After this, a beautiful young woman in a stunning white suit and very high heels walked out. She looked like a recording artist, because she was, and apparently well-known by the younger women of the audience, many of whom listened to modern Christian rock music on the radio. A round of enthusiastic applause went up. The young woman gave a Miss America wave, then brought her hands together. A hush fell over the crowd.
“…Here we are all gathered to sing praise to God…Halle-lu-yah, hal-le-lu-yah!” she sang out with a strong voice and perfect pitch, as she strode up and down with energy. There were a drummer and electric guitar player behind the woman at the electronic keyboard, who was now standing and playing those keys with all her might.
There were a lot of wide eyes watching.
Emma noticed Belinda and others singing along, and wondered how they knew the words. Then Belinda elbowed her and pointed out a screen in the corner with the lyrics projected on it. Emma began to sing and then to clap along with everyone else.
“…sing, sing, hal-le-lu-yah! Hal-le-lu-yah!” The young singer ended with a deep bow from the waist, and another, louder round of applause went up. After this, the young woman led them all in singing “Redeemed” and “She’s Somebody’s Hero,” with a definite country sound. She got a standing ovation.
Following the singer were two speakers. One was a comedienne who told a lot of funny stories about her life as a wife and mother. She was a big hit. Then, after a break and while they were all still in high spirits from laughing, the second speaker came on to give the Mary-and-Martha talk about the special and varied gifts of women. Belinda was not the only one pleased to hear Martha praised. The speaker said that women were the healers and keepers of the family, and that they more or less held up the sky. Both speakers were given many an “Amen, Sister!” and “Halleluyah!”
When Belinda hollered out an “Amen!” Emma jumped. She thought Belinda did it very well and could be on the amening committee.
A buffet luncheon was served in a lovely fellowship hall. It was the sort of catered affair that many of the women seldom, if ever, got to experience. A lavish buffet, and tables covered with linen and set with gleaming china and crystal, was spread out before them. Wait staff supplied cold tea and hot coffee.
Belinda was quite pleased with the civility of it all, as was Inez Cooper, who had been in charge of stocking the Valentine First Methodist’s remodeled kitchen. Inez had pushed through china and silverware over paper plates and plastic forks and knives in a heated meeting.
Belinda recalled the incident for Emma. “It was one of the rare times I found myself on Inez’s side. After I did it, she thought I was her friend. She was invitin’ me to all kinds of women’s retreats and Tupperware parties. I was pretty relieved when it came to carpeting the sanctuary and she wanted white, and I vetoed that insane idea. She hasn’t invited me to a single thing since…amen to that.”
The luncheon was an extended one, where women lingered over glasses of cold tea and cups of hot coffee, giving everyone ample time to relax, chat and get to the restrooms, and visit the tape table to purchase cassettes and CDs of the singer and speakers.
Very quietly the information was passed that smoking was not allowed on the church grounds. This was quite different for a few of the women, who attended churches where all they had to do was step out on the front lawn. A number of the attendees piled into cars and drove down to the nearby Seven-Eleven parking lot, where they had a quick smoke. Each carload thought they were the only ones, and then they looked up and recognized others parked around the edge of the lot. They rolled down their windows and chatted. It led to a lot of camaraderie.
One unfortunate incident happened at the tape table, when two women got into a fight over a CD by the singer in the white suit.
Inez Cooper witnessed the display and went over to give the two women a lecture on proper Christian behavior. This approach—plus Inez snatching the CD out of one of the women’s hands and threatening to break it in half, as King Solomon would have done—ended up with one of the women pushing Inez into the table, and tapes and CDs going everywhere, while the other woman grabbed the CD and took off.
As the story got retold around, Inez was the one named as inciting the fight. She was in hysterics at being accused of such behavior.
“I was only trying to help,” she said, sobbing, to Emma.
“Of course you were,” Emma said, digging an aspirin and fresh Kleenex from her purse, and handing them to the woman. “Anyone who knows you will know that you didn’t start a fight.”
At that, Inez quit sobbing and looked straight at Belinda. “You’ve got to say on your radio show that I did not start this fight.” She would not leave the table until Belinda promised to set things right on the radio.
The afternoon consisted of more singing and an uplifting personal testimony by the young woman in the white suit.
After that there were few dry eyes in the house. Belinda leaned over to Emma and said, “Do you see how she’s dressed?”
Emma did not quite understand the relevance, but left off asking as Sister Mae took the stage to say, “The joy of the Lord is your strength!” in a most surprising and commanding voice.
Sister Mae was blessed with fire and faith. She proceeded with brief but vivifying preaching. “You were not given a spirit of timidity. No, ma’am! You were given a spirit of power and love and sound mind. God loves you…and there are no exceptions, honey. God doesn’t play favorites, no, ma’am!”
“Amen!”
“Yes, Sister!”
“You do not have to worry, sisters…. Yes, you can forgive yourself. Yes, you can forgive your neighbor. Shout it out! Sing praise!”
“Amen!”
“Halleluyah!”
“Love yourself and your neighbor.
“Step out in faith!”
