Just Like Jonah
Wail Tales
By Cheryl Rogers
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Cheryl Rogers, Tampa, Florida
All rights reserved.
Cover Image: Matthew Hull, Morguefile
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
Special thanks to my son, David, whose enthusiasm for this book was contagious.
Table of Contents
Psss-ssst! There are NO Secrets
Phil Faces “Hitler” in the Classroom
Evie’s Miraculous Transformation
Okay, so you’re wondering just what are wail tales. Wail tales are fish tales, of a sort. They are fun and a little bit exaggerated stories of woe with a Christian message. The characters learn, just like Jonah in the Bible, that: 1) There’s a price to pay when we disobey and 2) Even when we fall, God hears our call.
While some wail tales may contain another lesson from Jonah, they all focus on disobedience, the price of disobedience, a prayer of faith, and God’s rescue.
So just dive in! Let the truth of God’s word sink in as you read these wail tales about folks who learned lessons the hard way, just like Jonah.
If you want to write your own wail tale, I’d like to hear from you. Use your imagination and create a story where someone gets into a whale of trouble for doing the wrong thing. Need some ideas? Check the Ten Commandments. Not everyone has a mission like Jonah, but we’re all told to be honest, honorable and loving. If we break one of these commandments, we’re not listening to God, just like Jonah.
Have fun getting your character into – and out of – a whale of trouble! And be sure to submit your tale for possible inclusion in a blog or book update. Contact me on Facebook.
Steve stayed close to the basketball as his opponent was dribbling, his hands poised to snap it from under the other boy’s control. The score was 30-30 and the two middle school teams were battling for the season championship. Steve was his team’s top player, and all eyes in the auditorium watched as he slapped the ball away and began dribbling it toward his team’s basket. With an ease that comes from long hours of practice, he gracefully flung the basketball through the hoop as the bell shrilled, signaling the end of the game!
The crowd’s cheers were almost deafening as Steve’s teammates carried him around the court celebrating their team’s victory. He held his arms upwards with clenched fits yelling “B-L-A-Z-E-R-S, blazers are the best!”
Steve had practiced every day after school, sometimes with the team and sometimes with a friend or two. He’d been playing regularly since third grade and it showed. Coach Billy relied on Steve for those tough plays, especially when the pressure was on to perform. Steve seemed oblivious to the pressure. It was almost as if the basketball, hoop and Steve were alone in the auditorium, his concentration was so intense. Naturally outgoing, he enjoyed the glory that came to him after sinking the tough shot, over and over again.
Steve’s success on the basketball court spilled over into other area’s of his life. The girls recognized him as a winner and frequently crowded around him to praise him for the team’s latest victory, and his contributions to it. Even the teachers seemed to keep up with the team’s accomplishments – and Steve’s.
Steve seemed to know instinctually that hard work paid off, and he applied the principle to his school work as well, earning good grades most of the time. He also inherited his father’s handsome visage, which he noted with pleasure every time he carefully combed his thick wavy brown hair in the mirror. He’d smile at himself and say, “You handsome devil you,” as he put his comb into his pant pocket to save it for later.
For a seventh grader, Steve was remarkably successful, making him the envy of some of his male classmates. Things were especially keen when he beat Ken Sanderson for class president a couple of days ago. Ken got excellent grades and was known for starting the school’s first chess club. Some people said he’d demonstrated his leadership abilities and smarts, and that he was the natural choice for president. They’d even made some completely unjustified remarks about his not being a dumb jock. There was no way you could say Steve was a dumb jock, not with his As and Bs. Even if he didn’t get all As like Ken, he was a lot more well rounded.
Steve was really just a popular all-around good guy, whose accomplishments were noted over and over. It happened so often that Steve was beginning to believe he was invincible, on the basketball court, and off.
Shortly after his victory as class president was announced, Ken came up to him to congratulate him.
“Hey Steve, I am happy for you man,” Ken said. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Well, except for me, of course.”
Ken smiled awkwardly. “You know Steve, I don’t mind helping out – if you want me to, that is,” he continued. “I’ve got lots of ideas I hoped to try.”
