There is an ‘About Me’ page, but let’s be honest, they’ can be a bit boring can’t they? Like with a C.V., one tries to sound so very interesting and sensible. But who really cares about an author’s academic credentials, the church ministries they’ve been involved in, what kind of pets they have and what they do to keep fit?

Here is the real me:

Well…I can’t do it. I cannot close my eyes and instantly hear from the Lord, like so many people seem to be able to do effortlessly in intercession groups. I hate those moments. The leader inhales deeply and announces,

“Okay, we’re going to spend some time in silence and listen to what the Holy Spirit is saying to us. Then we are going to share what we heard.”

Oh boy. This is the time I glean my greatest business ideas, remember the crazy dream I had the night before, and wonder what that tiny black mark is on the carpet. Without my glasses on, every dark speck looks like a woodlouse and I’ve been known to swat sock fluff thinking it was a spider.

While every holy human screws their eyes tightly shut, I squirm in my seat and wonder how long it takes a crawling insect in the corner of the room, to reach the table, ascend the leg and wander across to my bible. Would it start nibbling the word of God while I’m receiving divine revelation?

I shift, twist and drum my fingers on my mouth, trying to concentrate. Nothing. All I hear is the clock ticking – a dreaded reminder that in 4 minutes, we’re all going to awaken from our heavenly stupor and smile sweetly, delighted at what insights God has revealed to our spirits – all except mine.

“Right everyone, time’s up. Who wants to go first?”

As an enlightened saint begins to expound the sacred whispers she’s heard in her ear, accompanied by glorious interpretation, everyone listens intently, marvelling at the analogy of a flowing fountain, symbolising…I don’t know what…I’m distracted.

I panic as I notice the woodlouse has disappeared. I’m not scared of them, but I like them to keep their distance. Afterall, I’m not a decomposing plant. I don’t have a rotting wooden leg. I’m not wet, damp, or the slightest bit humid, but they annoy me the way they just turn up by my feet at the oddest of times.

I’m annoyed with myself. Why can’t I just concentrate? It was in one of these moments when I decided that I am going to be open with my readers. I might have written godly books to share with those in need of encouragement, but I am not that well put-together myself.

We are all on a journey and it often seems that while others are dashing past us, some of us are barely crawling. It is for the crawlers I like to write. I identify with them more than the successful champions of this planet. If that’s you, on all fours, weighted down with rocks, when your bones get sore, I hope that something you read will be like soothing ointment for your knees, and a deep tissue massage for your back as you fling those burdens off your shoulders.

The rest of you may feel far superior to my long-term foibles for it to nessitate the desire to read any excerpts. You consider my confessions of weakness to be tantamount to ‘the blind leading the blind’, and are off to find a more stable author.

It’s great that you are still here. Look at Psalm 136 with me for a moment. Notice that it says nothing about me being strong, wise and faithful. On the contrary, I can be feeble, foolish and forgetful of saying grace over my morning porridge. But you see, these books are not about me – they are about the One who loves me and thee, inspite of our failings.

Throughout my chapters, you will find someone who accurately fits the description from that Psalm:

“His faithful love endures forever.“

And that is why I like to write – to remind you and me that he is not only able to remove that heavy burden from our shoulders, but is willing to run the distance with us, no matter how far we fall short of the mark.

When the prayer meeting finished, (I confessed I had nothing to share, but tried to look immensely spiritual about it) I spotted the woodlouse again. I searched in my pocket for a tissue so that I could put it in the bin. Lunging at it firecely, I shouted, “Gotcha!”

This came out louder than it was mean to. A girl who had witnessed everything, looked at me quizically and said,

“Sharon…why are you talking to a pumpkin seed?”

I hope you find a book that suits you.

Thanks again for stopping by. (click here for ‘About Me’ video)

A Manly Man, God Loves Children, Life In a Christian Bookshop, The Rhyming Drama Book, Why You Make God Smile… Vol.1, Why You Make God Smile…Vol.2, Who Is Sharon Butt?

The ‘Writing’ Articles

In the ‘Writing’ section you will find various articles pertaining to writing, whether it be examples of why I love to encourage people in their daily walk upon this planet, the pitfalls I fell into during the early stages of being an author, what it’s like being an author, or a load of other musings related to either helping you to get started writing a book yourself or reflecting on why some writers have renounced their faith.

