The room was silent as each woman struggled within herself. They all had so many needs, but they also knew, to verbally tell this group was like taking an ad out in the Buzz Bee paper. So they continued alone, week after week in their own private hells, struggling with the details of life, and the isolation of having no one to talk to. It was really very comical. Here they all religiously gathered every week to pray and reach the heart of God, yet no one felt enough trust within the group to ask for help. So as always, they projected their prayers outside of their own lives, and set about bringing order to those in Carington who needed a dose of the spirit to bring them to their knees.
They kept an ongoing list of their targets. As long as the list continued to grow, the member’s fiery tongues were averted from lashing out at their own individual secret demons. They called out names of local residents they had seen or heard of committing some kind of sin, and woe be onto that person who landed on their prestigious list. With all their holy power, the group had no doubt that Michael the Arc angel himself would make a guest appearance at the home of whoever graced their list that week.
One by one, people’s private lives were openly discussed, as the committee decided on what would be the best way for the Lord to bring correction to the misguided souls. This week was no different as the women raised their voices to heaven, though unbeknownst to them, their prayers were so laden down with judgment, they never went any higher than the yellowed cottage cheese ceiling.
“Well I don’t know about you all, but I am concerned about Karen Foster. Why is it that the pastor’s wife doesn’t attend these prayer meetings? It just doesn’t seem right, and the whole town is talking about it. I think we need to ask the Lord to convict her. She just can’t seem to see the error of her ways,” stated Tootsie, as she remembered how Karen had treated her that morning.
“Amen, Amen,” murmured all the women.
Aunt Birdie always sat at the end of the table with her old gnarled hands quietly folded. As a child, her waif like appearance had earned her the nickname Birdie and it had stuck, but it was her daily feedings of wandering geese that conjugated in her backyard that had carried the name along. The women liked to discount her presence. Long ago they had labeled her an old timer, one who couldn’t quite keep up to speed with the changes that had been enacted in the church over the last forty years. Since her life was as dented and crinkled as the pages of her old Bible, they had chalked up her hard life as one who had some hidden sin. Otherwise, what excuse could there be for one who so faithfully followed the Lord? Got to be hidden sin somewhere, they thought.
Her eighty-seven years were as disposable as a baby’s diaper and just as offensive. Her weekly attendance was a constant reminder to the group of what was in store for them all as they silently examined her wrinkled skin, her Mrs. Magoo eyesight, and her white, receding hairline…and the members didn’t like it. They overlooked her prim, freshly starched lace collars, dainty cameo broaches and sweet gray eyes, but more importantly, they overlooked her standing with the Lord.
If anyone could open heaven’s doors, it was Aunt Birdie. Her arthritic knees had worn away the shellac on her old pine wood floors alongside her bed, as she sought His voice and direction for her beloved Carington. She didn’t take to talking about others, and surely did not approve of gossip, which is what the weekly prayer meetings had turned into. Still, she came as regular as the postal service, always delivering some kind of good news to the group.
“Well I wanted to thank the Lord for another beautiful day,” she said. Several of the women rolled their eyes at each other and took turns acknowledging her comment, as if she were a child.
“Yes Aunt Birdie. Forgive us, we were dealing with more important items, but yes, it was a beautiful day,” Josey said, giving Tootsie a nudge.
“Oh Lord yes,” piped in Tootsie, “such a pretty day, which is why I can’t figure out why in the world Bloomers wasn’t open today. I wanted to get some of those yellow daisies for my flower boxes and when I drove by, they were closed again. I think the Zukerman’s are having some marital problems, and from what I’ve heard, we need to pray for them. Seems Jay has gotten a roving eye, and Thelma is too busy watching those day time soap operas to notice.”
Aunt Birdie shook her head and jotted down the Zukerman’s name to pray for. She knew they were on a well-deserved vacation, and if she didn’t send up some prayers on their behalf, waggling tongues would spew seeds of destruction around town that would overtake the beautiful life they had created together.
Josey was literally vibrating from the news she was trying to contain, so as to present the “hot flash” as a prayer request, versus just gossip, which would incur a lifted eyebrow from Aunt Birdie. Finally she could not hold it one more minute and she didn’t want Glenda stealing her limelight with other trivial items.
Stay tuned for the next episode!
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