Well, well, well….now things are really going to start to heat up.  Remember girls, this is a true story.  It’s going to start to take some twists and turns, so buckle up.

   

I wandered to the cemetery where Mama is buried, not wanting to be there but unable to stay away.  I was so immersed in my despair I failed to notice the gravel crunching under my feet, the owl in the tree notifying his cronies of my presence and the wind playing its tricks on my shadow.   Suddenly, I became aware of a presence.  

Fear seized my frozen body and goosebumps of dread raced down my spine.  The gusty wind rattled the branches, turning them into angry pointed fingers which seem to howl in unison with the storm.  But it was more than that.  My eyes may not have located the presence, but my soul did.  Someone was there, someone was watching me.  

As I back-tracked to my car, I took out my phone and punched in 911 with my finger on the call button.  All at once the feeling was gone, and the graveyard innocently stared back at me.  Relief flooded my VW as I slammed the door and hit auto-lock.  

(That’s MY shadow! Yikes!)

During all of this history, I was just a young girl growing up in my Mama’s home.  Reading her journal definitely jarred my memory on a lot of things, but Mama kept most of this secret.

I was an only child, and my dad had passed away when I was just a baby.  We lived in a small cottage, but it had a beautiful yard outlined in a white picket fence.  Life was so simple back then.  Though we didn’t have much extra money, we always had enough. I lived in that house until I moved out to leave for college. 

That’s the house that Mama died in… a night I’ll never forget.  She was sick, and I knew it was coming; but I had no idea how big the freight train that was rounding the corner was.   That little house helped Mama raise me, it gave me security and warmth.  That little house holds all the reruns of my life. 

 

I can walk in at any time and the reel of memories of my childhood begins:  

Mama, aproned up, hair up in a bun,  mixing  chocolate chip cookie dough, humming away.   Then I see her in the back yard crouching over her  beloved garden, trying to get my attention to summon me out to help.   Sometimes I see her in the squeaky rocker next to the crackling fire, glasses perched on her nose, as she intently studies  her knitting, counting stitches, ripping out stitches.

Mama left me the house when she died, but it still sits empty… empty of any life.  The outside puts on a show of warmth and beauty, but by the time I get to the front door, the lump in my throat swells and the tears begin to fall as I stare at the front door, just waiting for Mama to open it one more time, for her to flash her big smile and put both arms around me.  But it is not to be.  Mama’s gone.

I guess my grief is a little unmanageable because it is peppered with regret.  I still can’t seem to get over the fact that Mama held all these secrets.  I keep asking myself why, why didn’t she tell me?  I can understand as a child her wanting to protect me, but even as a married woman with children, she never confided in me. I could have helped her!  I could have lightened her load.  But she died with all those secrets, and it haunts me to this day.

Enough about me!  Back to Sal.   The diary recounts rocky years as Pastor Sal became a dictator at his church.  I guess if you didn’t know the inside politics, you might have thought he was quite a peach.  But Mama knew too much.  She wrote about the way he verbally abused his wife and kids.  She wrote about his hot temper. One thing for sure, Sal wasn’t pulling one over on Mama.

Not long after Sammy’s nightmare, Sal was out of town and Sammy was the Sunday morning guest speaker at his beloved church.  The worship band seemed to be anointed that morning and the congregation responded.   The presence of the Lord settled in amidst the praise and worship, and all were humbled.  The sanctuary became silent before the Lord. 

As Sammy approached the pulpit, his eyes clouded with tears.  As he began to preach, his voice cracked.  Pushing his notes aside, he looked up into the bright lights that spotlighted him on the stage.   He began with this story:  There was  a young man that was waiting to get married.  He was absolutely wildly in love with his bride-to-be.  She was young and innocent and had a long journey ahead of her to get to the wedding.  Afraid his enemies may try to seduce or harm her, he sent one of his best friends to aid, assist and protect his bride to be on her long journey.  And that he did.

Yet when the traveling couple arrived, it was obvious that the bride was more enamored with the groom’s friend than with him!  She seemed to laugh at everything he said and went to him for every possible question about the wedding, instead of asking the groom.

What seemed to hurt the most was that his friend  seemed to love the attention and kept embellishing himself.  He spoke less often about the groom, more often about himself.  The bride’s attention became entirely focused on the friend.  She quit looking to the groom.