“Yeah well thanks, I have other officers,” Steve said. He threw his sweater over his shoulder and strode down the hall, without a second glance at Ken.
Ken was stunned and he wasn’t the only one. Ms. Gable, the student council moderator, who was quietly watching the conversation from inside her classroom, was stunned as well. She approached Ken, hoping to help him deal with the rejection she knew he was feeling.
“Would you mind stepping into my classroom for a minute, Ken,” she asked. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Unbeknownst to the candidates, the election was actually close, very close – so close Ms. Gable had not been sure she should announce the outcome. She had decided to trust her volunteer counters and give Steve the victory, even though he’d won by 10 of 150 total votes. But she was disturbed by what she had just witnessed – very disturbed.
“It is not customary for us to reveal the vote counts in the Student Council elections,” Ms. Gable began. “But I want you to know you did very well. I hope you are not discouraged by the outcome. I hope you are not discouraged from running for office again, or from helping the Student Council.”
She smiled.
“I guess you just saw what happened,” Ken replied. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but do you really think my help is wanted? I have the feeling if I lived on another planet it would not be far enough away for SOME people.”
“Ken, I am in an awkward position. I did see what happened and I don’t believe you were treated properly. I will deal with Steve later, but right now I want to know your thoughts. I think you behaved admirably in offering your services. I believe you demonstrated the kind of quality leadership we need at Clark Middle School,” Ms. Gable continued. “I wish I could say the same for Steven.”
“In my role as moderator of the Student Council, I not only am responsible for overseeing the fairness of the election but the integrity of its members. Do you promise to keep what I tell you a secret, just between us, until I say differently?”
Ken was shocked. Ms. Gable was talking to him like an adult. Taking him into her confidence? What could this be about? The only way he could know was to agree to her terms.
“Of course, Ms. Gable,” he blurted out. “What is it?”
The words came tumbling out. Ms. Gable could scarcely contain herself. The election had been close, so close, that she had almost demanded a recount. But it was late and there was no reason to distrust the verdict delivered by the vote counters.
“Perhaps I made an error, Ken. I don’t know how to go back now unless ... you want a recount. I realize this is putting you on the spot, but if you want it, I could ask for a recount.”
“Uh.” The room was silent as Ken contemplated the decision he was being asked to make. It didn’t seem like a decision a seventh-grader going on eighth grader should have to make.
“Let me see if I get this straight. You want ME to decide if I want a recount,” he asked in disbelief.
“I want you to understand something here Ken,” Ms. Gable continued. “This is not like some political election where you can demand a recall or anything like that. This is between you ... and me. I think I made a mistake here. It may not affect the outcome. I really don’t know. But if it does, I would like to make it up to you. I want to know if you still want the job – if you really won, that is.”
“Heck yeah, I want the job. I ran for it, didn’t I? If anything, I want it more now to knock that guy off his throne,” Ken said. “I still can’t believe what he did.”
“Alright, Ken. This is what we are going to do. I will recount the votes personally and if there is a change I will talk with Principal Holcomb. He must agree if the results are to be overturned. In the meantime, mum’s the word, okay?”
“What if I blab,” Ken asked, eliciting a stern look from Ms. Gable.
“You’d look like a sore loser for questioning the election results, which already have been announced,” she said crisply.
“Gotcha.” Ken left the room, leaving Ms. Gable to her duties.
She shook her head from side to side sadly, wishing she’d recounted the votes the first time. If Steve were the true choice of the student body, she’d be battling his ego all next year. Luckily, she’d kept the ballots. She opened her desk drawer and removed a box containing the votes and began counting. As she approached the final votes, she felt excitement and dread. The outcome was Ken, 46; Steve, 45; Marie, 32; Justin, 15; and Karen, 12. She quickly recounted the votes, returned them to the box, and headed to see Principal Holcomb. He was as disturbed as Ms. Gable when he learned the news.
“Ms. Gable, I do wish you had done a recount before all this happened. But I understand you had no reason to doubt the outcome of your volunteers. You promised a recount to Ken and I stand by you on that,” Principal Holcomb said. “I wish we could just declare there was an error, but I don’t think it is fair when the difference is one vote. We must have a runoff election – as distasteful as that may be.”