She let them hear it, and decide on their own. It was totally opposite of Abbey.
Luanne continued, “I think maybe she likes Christianity to be in a neat little box. You do these things, you’re a believer. You do those things, you’re not. She has her purposes and ends that she wants from others. And they are always her ways.”
Karen asked, “And you? What do you think of that position?”
Luanne answered, “I don’t see how that can work. If Christianity were that cut and dried, we’d all do the same things and get along just fine. But we are all unique. And we all do different things. It seems to me the most important point is figuring out how to utilize everyone rather than trying to work them into some set program. I think we ought to get rid of church the way it is. It doesn’t even try to identify or utilize people’s unique talents. And people like Abbey seem to be limiting God on how he makes and uses people.”
Karen looked at her, thinking. Then she said, “That sounds good. Let me ask though, are you saying Christians can do anything? Are there any hard and fast rules of conduct or required behaviors and beliefs?” She said this with a grin as Luanne’s face suddenly scrunched up in thought.
That was the problem with Karen, thought Luanne, laughing to herself, she always cut to the chase and made you defend your position. “Let’s see, it makes no sense to say there are no rules at all. That would make everything ok. And clearly not all lifestyles could be called ‘Christian.’ But what made one Christian a living believer and another a ‘wolf in sheep’s clothes,’ as Abbey would put it?” “It seems like there are two things that matter: One, there are direct prohibitions in the Bible like ‘don’t steal’ or ‘don’t sleep around’; and there are direct proscriptions like ‘believe in the Lord Jesus.’ Then there are those things which we are called to do, but aren’t spelled out. Like ‘love one another’ and ‘be joyful.’” Luanne remembered the list that Abbey had quoted as the “fruits of the Spirit”: Love, joy, patience, kindness, and goodness. “The fruits of the Spirit that Abbey mentioned all seemed to be attitudes. They could be acted out in a zillion different ways.”
Karen nodded and said, “And what about the ‘do not forsake gathering together?’”
Luanne looked down at her hands. She’d been taught all her life that she had to go to church. She hated church. But she loved Karen, and Joan, and Sally. She loved a lot of believers. She loved getting together with them. Talking about life, about things they were doing, about how God was working in them. She even loved hearing God’s Word at church. She looked back up at Karen and said with conviction, “I don’t think you are forsaking ‘gathering together’ just because you skip church. There can be other productive ways to gather together. I think Sally had a good point on that. I guess I feel guilty about it when Abbey talks because she seems so sure that you have to go Sunday mornings to be a good believer.” She halted and watched the bird pick little pieces from whatever was in its claw. It suddenly stopped and flew off, letting the carcass fall—stripped of almost everything that identified it uniquely. It had been a butterfly. It had one wing missing entirely after the bird was finished and the other was torn in two. It lay on the ground at the base of the fence post and flopped about, no longer having the necessary equipment to fly as it was intended. Luanne watched it lunge about for a moment or two. Then she said, “I feel like Abbey is picking people apart—trying to make them fit her ideal. I know I love God, and I know I’m living in Him. I don’t want to conform to her view.”
Karen grinned and said, “Then you should keep at it Luanne; go where God leads.” And let Abbey keep at it too. Her patterns work for her. And yours works for you. You both are great women, and I’m sure Abbey is deeply appreciated for her services—as are you.”
Luanne nodded and started the car. She prayed a quick prayer for Abbey and her other friends as she drove from the lot.
Cat
Margaret Nadine Skyler’s eyes knifed open at seven a.m. at the clanging insistence of her old fashioned, round-faced alarm clock. She hated the morning. “If God wanted me to see the morning, He’d have scheduled it later in the day!” she always said. Her pudgy hand groped out from under the covers and slapped down on the alarm, silencing it. She stiffly rose, wrapped a terry cloth robe around herself, and waddled out into the kitchen. She snagged a piece of mushroom from a scrap of last night’s pizza as she passed the linoleum-topped kitchen table. Chewing it absently, she loosed the bolts on the door (one had to bolt the door to keep the weirdoes out) and looked down to see her cat, Tracker, waiting to come in for breakfast.
Tracker was a large—some would say fat—three year old, orange tabby. Margaret dubbed him Tracker because when he was young, he would track and catch mice in the back yard. He had pretty much given that up, which was fine with her, since he was getting older and slowing down. Kind of like Margaret. She was almost 35 now. And on cold mornings like this she felt it! It was hard to move her considerable weight when her joints were so cold and stiff, that was for sure. “Ah well,” she thought, “no one enjoyed the process of aging.” Well, except the physically gifted like that snooty Jean Reynolds. She was God-knows-what age and still ran around the block half-naked in spandex! She was some sort of freak of nature; at least forty and still rather slim and active. Not many were like that, that was for sure! It must be some genetic oddity. “Well,” Margaret thought, “she was a ‘sports’ nut anyway. All that running around. That can’t be healthy, obsessing over exercising like that. You need to be more well-rounded, and anyone who runs around the block in the morning is definitely not well-rounded in Margaret Nadine Skyler’s book!
Having let Tracker in, Margaret shuffled back through the kitchen. She pulled a nice piece of pizza from the box on the table and wadded half of it into her mouth as she passed the table again. Reaching the pantry, she took a box of dry cat food from the shelf, and returned to the door, cramming the remaining half piece of pizza between her lips. “Stans makes the best pizza,” she mused. And if you bought an extra-large, you got a whole bag of cheesy bread with it! Free! She noticed that Tracker’s bowl was only half full, and though he never seemed to actually finish his food (he was no “clean-plate clubber!”) she filled it over the brim until it spilled out onto the floor. “Damn,” she scolded herself, “now I’ll have to sweep!” She then went back over to return the box of cat chow to the shelf, appropriating another large piece of Stans’ finest on the way.
While Tracker was busily scarfing food, she trundled out to the living room toward the front door. She nonchalantly fisted a few mints from the bowel as she passed the mantle. “It’s always polite to have a few sweets out for guests,” she’d say. Some people like that Jean Reynolds didn’t know that! She’d been to her house a number of times. The Reynolds would have bar-b-cue and invite the whole block! And although there was always a nice selection of food, Margaret noted that there were no “niceties.” Things that make a person feel welcome, like mints, or popcorn, or jelly beans. Jean had said she didn’t care for mints, but that was not the point! One doesn’t just sit around eating mints. They are there as a welcome saying, “Come in! Feel comfortable! Have a mint!” They let a person know they were cared about. Margaret had been to the Reynold’s dozens of times and never had one mint! She had received small gifts from them too, and not once was it a nice chocolate or anything of the like! Well, one can’t force graciousness on others. She refilled her hand with jelly beans from the table, and went to the door.
It was bright and sunny out, but cold! Margaret hated that. There was Jean on her morning run. Red top today with blue tights. Pretty ostentatious! Jean waved and grinned at her as she passed, her breath pluming out of her mouth. Margaret