The congregation sat quiet.  They knew instantly.  They knew the groom was Christ, and they were the bride.  They knew that Sal was the friend of Jesus.  But instead of preparing the bride for Christ, he wanted her attention for himself, he  flirted with the bride.  He liked her attention, he liked the way she made him feel.  His popularity with the bride became more important than his friendship with Jesus. 

And the bride is weak.  She falls in love easily.  She tends to be a follower, enamored by the groom’s “friends” that have giftings and annointings. Many times her loyalty and concern is focused solely on the friend, not her groom.  Many times she only tries to get the attention and admiration of the friend, completely forgetting the groom.  

Sammy ended the sermon with this, “What kind of bride are you?  Are you anxiously waiting to meet your groom, finding out all you can about him?  Or are you enamored with the bridal party?

That was a beautiful morning at The Shepherd’s Gate.  There was a great time of repentance, and then a joyous celebration in worship. The service lingered well after the normal stopping time.  Sammy felt the zeal and renewed freshness of the people as he visited after church.  People left with a new vigor for the Lord. 

But Sammy’s gut felt like he had been stung by a scorpion.  He was awaiting Sal’s anger and temper.  It all clicked now: Sammy knew that gut feeling he had about Sal all along was right, Sal hadn’t dealt with his own pride before he became their shepherd.  He wanted the attention for himself. 

Sammy headed toward his car with two questions in his head:  Who now did God have for this job, and how would Sal end up leaving?  Little did he know, the phone at his house was already ringing off the hook…Sal had already heard about the sermon.

 

Monday morning Mama was sitting at the reception desk when Sammy hobbled in unannounced and only tipped his hat at Mama and kept going, heading straight for Sal’s door.  As the door slammed shut, she froze at her desk, straining to understand the raised voices coming from the office.  Soon she could hear Sal yelling and pounding his fist.  Sammy’s hushed voice was unintelligible. 

As quickly as it began, it was over.  As the door swung open, Mama jumped as she heard Sal yell, “You’re wrong, Sam, you’re wrong!”  Sammy left Sal’s office, shut the door behind him and never looked back. 

Sal burst out of the office with fists clenched and face reddened. 

“How dare you say God has removed his hand from me!  You’re just a has-been, Sam!  Don’t you walk out on me!  Come back here!” Sal shouted.

But it didn’t seem to matter what he yelled, Sammy just kept going.  The tantrum continued as Sal punched the door as it closed in his face.  He grabbed the stack of mail on Mama’s desk and threw it on the ground.  Mama sat stunned.  In all her years she had never seen such a display of uncontrollable rage.  Sal kicked the garbage can as he headed back in his office. 

Right before he went through the door, he turned abruptly on his heels and pointed at Mama and with squinted eyes and a twisted face he spewed, “Not one word of this to anyone!  If this gets out, you’re fired!”  He turned and slammed the door so hard the picture on the wall shifted. 

 

Mama quietly got up, gathered her things and headed home.  No one got paid enough to put up with this.

Oh boy.  Nothing like a little tension.  Dang, Sal is a real piece of work.  Makes me SO mad that he treated Mama that way.  But the jewel in all of this is what Sammy did.  He confronted.  He spoke truth.  He didn’t dance around the obvious. God gave him a message; He delivered it.

And I’m delivering a “WOW” recipe! Have you ever had that cinnamon coffee cake at *$? (That’s Star and then Bucks)  I have a recipe for it, actually mine is a little better.  (And I have never entered it into a contest!) And I’m so humble!  Try this baby, and if it’s not a “10”, I’ll send you a piece of mine.  Here goes:

Kitty O’s Cinnamon Coffee Cake

Ingredients

• 1 cup butter, softened
• 2-3/4 cups sugar, divided
• 2 teaspoons vanilla
• 4 eggs
• 3 cups all-purpose flour                                                                                 
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups (16 ounces) sour cream
• 2 tablespoons ground cinnamon                                                            
• 1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Directions

• In a large bowl, cream butter and 2 cups sugar until light fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla. Combine flour, baking soda and salt; add alternately with sour cream, beating just enough after each addition to keep batter smooth.
• Spoon a third of batter into a greased 10-in. tube pan. Combine cinnamon, nuts and remaining sugar; sprinkle a third over batter in pan. Repeat layers two more times. Bake at 350° for 60-65 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool for 15 minutes before removing from pan to a wire rack to cool completely. Yield: 16-20 servings
• Remember, be careful with this recipe…people would kill to get it.

(Note: So good it brings the animals in!)