The Devil in Pew Number Seven Read Online Free Page A

housekeeping as if it were a palace. The humble abode didn’t bother her in the least. A big house held nothing that she didn’t already possess. She had a great man who loved and cherished her, a man with an unmatched passion for the Lord. That was better than the finest mansion money could buy.
    For the better part of six years, Daddy, Bible in hand, and Momma, toting her accordion, planted churches and held revivals wherever God’s calling took them. Throughout Alabama, Arkansas, and Texas, they lived in motels while Daddy preached the Good News to whoever would listen. They spent several of those years serving as missionaries to the Native Americans in Oklahoma.
    In spite of their best efforts, times were hard, and finances were lean. On one occasion, with just three potatoes and some cooking oil in the pantry, my optimistic momma suggested they head to the creek and catch some fish for supper. Daddy dug for worms and grabbed two poles, and away they went. Evidently the fish weren’t as hungry as they were. After three hours, and with no nibbles to show for their efforts, Daddy announced, “Let’s go!”
    Momma wasn’t about to let the fish win. Time they had. Money they didn’t. Besides, once she got something in her head, she wasn’t easily dissuaded. Momma said, “Wait a few more minutes. I know we’re going to catch something .” I’m sure in that moment Daddy gained a new insight into his new bride: He had married one tenacious woman.
    She was also creative at meal planning whenever they traveled to conduct revival services in other cities. When packing the car, she made sure she had an electric coffeepot and a frying pan to cook dinner in their motel room. Skipping restaurants was a sure way to keep costs down. Momma’s resourcefulness knew no bounds, except in one area.
    Having children.
    Try as they did, Momma couldn’t get pregnant.
    Robert was as disappointed as she that kids weren’t a part of their story. He loved children. Always quick to pass out candy to the youngsters or to tell tall tales to entertain their young ears, he couldn’t imagine going through life without raising at least one child of their own making.
    During the early years of their marriage, Momma saw three doctors in search of a solution. After running a number of tests, the first physician broke the bad news: Momma had endometriosis. Nine out of ten women with her condition could not have children. She heard him speak the words, but the reality was slow to register. When it did, the news almost crushed her. Momma hoped and prayed she would be one of the few who defied the odds.
    She also sought a second opinion.
    Sitting across the desk from her new doctor, Momma explained her deep desire to have children. After examining her, the doctor threw up both of his hands as if being held at gunpoint and said, “I’m sorry, Ramona, I can’t paint you a pretty picture—the capacity to have children just isn’t there.” The third doctor echoed what she had already been told and then suggested she consider adoption.
    Momma’s heart was shattered. The thought that she’d never embrace a baby who was her own flesh and bones was too much to bear. She desperately wanted to give her husband a child. But the verdict was in. There was nothing more that could be done—at least not humanly speaking.
    She had reached the end of the road, and she knew it.
    There would be no baby blue or pink pajamas, no high chairs, no little feet following her around, no birthday candles to blow out atop a brightly decorated cake. She’d never experience the joy of hearing a little voice laughing while swinging in the backyard or opening presents on Christmas morning. Her ears wouldn’t be graced with the precious words, “I love you, Momma.”
    Her empty arms ached at the thought that they might never be filled. At the same time, Momma clung to the conviction that coming to the end of ourselves always brings us to a place where we find Jesus. If