"IT'S NOT SIX!!"

It was a lovely Sunday morning, a typical Easter, but especially exciting since it was Brother Brads first sermon as pastor. I had to gotten to church early as usual to go up to the crows nest and get the songs typed up for the projection screen. Up came my mother, church secretary, with her sweet smile trying to soften me up for a favor. I gazed into her eyes with apathy at her presence so she might leave me be. I failed miserably, despite all the practice I had had.

"Hey, Kari. Busy?." I glanced in her direction with a look of distaste.

"Yes," I bluntly replied, but I knew nothing would deter her. Nothing ever did.

"Kari, you're my favorite daughter!"

"I'm your only daughter, Mom."

"All the more reason you're my favorite." "Gee, Ma, love you too." "Kari, I really need someone to work the nursery. We'll have a lot more babies in there because of Easter, and we need the help, please? I won't ask another favor again."

"Ma, you said that last time I worked the nursery when the four year old beat me up."

"Kari," she whined in that desperate tone that I knew meant she honestly needed my help.

"Ok, ok!" I broke. It was all over for me. I finished my work and went into the nursery very disgruntled; I would be missing the very first sermon of our new pastor.

That's when I noticed it. The intruiging little red button on the wall winked at me as I asked one of my fellow drool stained inmates that had been suckered into helping in the nursery what the button was for.

"Oh, that's to hear the sermon. Hey, quick, turn it on!"

I pressed the button, but nothing happened. Just then Mom came in to be of assistance. I gave her that look that you give when burdened with preforming a favor. She smiled at me.

"Hey Ma! We want to hear the sermon but the button isn't working. Fix it momma!"

"I think you have to turn it on from the sound board first, hon." She had that wonderful talent of being extra sweet under those special circumstances.

"Yeah? What number is to call Dad up there?"

"Number six." She said while calming a wailing infant as the rest of the inmates chimmed in "six, six."

I picked up the phone and pressed the number six button. Nothing happened. I knew that instead of a traditional ring there was only a bulb that lit up in place of a ring; Dad just must not be paying attention to it. Again I picked up the phone, this time more determined for an anwer, spured on by the frustration that had taken hold of me long before the children had arrived. I jabbed my finger into the button mercilessly.

"Hello?" Came a very familar but unexpected voice.

"Hi!" I was so excited, finally, after all those tries, someone had picked up! "Who is this?" I continued.

"This is Brother Brad."

"Oh. Hey. Whatcha doing?" "What do you mean; what am I doing? I'm preaching!" Confusion hit me and my body went numb.

"Oh. Uh. Um. Mmk. Goodbye." Those were the very words that came forth from my stuttering lips as I rushed to hang up the phone and end this horrid series of events. I turned to my mother whose face was reflecting my pathetic expression. Then these words fell from my lips as innocently as could be expected... "It's not number six."

It took me a while to muster up the courage to leave the nursery. When I finally did I found out Brother Brad had taken the mircophone with him behind the choir steps to pick up the phone and the congregation heard the jest of everything. To make matters a touch worse, after he had hung up with me, he looked up to my dad in the sound booth and said "Uh. Brother Gary, that was your daughter Kari."Everyone got a huge charge out of the whole matter. People who were visiting our church that day still search for meaning in the "drama" they saw. My mom has never asked me to work nursery again; and I've steered clear of the phones.