A short story by Dave Shive, pastor and author

The following fable was overheard at a local club. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

THE LITTLE OFFERING THAT WASN’T

Little Offering’s spirits were dashed. As he sat at a table in his favorite bistro, Stillmeadow 4100 Club, it seemed that all hope was gone. He was not only little; he was lost. He had waited a lifetime for his big moment and it never happened. All of his training was wasted.

Little Offering thought about his friends, Previous Offerings. They were big, popular, and had their dreams fulfilled. They existed, their life had a purpose. They had happened and he hadn’t. He glanced across the room at Last Week Offering. A broad smile creased the face of Last Week as he hoisted a mug of milk in celebration. His life had real meaning.

Little Offering sipped his apple juice and cast an eye to another corner where Next Week Offering was deep in conversation with other Offerings. Little Offering recognized the energy, the excitement, the anticipation. Next Week was focused, every muscle in his well-trained body tensed in expectation of his big moment which was just around the corner.

Little Offering remembered his “moment”. After all, it was only last week. He, too, had been muscular, buff, agile, well-trained in the art of Sunday offerings. He had gotten up early that morning, showered, shaved, and put on his best outfit.

The phone had rung as Little Offering had his hand on the doorknob. It was Last Week calling. His voice had a gloating lilt to it. “Hey, I’m down here at the club. We just changed your name to ‘Little Lost Offering.’ Want to know why?”

“Well…I guess…well, sure,” said Little Offering. “Wassup?”

Last Week sounded strange. “You’ve been canceled! You will never happen! There’s been a snowstorm and you will never happen! Hahahahaha!”

Now Little Offering looked at his apple juice. His favorite drink seemed so unappealing. A tear ran down his cheek and suddenly he felt alone, so alone.

Lost in reverie, Little Offering suddenly felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, he noticed it was Next Week. “Hey—got a sec?” asked Next Week.

Well, sure, I mean, I suppose,” mumbled Little Offering.

“Hey, I heard about your misfortune,” said Next Week. “Some of the other offerings were talking with me and we decided we wanted to do something special for you since this disaster has happened.”

Little Offering gulped, took a sip of apple juice, and asked, “What? I mean, why? Um…how?”

“Well,” said Next Offering, taking a seat at my table, “we’ve decided to include you in our next offering, my friend. We don’t want your hard work and your pleasant spirit to be forgotten.”

“You’re including me?” Little Offering sputtered. “You’re including me in the next offering?”

‘That’s right, Little One…I mean, ‘Little Included Offering,’” said Next Offering with a twinkle in his eye. “Our offerings were really doing well until this . . . well . . . um . . . disaster, and so we want to make up for it by something special that will get us back on track and keep you in everyone’s memory.”

As Next Offering returned to his own table, Little Offering caught the waiter’s eye. “Large carrot juice!” he ordered. Noticing the waiter’s uncertain glance, Little Offering pulled out his wallet. “See,” he said, showing his ID, “I’ve just become Little Included Offering. It’s legal.”

There is nothing like having purpose and a reason for existence. Offerings have feelings, too, you know.