The Church smelled old and dusty. This didn't seem to bother my Grandma. She sat next to me smiling and waiting, content. She LOVED coming to Church, she had been coming "religiously" ever since my Grandpa died 5 years before...She often dragged me along, although I pretended to enjoy myself because I wanted to spend time with my Grandma.
My Grandma was a petite woman, blonde hair in a bob, nice earrings, she looked a bit like Betty White, but 10 years younger. A pretty woman, she spent her time in her garden, pottering around her home in our small country town, and going to Church. She involved herself in her Church community, always volunteering and working closely with the Minister.
Father Brown was a tall black man, very young for his work, in his mid-30's, younger than me, and seemed devout. He gave energetic sermons and went about his duties with energy and vigour. He looked like a young Will Smith, but more athletic. On top of his work with the Church he also ran a local boxing gym for troubled youth which kept him fit and on his toes.
My Grandma always spoke highly of him, she was always saying things like "Father Brown is doing such great work for this town" and "If only we had him years ago, this town needs a strong community leader like him" and she absolutely adored him.
Father Browns wife was a buxom black woman, strong and tall, with wide hips and a large "booty". I say that because I'm always jealous of her, she has such a great curvy figure. She reminds me of Michelle Obama, so stunning. They appeared to have a great marriage and their young daughter was often at Church sitting near us. My Grandma would scoop her up and she'd sit on my Grandmas lap, my Grandma staring with adoring eyes at her father up at the podium giving a sermon or celebrating a wedding we were invited too at the Church.
One day I offered to volunteer in the kitchen serving hot meals to the homeless which ran from the back of the Church. The Church had a fitted kitchen and the people would come up to the window and receive hot pasta, soup and a coffee which was a blessing during winter. They'd sit and talk in the cafeteria area and Father Brown would walk amongst them enquiring as to their condition and how they were managing. He was a lovely young man. My Grandma was working beside me, making pasta and boiling soup and humming Christian hymns, really enjoying her work.
I got home early the next morning having worked all night serving, cleaning and restocking the kitchen, walking through the front door around 9am exhausted and ready for a long sleep. Grandma had stayed behind saying that Father Brown had offered to drop her home after the volunteers had all left. This was normal he often dropped her home on his way back to his family after a long night in the Kitchen.
