It was a gift. And they were glad to give it.
None of us called Tamra and told her that.
Weeks later, when I finally told Sharon the whole thing, she asked me the obvious question. The question any sensible person would ask.
“Opal, why in the world didn’t you just say so? Why didn’t you tell that woman plain? We’re not tired. We like it. Leave us be.”
Here’s the truth of it. It’s not a flattering truth. But it’s the honest one.
Pastor Shay was twenty-nine years old. The council had voted him in six to one, after years of praying our little dying church could survive another decade. And Tamra was his wife.
In a town this size, the pastor’s wife carries weight. Whether she asks for it or not.
If five old women had stood up in a council meeting and said no, we will not give up our kitchen, it wouldn’t have looked like what it was. Which was love. Love for a thing we’d built with our own hands.