Below are the titles and a brief explanation of what each article is about. If you see something you fancy, you can simply enter the title into the Search bar and the whole article will pop up. Ah no, wait a minute…this is the 21st Century. I have added links, so all you now need to do is click on the article title.

He walked in, raised his head, and closed his eyes like he was enjoying the smell of a delicious meal. As he breathed in deeply, it was as if a platter had been placed into his hands, with the aroma of home-cooked food wafting past his nose.

“Umm! It’s so peaceful in here. You are so lucky!”

The young man opened his eyes and looked at me intently while he enquired,

“You haven’t got any vacancies, have you?”

I could hear a muffled laugh coming from somewhere behind the counter and I understood the wryness in the tone. As much as my colleagues and I loved our job, we knew that the grass was not always greener on our side of the fence.

Almost every week, a customer would declare that they wanted to swap places with one of us, because their secular job was too stressful. During their lunch break, they would enter, then pause to unwind, basking in what was an atmosphere of peace, compared to what they had just escaped from. While the uplifting music soothed away their stress, they would take time to browse the book titles, hoping that time would go slowly.

In reality, the only reason why these particular customers felt that way, is because they had a special gift – a coveted talent that belonged only to them. Their gift was called, “Impeccable Timing”. Somehow, this blessed minority had the ability to choose opportune moments to visit the store when no pandemonium was taking place. They had never bumped into any drunken men, who were swaying around while their lager spilt everywhere. They had never witnessed a thief being frogmarched out of the shop by burly security guards. They never encountered the scary female vicar who would order us to switch off the music because she hated Sunday School songs. They had never brushed shoulders with disorientated Satanists who were looking for books on witchcraft, Seventh Day Adventists complaining that we didn’t stock books by Ellen White, and alcoholics shouting,

 “Jesus turned water into wine for people like me!”

Lastly, we knew for sure that these individuals had definitely never visited us during the week of stocktaking.

There is no greater privilege than to be in a profession that sells the word of God. There is nothing more joyful than to see somebody obtain a book that is going to help them get over anxiety, fears, guilt, depression, and loneliness. It’s wonderful to be in a workplace that is playing music that is glorifying Jesus.  It’s great to know one is selling books, devotionals and magazines that are showing people how to pray and draw closer to the Lord. It is magnificent to have colleagues who are as passionate about Jesus as you are.

Most of all, nothing is more glorious than being in an atmosphere where in every corner of the workplace, the great message of salvation is being sent out in various ways, to those who do not yet have the joyous experience of having their sins forgiven.

However, every ministry comes with its own challenges and we had more than our fair share.

I loved my time working at, ‘The Bookshop’, but behind the smiles, there were frustrations we encountered just like in any other place of employment.

This is a collection of fun memoirs about my time with suppliers, customers, colleagues and all things in between.

For me, the most important thing about a book of memoirs is to exercise integrity. Therefore, whenever I cannot fully remember an incident, a person’s words, facial expression, mannerism, vocal tone, or outcome of a story, I have omitted description or mentioned that I have forgotten the full details.

Exaggeration to make a story more interesting is technically, lying. Maybe some writers do it and get away with it, but I want to honour my God by being as truthful as possible.

“Head Office” is written in capitals when it refers generically to the entire management team who were in control of all the shops.

In Chapter 20, reference has been made to certain singers whereby only first names or abbreviations have been provided. I appreciate that without a glossary, you may not know to whom I am referring. This has been done out of humour, rather than discourtesy and I am more than happy for you to contact me for clarification should you have a burning desire to know who I’m ‘on about’.

For the sake of privacy and respect for my customers and colleagues, all names have been changed – well, apart from Jemima and The Prince of Egypt; but they were already false names, so there’s no reason to alter them again.

Daisy clutched her warm mug and giggled.

“Well, you don’t look like a Christian bookshop worker to me!”

Cammie agreed and threw her head back, filling the kitchen with one of her infectious laughs.

I tapped my fingers on the smooth varnish of their solid oak dining table and stared at Daisy with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“She means,” said Cammie, “that you do not fit the stereotype image in our heads of what…well, you don’t dress like one of them, for a start.”

Before I could interject, she continued,

“Flat shoes, floaty skirts, flowery blouses…”

“With long sleeves and a bow at the neck.” said Daisy.

Cammie went on,

“Chains on your glasses, hair in a bun, fish brooch and five WWJD bracelets on your wrist.”

I leaned back on my chair and folded my arms.

