wasp flitting above the handle. The nuisance sank its stinger deep into his palm. Travis yelped and dropped the bag. A second wasp attacked the top of the same hand. What had he done to deserve this? Immediately his hand swelled and burned. If he believed in bad omens, he’d purchase a ticket for the next train out of here. Made him wonder if Satan himself had taken up residence in this seemingly quiet town.
Once free of the wasps, he examined his hand to pull out the stingers. Both were embedded, and unless he was ready to dig out flesh with his pocket knife, he’d have to wait until he met up with Reverend Rainer’s wife. He shook his hand vigorously to shake off the throb from his wrist to his fingertips. Snatching up his bag, Travis walked toward the parsonage. He’d seen the house and church while escorting the boys to school, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to study the buildings. Now he took in every board, every shrub, every neatly planted flower surrounding the church. He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun and peered up at the steeple. My church to watch over for God as long as He sees fit. When the wasp stings caused him to drop his bag and rub the area around his palm and on top of his hand, Travis recalled the moments in his life that had seemed perfect just before a stab of evil spoiled the beauty. With cautious wisdom, he grabbed the wooden handle and ventured farther.
He walked around the well-maintained whitewashed building, the sparkling clean windows, and . . . there in the middle was a stained-glass window. A picture of Jesus portrayed as the Good Shepherd glistened in vivid colors of green, red, and blue, reminding Travis of the enormity of his calling and the need for the Good Shepherd to carry him. Travis smiled, one of the few times so far that day.
Rose bushes climbed the side of the church as if by next spring they would strive to cover all of the building in a mixture of blossoms and thorns. Ah, another reminder of life’s goodness and adversities. He made his way behind the church, where a tree-lined, narrow wagon path led to a fenced cemetery. Life and death, all a part of this earthly journey.
He moved on to the opposite side of the church, where another stained-glass window depicted Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Pausing for a moment, Travis smelled the faint sweetness of wildflowers then made his way back to the front of the building. Flowers bloomed at his feet. Someone cared about these neatly kept grounds. He paused and glanced at the double doors, then mounted the steps. His home-for-wayward-wasps bag landed with a plop on the wooden landing. With his heart thumping like a scared rabbit, he removed his tattered hat and opened the door.
A slight mustiness met his nostrils—a blend of old hymnals and wood. For a moment, he savored every delicious scent and envisioned every pew filled with worshippers. Light oak enriched the room, from the benches, to the window casings, to the pulpit, and on to a life-sized cross mounted in the back. The two stained-glass windows were more striking from the inside. Momentarily, he forgot about the mishaps since arriving in town. Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to serve You in this beautiful church. May I never disappoint You.
With purposeful steps, Travis focused his body and heart on the pulpit. His boots thundered against the wooden floor much like the echo of the words from a powerful sermon. Scaring folks to death with a threat of hell had never been his way of preaching. Nevertheless, after his encounter with the wasps, he could sense a good sermon coming on. A Bible lay open on the pulpit, and when he curiously glanced to see the passage, his gaze fixed on Isaiah 6:8: “I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.”
Travis chuckled. The irony of this broken preacher being used by God for a divine purpose brought more of a hearty laugh. And when he considered the problems he’d encountered since his feet hit the train station here in Kahlerville, his laughter rose to the rafters.
“Good afternoon.” A man’s voice echoed from the back of the church.
Travis glanced up from the pulpit to a tall, elderly man ‘’whom