Today's impending post has been cancelled due to an unnecessary and unwelcome illness. Forgive me?
After much thought and worry, I have crafted a story to fill this gap. Enjoy and feel free to comment. I have reworked this story a couple of times and am curious to get reactions from people who aren't me. Yes, that's you. *applause*
C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D
Bold letters painted in red implied the permanence of the
crisscrossed boards bearing this message. Imogene’s feet stopped though her
hand continued reaching for the door handle. She reserved this time and this
place for her communes with God. How could anyone deny her these few moments
with her father in Heaven?
Despite the gray hair piled high on her head, she showed
surprising strength. As slender fingers wrapped around the doorknob and the
muscles in an equally slender arm tightened, the double doors creaked and
pulled apart. She peered through the crack into the dim interior of the church.
“Pastor Johnson, are you in there?” Her voice dripped honey
as she leaned across the rough boards to call through the opening.
Receiving no response, she released the doorknob. As the
door snapped closed, footsteps approached on the loose gravel of the parking
lot. Imogene turned to face the tall man walking toward her. He showed two rows
of slightly yellow teeth as he removed a wide-brimmed hat.
“Imogene, I thought that was you.”
“I always come to the church on Sunday afternoon, Pastor
Johnson. You know that.”
“Yes, well...” He cleared his throat. “I did tell you it
wouldn’t be open today.”
“Excuse me.” Imogene placed a hand on each hip and tapped
one foot rhythmically.
“I announced last week that we didn’t have the funds to keep
the church open.”
“I am sure the tithes cover…”
“Are you?” The pastor placed his hat back on his head,
shielding his eyes from the sun and his bare
head from the old woman’s
displeasure.
“They always have in the past.” She crossed her arms.
“Sadly, this is a new time.” The pastor shook his head and
turned to walk away.
Short, quick steps carried her to the edge of the porch.
“Wait, pastor.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we could do something since…”
The pastor gazed up at her expectantly.
“…I need my weekly time with God.”
“We all do.” He nodded in agreement, tipping the brim of his
hat up to see her face better. “What do
you propose we do?”
“A bake sale?”
He shook his head.
“A raffle?”
“What would we raffle?”
“Good point.” She stared off into the horizon. “I think I
know what to do.”
“Yes?”
“Pray.”
The pastor laughed. “That will help, but I think we need to
do some of the work as well. Consider that
your sermon for today.”
This time when he walked away, he didn’t turn back. Imogene stood
staring up at the peeling paint on the church steeple for a while before
shuffling home.
After a long night pacing the floors, thumbing through dusty
old volumes, and sorting yellowed documents, she finally found the solution.
Careful steps brought her back to the closed doors. She leaned against them,
ignoring the rough surface of the wood digging into her back.
She didn’t wait long. The pastor’s long legs brought him
quickly from his house beside the church. A satisfied smile brightened his face
as he almost marched up the steps to tower over her.
“Dear Imogene, have you found a way to save our church?”
“I have, pastor.” The flint of her voice caused the pastor’s
smile to waver.
“That’s wonderful.” Though he tried to sound confident, the
pastor’s voice wavered under her gaze.
“It is indeed.” Imogene reached into the large pocket of her
loose smock dress and pulled out a thin pile of papers, folded in half and
yellowed by time. “It is all right here in the charter for the church that my
dear husband drew up.”
“Charter?” The smile completely vanished at this revelation.
“Yes. My late husband established this church.” As the pastor
continued to regard her disbelievingly, Imogene unfolded the pages, scanning
them quickly before continuing. “If the tithes and offerings provided by those
who worship in the Farthing Church of Christ fail to provide for the needs of
the church, the pastor will open his home as a boarding house to defray costs.”
“That can’t be right.” The pastor reached for the document.
Imogene pulled the papers away from his outstretched hand,
scanning the contents again before continuing. “You must realize that the house
doesn’t belong to you and the tithes and offerings should go to paying the
debts of the church. Any excess funds are intended to help the poor not buy
luxuries. I do know about the investment account that my husband set up when he
was the pastor.”
The pastor’s eyes darted to the shiny, red Audi parked
outside his house as he raised his hand to stop the flow of her words. “I
believe I understand.”
“I hope you do. I expect to see these doors open and
welcoming next Sunday morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Imogene nodded slightly. “Have a good day, Pastor Johnson.
Tongue-tied, the pastor watched her go.
Shaking her head, Imogene muttered to herself. “That fool
thought I’d give him money out of my own pocket. I’ll give him the opportunity
to seek new employment at the next board meeting.”
The pastor didn’t hear any of this. While his mind raced
through schemes to make this all better, his long strides carried him to the
garage.
“I’ll make this right. I should have put the car in here.”
He grumbled to himself as he reached for the hammer. “I’ll just open the church
and give a moving sermon and all will be forgotten.”
He smiled reassuringly into the side mirror of his car but
doubt looked back at him.