“I’m really looking forward to this job. And after being sat in a call centre, wearing shabby clothes, I’m quite looking forward to dressing smart again. Besides, if that’s your real image of a ‘saved saleswoman’, shouldn’t it be broken?”

Daisy and Cammie continued to laugh and whenever they glanced at each other, their chuckles became heartier.

The first day of my new job – the 29^{th of} December – was a memorable one. Telephone banking had proved to be disappointing, especially as there were no decent hours available. 2pm to midnight didn’t suit me at all. How lovely it was going to be, doing a 9-5 job again!

The staff however, felt like they too had been doing 10-hour shifts and were exhausted from the Christmas rush. On top of that, there was no respite due, because they had to prepare for end-of-month changes, new month promotions and January sales.

Casper, the assistant manager, had the task of showing me around the shop. Considering his natural introverted nature, he was quite chatty and seemed to enjoy telling me tales about the customers.

After our trip to the staff room, he stopped by the bibles on the first floor and proceeded to tell me a story about a lady who had recently demanded to know the intricacies of a certain bible version. He hadn’t been familiar with it and was immediately honest, explaining that he could not answer her queries. But she wasn’t satisfied with this response. She told him she believed that all Christians should be au-fait with this version and to admit that one wasn’t, was tantamount to confessing to being a complete heathen.

As Casper continued to recall the incident, he became more and more agitated and grabbed an NLT New Testament that had fallen on its side.

“The woman began to interrogate me and eventually put her hand on her hips and asked me if I was a Christian. When I said ‘yes’, she made a sucking noise with her teeth and claimed that a true believer would know the answers.”

I smiled encouragingly as the pocket bible banged loudly on the shelf.

“That was it! I wanted to kill her! There and then, I really could have killed that silly woman!”

There was no smile on Casper’s face.

“Ah, he meant it.” I thought.

Indeed, I could tell from his expression that this was not a joke.

I wanted to reply by saying, “Well, as you had such machinations for murder, maybe she was right to question your faith”, but thought better of it. I had to work with this man. There were three flights of stairs on the customer floor; one leg out, and he could send me hurtling down the stone steps to my demise.

“Better keep on the right side of him.”

In his defence, I was to learn later, that not only was Casper a gentle-spirited man who loved the Lord with all his heart, but that I was worse than him in the ‘grace-stakes’. As a matter of fact, there was many a time since that first conversation, that I was greatly tempted to inflict mortal harm on the odd customer or two.

This was life in a Christian bookshop.

Like in all places of employment, staff come and go, so I shall only mention the colleagues I worked with the most. The remaining nine were just as much a pleasure to work with, and I recall some dear moments that I had with each of them. However, most of the laughs and challenges I encountered involved the colleagues below.

Saturdays consisted of a mixture of teenagers who worked alongside whichever full-timers were on the rota for that particular weekend. They were a great asset and brought a joviality the shop that only youth can bring.

They monopolised the CD player, making sure that none of us older ones got the chance to put on an instrumental album or The Gaithers. It just wasn’t hip to have “Homecoming Hymns” blasting out of the speakers, as to them, it was mortifying to be within earshot of anything remotely Southern Gospel.

Hazel

As I had the advantage of arriving before Hazel on a Saturday, I would chuckle to myself when she walked through the door, knowing that she would cringe at what she could hear. As soon as I disappeared to do a job upstairs, “Praise Him on the Piano” would be confiscated and swapped for Delirious or the Newsboys. She would compete with the street entertainers outside to see who could deafen the customers the most and would give me a wide grin when I reminded her that older people like to go shopping on a Saturday too. Hazel was always willing to help out on extra days at short notice, which benefitted us a great deal, so she became my ‘Little Miss Helpful’.

Louise

Louise was the one full-timer who played shop music louder than Hazel. She too, wasn’t keen on saxophone versions of, “He is Lord” and preferred The Katinas, Jeremy Camp and Third Day. Being queen of the first floor, she was able to get away with having the volume up a louder than we had it downstairs. When I first named her ‘The Headbanger’, she took it in good humour because like me, Christian music was her passion. She had a heart of gold and became particularly attached to George, who was an older gentleman who worked with us for a while. Sadly, little George passed away not too long after joining us and Louise was devastated. She had been like the loving daughter he never had the chance to have.

