Free Rain Dance by Joy DeKok Page A

thoughts. A rumble followed by a blinding shaft of light at that moment would have been nice. I’d have enjoyed seeing the ladies cringe when God chose not to accept their judgment of me. Although the rain continued outside, no thunder rolled and no lightened bolted.
    I hoped I could keep my mouth shut. They didn’t need anything else to use against me in their court of condemnation.
    Neither one was even embarrassed that I’d heard them gossiping about me. I grabbed my purse and walked past them toward the door, my lips pressed tightly shut. As the door swung shut behind me, I heard Della say, “Well! At least she could clean up her mess.”
    Again I fled my church crippled by the verbal blast of two women honored in the congregation. A strange homesickness flooded my soul. I knew it would be a while before I came back—if I ever did. I started my car and stared at the building where I loved to worship the God I believed in with all my heart.
    This is sad God. And wrong.
    As I pulled out of the parking lot, the anger settled in as if making itself at home—again. I knew it was the dangerous kind of anger—the kind that breeds bitterness—by the awful taste in my mouth.
    I wanted God to answer my internal shouts. Is this how your people are supposed to behave? Isn’t Your house to be called a house of prayer? A place of refuge? Right now, it feels like the residence of betrayal and rejection.
    Instead of going home, I went to the park. Its only inhabitants were the giant Canada geese. I bought some corn from a bin and sat under my umbrella on a bench. The sound of the metal door of the corn dispenser slamming shut had alerted the geese to a treat and the loud, pushy birds soon surrounded me.
    I watched them shove and bite each other over the kernels I spread before them. If it looked like another goose was getting a nugget more, the jealous birds honked and pulled out a feather or two from the competitor. When the cup was empty, they turned and waddled away.
    “At least I know what to expect from you,” I commented to their feathery behinds. “You take and leave. You don’t act holy, and then turn on me.”
    My discussion turned into a prayer. “I expect compassion and mercy from believers. I don’t need more pain heaped on me by Christians. In spite of everything, I know You’re walking through this barren place with me. You never leave or forsake me. But why do you allow us to hurt each other? We are a family—bound by the sacrifice of Jesus. This is the blood that should be thicker than water.
    “What did I ever do to these women? Do I deserve this punishment? If Stacie had been with me, this would have turned her away from You for good. She already sees most of us as self-righteous, harsh, judging hypocrites. And You know what? I’m not sorry yet for those nasty names I wanted to call them earlier.”
    My growling stomach interrupted my talk with the Lord. I looked around the park, glad I was still the only one there. All I needed was for someone to see me, alone, talking out loud. I had already been labeled a sinner in denial—I didn’t need to add “crazy” to my list of titles.
    I went through the drive-thru at Juan’s and picked up some lunch—a crunchy taco, a bowl of beans, and a large cola. Ahead of me, a blue car sported an Eve Dunbar bumper sticker. I wondered where Stacie was and hoped her day was going better than mine.
    Eating my lunch in the parking lot, I felt a deep loneliness settle into my soul.
     
    Stacie
    Is she right? Am I out of control? Weak?
    My mother was in town for a couple of days. Before she flew back to D.C., we met at the country club for lunch.
    In the dining room, seated by the bay window overlooking the pond, I took a moment to appreciate the way the soft candlelight danced off the delicate crystal goblets and the ivory china bowl with pink roses arranged in a small, elegant mound.
    “Isn’t it pretty, Mother—I mean Eve?”
    I didn’t usually slip. My memory