The church that needs another fundraiser

She had brought the spoon by accident. It was still in her cardigan pocket from stirring icing before the meeting.

“I have baked,” she said, “for every roof tile in this building.”

The committee looked up at the ceiling.

“And several that aren't here yet.”

Even the pastor smiled.

The youth group wanted to attend a regional gathering. Transport and rooms were the problem. The answer, until now, had been asking the same people to bake, cook and give again.

“What would you suggest?” asked Mr. Lewis.

Mrs. Baptiste sat back.

“First, that we find out exactly what we need.”

They counted travelers, confirmed dates and asked about accommodation. Two people volunteered to compare transport. The youth leader wrote down which families could contribute and which needed help, privately.

The first total made everyone quiet.

The next option meant fewer rooms, but someone noticed the walking distance. It would not suit one of the older chaperones.

They kept looking.

At the following meeting, the gap was smaller and clearer.

“Now,” Mrs. Baptiste said, “we can ask people for something specific.”

The young people proposed a community lunch.

Mrs. Baptiste folded her arms.

“And who's cooking?”

“We are.”

There was a pause long enough for several adults to picture the kitchen afterward.

They agreed to supervised teams. Ingredients would be donated where people chose to help. Money would be counted by two designated adults and recorded. Nobody would be expected to contribute because their name appeared on a list.

On Saturday, a teenager confused a teaspoon with a tablespoon.

Mrs. Baptiste rescued the sauce with the concentration of a surgeon.

“This,” she informed him, “is why reading matters.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon measuring everything twice.

When lunch ended, the young people washed the pans.

They stayed to stack chairs. One quietly asked how much was still needed. Another offered to phone the transport company with the youth leader beside her.

Over the next weeks, voluntary contributions and a simpler travel plan brought the journey within reach.

On departure morning, Mrs. Baptiste arrived carrying a small bag.

“You baked for the bus?” Mr. Lewis asked.

“I packed for myself.”

One of the teenagers lifted her bag aboard.

Inside, they had saved her a seat near the front.

As the bus pulled away, she searched her pocket for a tissue.

The spoon was still there.

She held it up. The young cook across the aisle began laughing.

“No,” she told him. “I'm on holiday.”