Lou worked fast and her dancing and singing helped her keep up the busy pace of unpacking new stock and handling customer orders. Being stationed primarily upstairs, she became quite an expert in the selling of bibles, study guides, Sunday school material and children’s books. She was also the one to sport several cloth bands around her wrist that displayed various acronyms such as WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) and FROG (Fully Reliant on God). I’m sure we sold more of those owing to how she modelled them so beautifully.

Sophie

Sophie was ‘The Opera Singer’. Normally quiet in temperament, Sophie would come to life and shriek loudly at one of Casper’s jokes. Her voice would rise several octaves as Casper calmly spewed out one of his dry-witted sentences. One could hear her falsetto voice from the restroom on the third floor and I always used to wander what amusing anecdote had I missed out on. This was never done in front of customers, so it was also an indication that the shop was at a quiet period. The funniest thing was, we all knew that should we run downstairs to see what was so amusing, Casper would be sitting at the computer desk with a straight face.

Sophie was an expert at organising the display tables for the following month’s promotion. She often came up with new ideas to make the shop more inviting and as the assistant manager, she helped Casper with various jobs to lighten his load. I loved her quiet confidence and air of calm when things became overwhelming. We were teamed-up together for our fortnightly weekend shifts and I was comforted that she knew just how to keep the Saturday teens in order. Young Anthony often preferred playing around instead of completing his tasks and she always knew just how much firmness and gentleness to use to get him to refocus his mind on the job. On one particularly trying day when Anthony was being more juvenile than normal, he began questioning everything she asked him to do. She took a deep breath and said calmly,

“Anthony, be like Niké. Just do it.”

Casper

It was no surprise that Casper had Sophie in hysterics so much, because he was hilarious. However, most of what he said was not intended to be funny. He just had one of those personalities that made you chuckle even though he was being serious. So he was, ‘The Melancholic Comedian’.

He was however, an extremely good manager and ran the shop with precision. He was especially gifted at working under pressure and as we had more work than staff to complete it, this was no easy task. The three most difficult aspects of his job seemed to be:

1. Having to oversee the preparation for the next month’s promotion where books, CDs would be on special offer.
2. Maintaining an adequate supply of merchandise, but at the same time ensuring we were not overstocked; thereby blowing the shop’s budget.
3. Organising the stocktake.

He managed it all superbly and even though he often did not feel cheerful himself, he kept the rest of us with smiles on our faces.

Trudy

Trudy had the best all-round knowledge of the different sections of the shop and in my opinion, should have been awarded the role of, Senior Sales Assistant. In some branches across the country, people held this position, but this title was not given to anyone in our area. Nevertheless, she had worked there the longest and was usually the best person to ask about anything. She would have denied this at the time and would have laughed at the thought of being described as more knowledgeable than me with the multi-media products, because they were my ‘little baby’. But if she had had the time to brush up on this, I know she would have caught on quickly and been more confident in this area. Given that we had all been allocated our own areas of expertise, it made more sense therefore, that whenever somebody came in asking about a particular singer, movie, DVD, or CD, I was the one to be pushed forward to assist them.

The bible says that “…iron sharpens iron.” so, when I refer to Trudy as “The Iron Lady” I’m not indicating that she was harsh. She was the one to pull me up and chastise me when I needed to be. Trudy taught me how to be more gracious, more loving and more understanding of others. She had a gentle spirit that the customers warmed to and was a diligent worker. She also was sensitive to the emotional needs of the customers and never forgot to include them in our daily morning prayer meetings if she knew someone had come into the shop distracted or distressed.

I also admired Trudy’s evangelistic enthusiasm and it was especially heart-warming to hear her talk about her love for the Russian city of Vladivostok and the people who lived in this eastern part of the huge country.

Being an Anglican vicar’s daughter, she also had the best knowledge about the artefacts and implements used by the Church of England, Methodists and most places of worship with ‘St.’ in the title.

None of us were as familiar with “The Book of Common Prayer”, candles, priest wafers and “The Lectionary” as she was, and so it was always a great relief to know she was nearby to lend a helping hand. She was also the greeting card queen and kept our stands well-stocked with a pretty supply. I had heard people say on occasions that, “Christian cards are naff”, but not in our store, as she had a flair for choosing stock with beautiful photography such as those created by artist Leonard Smith.

