The Second Doublewide on the Right, part 39

I’m Fixin’ To Present Part 39 of The Second Doublewide on the Right:

Sunday morning came crashing in on Reverend Ricky Lee Jones like a hailstorm—except the hailstorm was inside his head. He quickly turned the hailstorm into a soft rain by washing down a BC headache powder with a Coca-Cola. After a long shower and a shave he breakfasted on a hard boiled egg and the remains of his Coke, because he knew that too much food would dull his already aching brain.

He liked to preach in new clothes so he donned a snowy white pair of briefs, a thin pair of black mid-calf socks along with a new pair of khaki pants with a sharp crease in them. Then he took all the little pins out of a crisp, long-sleeved dress shirt and put it on. Lastly, he slipped on a black sweater vest over the new shirt and tucked a new handkerchief into his back pocket.

As he stood before the mirror brushing the gel through his freshly cut hair, he thought that he looked pretty good for a sinner with a hangover.

At half past ten he descended the stairs, entered the sanctuary and placed his notes for his sermon on the podium. Then he walked down the center aisle and opened the front double doors, and to his delight he saw that vehicles were beginning to file into the parking lot.

At five minutes before eleven he abandoned his station at the front doors as a greeter and made his way up to the pulpit where he sat down and waited for the crowd to settle down. At eleven o’clock sharp the reverend approached the podium and the buzz of the congregation slowly turned to silence.

She hadn’t come. His eyes searched the congregation, but Marthalene was nowhere to be seen. His disappointment was deep, but he knew the service must go on, so he raised his hands toward Heaven and declared in a clear and ringing voice, “We fixing to have church here this morning! Praise the Lord! Let’s bow our heads in prayer.”

The refrain of the hymn, I’m Coming Home, was being belted out when Ricky Lee saw one of the front doors crack open and a head full of golden hair peeked inside. It was her! She had come after all! She was just a little late.

While the sweet notes of the hymn continued he watched as she slipped through the door and floated down the center aisle to the front row where folks courteously tightened up and made room for her on the end of the pew, as close as she could possibly get to him.

The reverend’s gospel roots could be traced back to his childhood where his first exposure to worship was at tent revivals that his mother liked to attend with him in tow, where the preaching was passionate and powerful. He didn’t conduct any foot-washing or handle any snakes, but he did fashion the way he delivered a sermon after those preachers of old, and soon he had people in the aisles shouting “Amen’s” and “Hallelujah’s.”

He had originally intended to preach on the sins of lusting in your heart, but once Marthalene showed up the theme of his sermon changed. He substituted the word love for lust, and preached his heart out.

The congregation was standing and cheering when he called for two volunteers to pass the collection plates around. When they had been passed and were presented at the alter, he noted with pleasure that they were overflowing, and made a mental note to get bigger plates.

The reverend wound his flock down with a closing hymn. As they were singing the last verse of, Shall we Gather at the River, he made his way down the center aisle and threw open the front doors, where he stationed himself and blessed and shook hands until every last soul was gone—except one.

Marthalene was still sitting on the front pew, and hadn’t moved at all.

Reverend Ricky Lee Jones closed and locked the front doors of the church. When he turned back toward the front he was stunned to see that a beam of bright Sunday sunshine was streaming through a window and had turned Marthalene’s lovely hair into a halo.

That’s when he knew he was fixing to do the right thing.