Many in the audience had at one time or another seen men preach the way Sister Mae did, but few had ever seen a woman do it. The few Catholics and a couple of Southern Baptists were not certain what to think. A number of the Presbyterians and Methodists, and the two Unitarians visiting from up north, sat stunned.
Nevertheless, no one could walk out, because Sister Mae had a manner that tended to make believers out of the most ardent doubter. She spoke as a woman who knew a happy secret about life.
“You are women,” she told them. “Made so by the hand of God, and for a good purpose. Don’t let there be any question about that whatsoever, honey. You are made by love and for love and to spread love. And you can do all things through Christ, who gives you the strength, honey.”
Her joy and faith, combined with the voices of the gospel singers who began humming in the background, swept the room like a strong breeze down the street, lifting hearts like leaves and sending them soaring.
When Sister Mae ended with the call to be saved, women began popping up in the rows like buttercups and going down to the front to receive hands-on prayer.
Emma looked up and saw Joella hurrying down. She watched as Sister Mae laid her black hand on Joella’s pale, bent head.
As the last person received prayer, the gospel singers raised their voices. Then the Valentine First Methodist Ladies Circle received something near as momentous as the Spirit when their pastor’s wife lit into singing “I Will Trust in the Lord.”
Naomi Smith was a plain woman, with her graying brown hair pulled back to the nape of her neck and weighing in at no more than one hundred and fifteen pounds. But she proved to have an inner passion that no one would have guessed—except her husband, who had given her six children. With one hand tightly holding the microphone close to her mouth, she waved the other hand to the beat of the music. Her feet in her very sensible SAS shoes began to dance. Turning into a presence of power and projection, she belted out, “Sister, will you trust…”
From all over came the answer, “Yes, sister!”
“And I say again…Sis-ter, will you trust?”
“Yes, I will…”
&nbs
p; The lyrics were repetitive but heart-stirring. When Naomi finally let go of it, the ten women from the Valentine Methodist, as well as Naomi’s sister, were reeling with amazement.
Sister Mae ended the day by praying a blessing that each heart would be uplifted and held by the Power of Loving Joy as they left and went out into the world. “Remember…you are Glorr-ious Women of God. Go and light the world.”
A lot of the women did not know what to make of all the exuberant talk about God and singing of religious songs; however, every one of them shared one thing: they had been away from their normal world of work and troubles for an entire day, and had sat still with themselves and their thoughts.
For many, this was the first time they had sat down for more than fifteen minutes all week, or had time to do anything more than think about how to pay the next bill or pacify whomever in their family needed pacifying. After being surrounded by hundreds of other women singing gospel songs, and laughing and hearing the uplifting words of faith and love and hope, and having all the sweet tea and ambrosia cake that they could hold, they could not help but feel a little hopeful. And as they had sat there, solutions to problems had popped into their minds and heartaches had seemed to ease. A number of women shed ten years off their faces.
Those from reserved families, or non-believers altogether, thought that they could not possibly go home and tell their friends and relatives of what they had seen and done. It was just too amazing. A number of closet gospel listeners were born. Many a mother asked her daughter to find the Christian rock station on the car radio.
There was a lot of evidence of miracles. Mended relationships occurred all over the place. The two women who had earlier gotten into a fight at the tape table were seen walking arm-in-arm back to the table, where they bought each other recordings of the talks.
Joella located Emma and told her with tears in her eyes, “I know I’m never gonna drink again…I know I’ve been cured this time.”
“I’m so glad for you,” Emma said, giving her a heartfelt hug.
Several other women confessed to being cured of gambling and shopping addictions, and one woman got so carried away as to ask another’s forgiveness for an affair with her husband. That went okay in the moment, although there was consternation about the possibility of honesty being carried too far.
The Valentine First Methodist Ladies Circle went en masse up to Naomi and praised her for her talent. Inez Cooper began to talk about Naomi being song leader at church.
Sylvia had to step outside and call Wadley on her cell phone. She could not wait another moment. Being surrounded by all those women and such a foreign atmosphere overwhelmed her. She was dying to hear a male voice. Wadley’s voice was so very precious when he said, “Hi, sweetheart. How’d it go today?”
She said, “Oh, God, I don’t know…I think I might have been saved without knowing it.”
Belinda and Emma hardly talked at all. They strolled out to the car and got in, and Belinda waited with uncommon patience in the traffic. They drove home with the air-conditioner at full blast and the windows down. They rode along with their hair blowing in the wind and looking out from dark glasses at the passing scenery, each one in her own thoughts. Occasionally they would look at each other and smile. Emma kicked off her shoes and waved her skirt, enjoying the cooling air up between her legs. At this, Belinda threw her head back and laughed.
Belinda suggested going to the Main Street Café for take-out dinners, and Emma agreed that this was a fine idea. Belinda pulled into a space at the curb, the two of them dashed inside, and shortly came out carrying bulging red-checked paper bags with handles. Belinda had gotten two Saturday steak specials, with dried-apricot pie slices for dessert, and a quart jar of cold sweet tea, because she never made her own. Emma had gotten two deluxe cheeseburger plates—John Cole’s favorite thing to order at the café—one with double fries and a slice of apple pie.