Helen

Casper would be disappointed if I failed to mention Helen, who was his all-time favourite colleague. She didn’t work there long and left to go back to university, but during her short spell with us, she ensured it was a memorable one. To put it simply, she was “The Rebel”. I won’t go into detail other than to say she took great delight in trying to stun the rest of us with her laid-back attitude to the Christian lifestyle. All in all, she just loved to shock. One day while three customers were browsing, she said to me loudly,

“Urgh, I’m bored of all this music, especially Hillsongs. We need something different, but we haven’t got what I’m wanting to listen to.”

I stupidly took the bait and replied,

“What is it that you want?”

“I could do with a bit of Eminem.” she replied.

Her chubby cheeks would flush a bright pink colour, not out of embarrassment, but when she knew she had ‘got you’.

Another time, she laughed naughtily when attempting to re-tell me a story Casper had told her. I interjected to explain that I already knew the story and that I had laughed so hard, tears had flowed. But she wasn’t content with that, and her cheeks began glowing that familiar crimson once more.

“No, no, no, you don’t know the whole story. He didn’t tell you what he really said, did he?”

She proceeded to give me the full version of events and relished in my surprise.

Now, I’m not going to reveal this story other than to say that Casper had cleverly omitted a vital piece of information when recounting his tale to me. She had been given the raw version and her face was now glowing scarlet at the thought that I had been filled-in with the true facts.  I admit that this added piece of information only served to make the story even more comical than it already was, and I shall always remember her tiny eyes scrunched-up with mirth as we laughed together, trying to imagine the scene.

Cammie

Cammie was a close friend of mine before she began working at the shop. I would sometimes sit on the floor of her living room with a hot drink in my hand and recount tales of amusing things that had happened in my day. She would throw her head back and laugh, begging me for more stories.

During a quiet period with her job at the local hospital, I recommended that she apply for a post with us because she needed some extra cash. She was accepted almost immediately. I was excited about the prospect of working alongside her, but Casper soon blew my bubble when he decided to keep us as far apart as possible. Yes, she was my “Giggle Partner”, but only socially. However, I suspected that as Cammie and I shared the same sense of humour, he was worried that we would not get any work done if we were put together. Thus, we very rarely worked on the same floor and I hardly ever saw her during the time she was employed with us. Sadly, because of this, I cannot remember even seeing her in the shop much at all.

Cammie had been a real support to me when I had been wondering whether to take the job myself. Changing careers was going to be a giant leap of faith because I would be going from working full time at a bank with a good wage, to working part-time at a bookshop with a poor one. To put it bluntly, I knew I was going to be having a salary reduction of £8000 per year and back then, that was a lot to lose!

Cammie sat me at her dining room table and went through my financial figures with me. When she finished her calculations, she looked me straight in the eye and said,

“Well, basically, you can’t afford it, but if this is God’s will for you, he will make it work.”

In my youth group (okay, I was in my thirties) the following Saturday, a young lad gave a testimony about how he felt God had promoted him in his job and given him a pay rise of an extra £8000 per year. Later on, I approached him and said,

“Isn’t it amazing how God works? He has blessed you with the job you want and given you an £8000 pay rise. He’s done the same for me but in my case, my pay’s going down by £8000. But it’s the job I really wanted, and I know we’ll both love our new roles.”

He didn’t share my elation, but looked at me scornfully and said,

“Huh! You don’t hang your hat very high, do you?”

Nevertheless, I took Cammie’s advice, and she was right. God saw to it that I was never in lack and despite the dramatic pay reduction, I always had everything I needed.

Having the wise counsel and support of a good Christian friend is invaluable. I miss those times of sitting at the table of Cammie and Daisy, chatting away and laughing until our sides hurt.

Jessie

Lastly, there was Jessie who was the only teenager who had a full-time post. She was very bubbly and excitable which made her great fun to work with, but it also has to be said that her manner with customers was exemplary. The other teenagers weren’t bad and did their best to provide good customer service, but Jessie stood head and shoulders above the rest. She was confident and caring, and she always went the extra mile to ensure that customers left feeling valued. Because of her exuberant nature, Jessie was “The Puppy”.

I shall mention Jessie again later, in the chapter about the little green balls.

Like with most jobs, there was a probationary period of 6 months. Within that time, all new staff had to complete a *Brobdingnagian-size project which would be sent up to Head Office to be marked.

The subjects covered were aspects of sales, customer service, problem-solving, marketing, the history of the parent company, details about the directors and bookshelf categorisation.

If the 22 modules were not finished within 6 months, the employee would not be guaranteed a permanent position, as they would not be deemed to have officially passed probation.

