled me with a silent envy.

The cool, wooden pews in the church auditorium were filled with Sunday School friends, and new kids we'd never met before. They'd arrived on buses of various sizes with church names painted on the sides. Some rode in crowded cars packed with as many kids as they could carry.

Shorts or sundresses, sandals and ponytails were our casual attire. Quietly sitting in my place at the end of the pew, swinging my sandal-clad foot, I admired my pink toenails. My hair was adorned with a soft pink ribbon which matched the short set I'd picked out the night before. By quickly moving my head from side to side, my ponytail would brush against the nape of my neck. It was my favorite summer hairdo.

Somewhat impatiently, I waited to be released from the Bible study that seemed to drone on and on. The arts and crafts room was just down the hall. It was my favorite part of each Bible School day. Wonder what we would be making this year? Painting would be fun! Maybe we'll get to have two art classes this year I thought to myself. Oh! I would love two art classes!

Benediction music started which ended the initial session. We all marched out single-file down the long halls to our classrooms. Marching turned into skipping and running. Chatter and excitement couldn't be helped as the teachers did their best to quiet us.

Each classroom was designated to a specific age group. Boys and girls of my age noisily clamored for chairs, quickly picking out who they wished to sit beside. Unfinished wooden stork cut-outs lay in perfect rows along the tables, one for each of us. Big plastic bowls of elbow macaroni, shell pastas and broken spaghetti pieces were stacked in the middle. The teacher brought out a huge collection of colorful bottles of paint. My excitement grew.

A wicker laundry basket of men's worn shirts sat in the corner of the room, and our teacher instructed us to put one on. I chose a checkered-green one. We all got the giggles as we donned the shirts that hung to the floor, covering our summer clothes as makeshift painting smocks. Our giggling was stifled when the paint was poured into individual bowls; bright reds, blue, greens, yellow, orange. A helper spread layers of old newspapers over the entire surface of the tables. Shoe boxes held all sizes and shapes of paint brushes. I grabbed the one that looked the fluffiest with a smooth brown finish and creamy colored bristles. The bristles felt soft as I brushed them against my hand, my cheek, my leg, and waited for the teacher's instruction.

Mixing the paint made different colors! We all watched the demonstration and tried it on our own. A soft, pinkish, peachy color emerged from the colors I stirred in my bowl. Seriously and slowly I began to paint my wooden stork, making long strokes down her middle. She was starting to look very pretty when suddenly it was time to move on to music class! Someone began playing, "Jesus Loves Me". I loved music also, but wasn't ready to leave my stork and my fanciful artwork. Reluctantly, I removed my smock. The checkered-green shirt had served its purpose well. Throwing it onto the pile in the basket, I hoped to wear it again tomorrow.

As I ran out of the room with everyone, I glanced back at my stork and hoped nobody touched her or messed up my wet paint. She would be waiting for me to come back the next day and adorn her beautiful wings with macaroni feathers.

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