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TEN MINUTES AFTER NOON, and Grandma Lucy still hadn’t relinquished the microphone or shown any sign that her prayer and Scripture recitation would be winding down soon.
“A voice of one crying in the wilderness.” She raised her hand toward the looming fans that hung from the sanctuary ceiling. “Weeping and great mourning. The voice of a mother weeping for her child.”
Katrina’s abdominal muscles seized up. She clenched her hands into fists. Is that what this whole thing was about? First verses that did nothing but remind Katrina how disappointed she was in her own marriage. Now Grandma Lucy was going to poke holes in her already wounded soul and start talking about the miscarriage?
Her heart was racing. She stared at her husband, praying Greg would glance over and see just how uncomfortable she was. He was only a few feet away. Was he so concerned about what people would think of him giving Grandma Lucy the microphone that he couldn’t understand how wretched this old woman was making his own wife feel?
“Refusing to be comforted because her children are no more.” How was any of this helpful? How was any of this meant to be an encouragement?
Yes, lady, I know my kid’s gone. I know I’m never going to see them again. Why do you have to remind me?
It wasn’t fair. Katrina had just gotten to the point where she could make music again after all that had happened. She was just starting to heal, getting to the point where her dead child wasn’t the first thing on her mind when she woke up and the last image she thought of when she went to sleep. And not only was her health history plastered all over Orchard Grove, some type of current event half the orchardists and their wives would be discussing over Sunday lunch, but now she had to sit through some Bible recitation contest with an old woman who seemed to divine every single struggle going on in Katrina’s soul and felt the need to broadcast her inner thoughts to the entire congregation.
As if they needed any more reason to gossip about her.
Next thing, Grandma Lucy would be preaching about the dangers of letting single men into the sanctuary when you’re at the church alone at night practicing your music.
It was too much. She couldn’t sit through any more. She didn’t care how rude it would be or how embarrassing. She’d stand up and yank that microphone out of the old woman’s hands if she had to.
Anything to get her to stop talking.
Anything to get her to shut up.
She had just resolved to make her move when Grandma Lucy stopped. Handed the microphone back with a somewhat subdued, “Thank you, Pastor Greg.”
Finally. Katrina let out her breath. Her husband mumbled some sort of final dismissal, thus bringing an end to the longest church service in Katrina’s working memory.
At least it was over.
She had to make her way past Grandma Lucy to beat the throng to the foyer, so she offered a quick “Excuse me” and tried to slip by unobtrusively.
“Hold on.” Grandma Lucy grabbed her wrist. Her hand was softer than Katrina would have thought given all those wrinkles, her grip far stronger than her age might imply. “I’d like to say a prayer for you.”
As if she hadn’t already said enough. Katrina looked around for Greg, who was fielding questions from two of the elders. There was no rescue. Why couldn’t she just tell this woman she had to go home? Why couldn’t she simply offer a polite no thank you and have that be good enough?
Where was Katrina’s voice when she needed it?
Grandma Lucy took both Katrina’s hands in hers and, in a voice that was certain to carry over half of the conversations floating around the sanctuary, began to pray.
“Dear Lord, you know this sister’s needs. You know her sorrows, her trials, and her joys. I thank you so much for bringing her and her husband here to minister to us at this church. I thank you for her sweet spirit, her loving disposition, her gracious ways. And I pray that whatever longings lie hidden in the base of her soul would be exposed before you. You are good, dear Lord, and we give you praise and glory. Amen.”
It was considerably shorter than what Katrina had expected given Grandma Lucy’s most recent performance. She accepted the old woman’s hug, eyed the path that would take her out of the sanctuary while avoiding as many League women as possible, and longed for the safety and shelter of home.