Mine, however, was completed in 4 months, not because I was a whizz-kid, but because I had become obsessed with working on it every evening.

One late night, my house mate, Kelsey, couldn’t bear it any longer and exclaimed,

“It’s only a bookshop job, for goodness’ sake! You would think they were asking you to become a lawyer! Why do they want all this work doing? It’s crazy!”

She flipped the last piece of paper in my file so hard to the left that the plastic pocket that was protecting it, folded on itself at the bottom.

“Great work Sharon, but you’re a sales assistant.” she said, tossing the file back at me. “Stupid company!”

I grabbed my precious file and smiled apprehensively, rubbing a finger along the crease of the triangle shape that had formed on the bottom of my beloved plastic pocket. I was determined to put as much effort into this task, as possible. They wanted essays and I was churning them out one by one.

Weeks later, I was attending a three-day residential training course that was held at the company headquarters near Scotland. One of the managers entered the room to hand me back my marked project and present me with my Welcome to the Company certificate. She stopped the session and called me forward to collect my items and announced that the staff at head office had never seen so much effort put into a project; so much so, that they wanted to thank me personally, rather than posting the certificate to the branch like they normally did.

I am not boasting. Who likes a bragger? I certainly do not, so I don’t expect you to, either. I was just always better at coursework than written examinations.

It made me ponder on how everybody is different, and while working at the shop, I was soon to learn that in the body of Christ, great diversity is something to be embraced rather than feared.

Our customers consisted of people from all walks of life and a wide variety of Christian backgrounds. However, haven’t there been many times in Christian life when conservative worshippers have been judged as being stoic? And in turn, they have looked upon the more expressive as being flippant and lacking self-control.

Those who prefer routine and structured bible study have been classed as unimaginative and boring and those who adapt better to varied devotions have been classed as whimsical and undisciplined.

Visionaries can think that others are spiritually blind and those with two new ideas per day can be labelled as too rough around the edges or a little unhinged.

I have learnt that some of the most expressive people prefer liturgical church services full of symbolism and structure, yet I know many who have a more reserved nature who are most at peace being in a room filed with worshippers who are jumping up and down and hollering loudly.

Some of our customers would only buy Christmas cards that portrayed scenes of the nativity or the wise men crossing the desert. Others would only go for the cute puppies wearing glittery Santa hats. (The latter shopped elsewhere for those.)

Again, many customers loved biblical fiction and we often witnessed unbridled excitement when the next volume of the “Left Behind” series came out. Others couldn’t stand ‘such drivel’ and would not pick up a book unless it was authored by, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Charles Spurgeon or A.W. Tozer.

Thus, we are all good at different things and enjoy praising God in ways that can be in total contrast to that of another.

So, I guess, that is the true project of life:

Learning to love others by learning to love God. Showing love for God by accepting others, no matter how unlike us they may seem.

*Yea, I could have just said ‘large’.

Casper claimed that Jemima got his name from the Saturday staff. I don’t recall why they came up with this nickname and I cannot find any famous thieves called Jemima on the internet, so that will remain a mystery. All I know is, every one of us referred to this man by that name and nobody dared ask him for the real one.

There was no regularity to his visits, but when he appeared, it left us affected with a mixture of bemusement and rage.

He was a very tall, slim, young man with a piercing glare and an air of arrogance. Each time he entered the shop, he left with a bible. A bible that he had not paid for and therefore, most probably had no intention of reading.

Because our shop was in a retail quarter surrounded by department stores and posh shops, there was an office nearby run by security staff, on whom we could call, for either emergency assistance or a kind of, ‘police presence’ to ward off those considered to be, ‘suspicious, but less threatening’.

Jemima was never ‘less threatening’, so as soon as we saw him enter, we would call for emergency assistance. The young man was wise to this and therefore either crept in unseen or performed his deed so quickly that he was gone before the guards arrived.

I only remember one time when he was caught, and the expletives that were directed at 16-year-old Hazel, left her shaking.

Was he working for a gang? Was he stealing to fund a drug habit? We never knew. We only knew that he was the ‘Master of Stealth’ that took great pleasure in his pilfering.

Despite finding him immensely exasperating, there were two occasions involving him that left me laughing. One day, he marched-in at the usual moment when the ground floor was heaving with customers. The first flight of stairs was to the left of the till area and lead to the mezzanine floor, and to a second flight of stairs up to the first floor. This is where all the bibles were displayed. Unlike his usual galloping up the steps two by two, this day, his strides were shorter and much slower. In his hand was a large sheet of paper which he placed at the side of his face so that he could not be seen. This was not done surreptitiously at all. It was like he was mocking us by drawing attention to himself.