When Belinda dropped Emma at her house, they kissed each others’ cheeks and hugged, then Belinda drove away with a happy wave.
She headed quickly home, where she found Lyle sitting in front of the television news with Giff Phelps. She more or less swept Giff up and out the door, telling him, lying without one bit of compunction despite having spent the day hearing of God, that she had seen Penny downtown and that she had said to tell him to come home. He was getting into his car before he realized that if Penny had wanted him, she would have called him on his cell phone.
Belinda told Lyle not to get up. “I’ll bring our dinners in here.”
Lyle wondered if he had heard right. Usually it was him getting their meals. He liked to cook and Belinda did not. He sat nervously thinking that maybe he should go ask her and afraid to do so, because she sometimes got testy if he didn’t do what she said.
Experiencing a willingness to please that she had never before experienced, Belinda dressed the part to serve by digging out an apron from the rear of a kitchen drawer. She had to figure out how to put it on. She did not have television trays, never having eaten a meal in front of a television in her life; however, she did have two teak trays for eating in bed that served nicely.
She arranged their food on their best china and carried it all in to Lyle, who was surprised, of course, and a little nervous that he might spill something on the carpet and get yelled at, but she assured him that the carpet could be shampooed.
As they ate, she prodded him with questions for his opinion about the news on television, and from there she went on to ask about his day driving around on patrol. She responded to everything he said with great interest, looking at him and oohing and aahing wherever possible.
A few times while she looked at him she drifted off into thoughts of her plans for Emma’s stationery or changes at the drugstore, and she would blink and find herself staring at him and him waiting for some response on her part. A couple of times it came to the tip of her tongue to tell him that his idea was the stupidest idea she had ever heard, but she bit back the criticism. She was a glorious woman of love, after all.
Lyle proved to get talked out very quickly, and by their normal time of eight-thirty, they were in bed and in each other’s arms. Lyle was the most ardent lover he had been in months. It was stupendous.
Belinda could not believe how simple it had been, once she had given Lyle what he needed.
John Cole was not home. Emma had seen this immediately upon arrival, since his car was not in the drive. She was just as glad. She was not ready to see him, although she eagerly anticipated his arrival.
Emma stuck the hamburger dinners in the warming oven, shook off her shoes and padded barefoot into her workroom.
She f lipped on the light just above the drawing table, illuminating all the early photographs of her and John Cole tacked around it.
Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out the papers that Catherine had given them at their first marriage counseling session. She took up a pencil, read the questions again and quickly jotted a few things, noting her good qualities as an ability to comfort others, and having an eye for comfortable beauty and humor, and listening. She noted that these things were what had caused John Cole to fall in love with her.
Then she skipped to the statement of “I wish” and read what she had written: I wish I could love John Cole like I used to.
With teary vision, she wrote: I wish John Cole was home so that I could tell him that I love him very much.
Sometime in those hours of sitting still at the Glorious Women gathering, away from hiding in her artwork and obsessing over the details of the wedding celebrations, the pieces of the puzzle had come to her. It was not that John Cole did not love her or she him, but that they had somehow gotten blind to it. They had been, as Belinda had pointed out, loving all along.
She put down the pencil, gathered up the photographs of her and John Cole together and took them into the kitchen. Pulling her hamburger dinner out of the oven, she ate it in snatches as she went around the house, taping certain photographs in certain p
laces. She even went outside and taped one on the door of the garage.
When John Cole finally drove up, the sun was going down. His headlights hit the garage door. He sat there looking at what he thought, but could not believe really was, a photograph.
Leaving his headlights on, he got out of the truck and went closer. It was a photograph, an eight-by-ten of him and Emma at their wedding.
He looked at the house and saw light from the windows.
Wondering what Emma was up to now and trying to figure out any lapse that he might have committed, he walked toward the back door, where he found another picture of them when they had been young taped to the glass.
He entered. The kitchen was empty.
Pretty much by habit, he went to the refrigerator. There was another picture taped on the door. Inside, there was even a picture taped to a can of Coke. He took the picture off the can, popped the lid and drank deeply, then gazed at the picture for a long moment. It was of the first car they’d bought together.
Hanging on a string in the entry to the family room was a snapshot of them at the beach.
There was another on the remote control.
It dawned on him that Emma knew exactly what path he would take upon coming into the house.
It was a little eerie being given this visual history of their relationship. He stood there thinking a whole lot conflicting thoughts, wanting to find Emma and discover what all of this was about, and at the same time worrying that maybe he would not want to know.
Then he saw a shoe and a skirt lying on the floor near the hallway. He went over and picked them up. He looked at them and had a moment’s panic as he thought about some bizarre murder.
He hurried into the hallway, where he found another shoe and a blouse, and another picture, and then a bra. The door to the bedroom was closed, and taped on it was a picture. On the doorknob hung a pair of lace panties. He lifted them with his fingers.
Chin Up, Honey Page 26
