Mickey's Moment

Helping out with the church Physical Resources committee, I was resetting pews on a weekday when a flicker of motion at the far end of the administration hall caught my eye. The volunteer in charge of the office that day was the only other person I expected to be in the building at that time. Since most people entering the church on a weekday are deliberately very noisy, banging on doors, stomping along halls, especially if they have come in via any entrance other than the front, this needed checking out.


A silent, furtive figure definitely was not here to help me secure benches to the deck. So, setting aside my cordless drill, tape, and the general mess I'd been making, I went past the open office door and the volunteer. I continued to the end of the hall.
There were three doors, two ajar and one closed. The two open rooms were obviously not occupied. Very carefully, as silently as I could, I eased open the third door.


Kneeling, I could see beneath the several tables of the meeting room. Sure enough, prone on a bench, was the partially blocked figure of a man, short, and probably a bit overweight. As silently as I could, I reclosed the door and drifted toward the office.
The volunteer, with the phone to her ear, waved and smiled. I put a finger to my lips and stepped inside.


When she put the phone down, I explained our unusual visitor. I said calling the sheriff seemed appropriate. She nodded and put her finger on the emergency button contact to the sheriff's office. After she had them on the line, she looked up and said,
"They want to know if the man is wearing a yellowish shirt."  I recalled that he was.


"They'll be here immediately," she said.  I stayed in the office doorway where I could see the hall end. 


Three officers arrived in minutes. I led them to the hall end, where one leaned in and said loudly, "Hey, Mickey, c'mon out now. We have a great place for you to spend the night. It comes with coffee. Remember? Like the other times."


The figure sat up. He had on a grimy yellowish shirt. He left the bench and shuffled to the door, a scruffy fellow who looked fifty-ish. At the door the three officers smiled and looked friendly while they gracefully surrounded him.


As the four moved along toward the church entrance, one of the officers turned to me, saying, "Mickey loves doors, unlocked ones. This is his first church, though. "I don't think he prays a lot. I'm sure he doesn't tithe, either."