This audacity caused Casper to forget that his nickname was a secret and he bellowed,

“Jemima, come back here!”

He was pounced on and left the shop in his usual cocky manner, claiming he had been treated unfairly.

The other time was when he stole the most expensive bible we stocked – a genuine leather NASB. We needed the barcode in order to obtain a replacement copy, because the description of it was not being recognised by our computer system. It was from our usual supplier, but as there were more than 60 English-language versions of the bible that came in various sizes, cover designs and inner styles, it wasn’t easy to trace. The young flouter always took our best bibles and this latest one was over £70. Because of our plight, this was the first occasion that we actually wanted him to revisit us so we could say,

“You know that bible you snuck into your overcoat last week? We know you’re not going to bring it back, but if you haven’t yet thrown away the cardboard sleeve, could you please return it so we can scan the barcode?”

I don’t know how many copies of the word of God ended up hidden inside his large coat pockets, but I hoped that one day one would fall out and land on his feet, opened onto Exodus Chapter 20. He had a penchant for large print editions, so there was a possibility that, despite being tall, he would be able to see what verse 15 said.

I am not an expert on human behaviour, but I think he was mentally ill. I think he was demonically oppressed. I think he was poor, because his attire was rather odd, and his legs were very skinny. But there is one thing I know about him for certain. He was loved by God. I hoped that one day, he would take the time to open a copy from his gilt-edged collection and read it. It had the power to change his life in a totally different way to what he believed. Whatever money he got for his stash, is nothing in comparison to the wealth of riches God gives to those who surrender their lives to him.

I will never know what happened to Jemima, but my prayer is that instead of stealing the word of God, he is letting it speak to his heart and somewhere out there, is a changed man.

In the middle of the month, a wad of brochures would be sent to us for the perusal of customers and for us to become familiar with what items were going to be part of the next promotion. As soon as the new promotion had begun, bundles of the magazines would be placed on the two counters by the tills, on the promotional tables and inside each carrier bag.

With one week to go, boxes would arrive from the warehouse which contained items to be priced up, ready to be displayed on the tables from the first day.

Books, bibles and CDs would be reduced in price and new titles would be promoted alongside them.

Each new promo’ had its own set of sale stickers and they had to be placed in the top right-hand corner of every item. Because these stickers remained on the product for 30 days, they would often be difficult to remove without either damaging the surface of the book or leaving a residue. So, the stickers on the existing sale items had to be peeled off very slowly and the book or CD then had to be wiped clean. This, however, could not happen until the very last day of the month, so that customers had chance to make the most of the current promotion. But posters, flyers and window displays had to be changed on time. Once the tables were ready, all the items that had been removed from display needed to go back onto the shelves at regular price.

Added to this, invoices, gift vouchers and postal orders had to be tallied and the two “Top Ten” books stands needed to be rearranged.

Sometimes the changeover happened at the same time of year that the haul of new dated material (Sunday School magazines and daily bible reading notes) arrived. These had to be placed aside until the shop was ready for the new promotion.

The most frustrating part of this changeover was the fact that we never received enough stock. For example, a popular title would be listed in the brochures as being half price, attracting the attention of many customers, yet we will have had only been sent two copies. Excited customers would often telephone to ask if we could put aside an item for them, only to be told they were completely out of stock both at our branch and the warehouse. All branches were in the same predicament and we would be contacting each other frantically trying to see if anybody had what we needed.

One day Louise was on the ground floor working next to me and she said,

“Sharon, have you noticed that those boys over there by the window keep giggling and whispering to each other?”

“No.” I replied.

“Yea,” she continued, “this is the third time this week that I’ve noticed them huddled together in that spot, laughing to themselves.”

I hadn’t noticed.

She continued, “There’s a book they keep picking up and putting back down. I wonder if that has anything to do with why they are so amused?”

“And why they keep coming back?” I suggested.

“Um, yea,” she said. “I’m gonna take a look.”

As Louise made her way towards the young lads, they dispersed and began picking up other books from the display tables. They seemed nervous when she approached them, and they soon left.

Lou stared at the books on the table, and suddenly grabbed a large hardback, white one.

“Aha!”

She flicked through the book and went very quiet. She seemed to be stuck on one particular page:

“Huh! Not surprised! Why oh why? That’s ridiculous! Did they have to make it so…”

“Bring it here!” I shouted, eager to know what all the fuss was about.

Louise shut the book before she handed it to me and smiled wryly awaiting my reaction.

I looked at the title and it all became clear.

It was from “E24”!

Every single book we stocked was allocated a code. For example, the “J” section contained all the books for kids and teenagers: Books for toddlers were classified under “J10” ones for older children were “J12” and the teenagers had “J16”. The “E” section included books about family and psychology, but “E24” was the category entitled, “Love, Sex and Marriage”.

The boys had stumbled across a sex education book and the pictures inside left nothing to the imagination. This was supposed to be an explanatory guide for parents to give to their young children when they begin asking how babies are made. With the vivid images that were displayed, and the sentences used, no explanation was really needed.

Over time, we were sent books that were far more questionable than this one and Lou and I were to be raising our eyebrows once more. But I’ll tell you about those later.

As far as I knew, ‘The Prince of Egypt’ was given his name by Hazel and crew. His pseudonym was a little more understandable than Jemima’s in that the top half of his attire was not too dissimilar to that of the cartoon character, Moses, in the same-titled film.

He wore a sparkly headdress that reached just past his shoulders. This was most often, a deep pink colour and covered in sequins. To keep his headdress in place, a band of an opposite hue was wrapped around his head and also contained sequins. There was not a colour that he did not wear, and so he looked like a walking rainbow.

Around his shoulders he wore a white cape made of glitter fabric and underneath the cape was a neon yellow lycra top. Continuing the superhero theme, he wore tight gold lamé leggings.  Around his waist was an odd-shaped metal belt and in his hand, he held a staff. This staff was not curled over at the end like that of a shepherd, but instead, it had various bits of shiny material dangling from the top.

His hair was in small braids and sometimes, very thin dreadlocks and he sported a long, pointy beard that reached to his chest.

I don’t know what your imagination is like, but I suspect that you are assuming by my description that he was comical. Comically dressed yes, but other than that, he was rather frightening. Even though his manner was less aggressive than that of Jemima’s, his presence was far more intimidating.

He would walk in and glare at us, but never came up to the counter. Instead, he would ease his way into a corner and pick up a book. He would then remain in that same spot for at least half an hour, with his staff still in his hand but holding the book with both hands, in front of him.

None of us were ever fooled by his apparent interest in our titles. To me, when he was around, there seemed to be an evil presence that lingered around him.

His favourite corner was by the window on the ground floor right in front of the “New Titles” section. Therefore, most of the books he picked up were new releases. Occasionally he ventured upstairs, and he did this most often when we were busy on the ground floor.

We knew he was up to no good, but as he never appeared to be stealing or bothering other customers, we more often than not, ignored him. This was fine by me as I wanted to have as little to do with him as possible.

After a while, ‘The Sparkly One’ suddenly decided that he knew my name and began calling me Claire. He would come in and say, “Hello Claire” in a creepy voice. The fact that he got my name wrong suited me fine and I would reply cheerfully so not to give away any suspicion that he was in error. After this had become a habit, I promptly informed my colleagues of the situation because I was scared that one day, somebody was going to call over to me and say, “Hey Sharon…”. I had made up my mind that if this ever happened, I would ignore them. I didn’t want this man to know anything about me and if he ever asked me where I lived or what church I went to, I was planning to lie without any guilt whatsoever.

A few years later, a grim discovery was made. After ‘The Prince of Egypt’ had left the shop, a colleague picked up the same book that he had been reading a few hours earlier, and discovered a small card hidden between the pages. It was covered in what looked like demonic symbols. So that was it. He had been biding time so that he could place these witchcraft cards into our books. In hindsight, it was hardly surprising, but as we had no concrete evidence that this was his doing, he was never challenged about it. After this incident, we kept a closer eye on him and began to approach him to ask if he needed help with anything. The lengths of his visits became shorter, and I never forgot to give him a cheery wave when he would whisper, “Bye, bye Claire.”

I wonder how many books he managed to mark over the years. I wonder how many sparkly outfits he owned. I also wonder who he got his fashion inspiration from. Was it really Moses or Superman? Thankfully, he never resorted to wearing his pants on top of his leggings, and as superheroes don’t sport a headdress or a staff, I think the Saturday staff were spot-on with this one.