(Of all the true stories, sweet romances, diaries, manuscripts or documented words of love and passion I have ever written, this is my favorite of all time. Read it and you'll know why. It's just so darn touching. You just know some women are going to make perfect loving wives. But if you're a man, the trick is to find one for yourself.)
The early morning sun was rising. Lynn looked at her own picture on the cover of House and Garden. She was the first black woman ever to be featured on the front page, a distinction she both cherished and was extremely proud of.
She looked away from the window for a moment and glanced at her Master's degree from The University of Houston. Ever since coming to America from Trinidad some six years earlier, she had really begun to make her mark. Not only had she acquired the prestigious degree with honors, but she had also become independently wealthy through her string of second hand shops. Perhaps what she was most proud of, however, was the fact she had played an integral role in reinvigorating a local church that had been ready to close its doors just before her arrival. With an infusion of love, faith, work and cash, she had helped organize an amazing revival of sorts.
It seemed that everything she was putting her hand to was becoming wildly successful. The only thing still eluding her, however, was a ring to slip onto her finger that denoted marriage. She was, therefore, despite her many successes, still frustratingly single. Getting to go out on suitable dates in the small Texas town was proving to be quite a challenge indeed. As a lonely thirty year old woman, she longed for the companionship and love of a kind-hearted, handsome young man she could marry. Whether her new man was to be white or black, mattered little to her. What did matter, was the fact that, in this rural Texas County, men in either color seemed impossible to find, much less date. She sighed in disappointment and looked back out the window.
The clouds were still purple, and seemed heavy with either rain or a stubbornly retreating evening. They drifted aimlessly against the back drop of a slowly emerging bright blue sky.
Lynn knew the clouds would soon lighten to grey, and then, if all went well, turn yet again to a fluffy marshmallow white, before finally dissipating into the brilliant glare of unfettered sunshine.
The local radio station had called for rain, but Lynn knew better. Like everyone else in the small town of Forest Grove, she knew you could pretty well plan your day around bracing for the opposite of whatever their forecasts predicted.
That was because Freddy Austen, the radio weatherman, was not a real meteorologist, neither had he gone to a real university like Lynn had done. Rather, he was merely the proud owner of a certificate he earned through a mail order company.
Still, Freddy was well liked by all the townsfolk, including Lynn, for his unending exuberance and larger than life hand waiving verbosity. Freddy was also a town native, a distinction which the transplanted Lynn from the Caribbean could not lay claim to. In fact, Lynn would often see herself as a contradiction in terms. Like Freddy, her way of thinking was something that went against the grain. Most of the single white women in her thirtyish age range were all chomping at the bit to vacate the town's tiny confines and seek marriage minded men elsewhere.
Lynn, on the other hand, despite her jet black skin, and the absence of any black men whatsoever, also daily noted the chronic shortage of handsome, single white men as well. But she refused to seek romance elsewhere. She had grown to love the town's humorous charm and folksy simplistic character. She was determined to believe that if she just stayed put, God would eventually send a suitable man her way. Such iron clad faith had been established powerfully in her happy heart and mind, unwavering due to the fact she was certain it was God's perfect will for her to reside in the seemingly dead end town. Lynn knew God was preparing her to save many souls for the kingdom, not just locally, but nationally, and, if all went well, internationally also. She was convinced it was God himself that had given her the idea for The Miracle Prayer Club. God had laid it on her heart to start The Miracle Prayer Club in Forest Grove and then quickly watch it sweep across the nation, and eventually, the entire world.
She had, however, no illusions about how folks would quickly mock her if they only knew of her grandiose scheme. But even Jesus himself had auspicious beginnings, coming from the tiny town of Bethlehem, a rather insignificant piece of Middle Eastern real estate in the eyes of the rulers of that day. And so, starting up a potentially world renowned prayer club in the middle of nowhere, or receiving a currently non-existent husband in that same nowhere, were just two of a long list of miracles Lynn was expecting by following God's will. After all, it was embedded in her mind that 'where God guided, he also provided.'
Lynn was also in the midst of testing God. She had prayed upon her arrival from Trinidad to this town, just six years prior, that the hand of God would help her miraculously raise a spectacular garden from the dusty, uncooperative ground. In just those six short years, God had responded to her challenge, and proved it was his perfect will for her to be in Forest Grove by raising up a sensational array of incredible flowers. Lynn had promised God, that if he would help her plant such a floral oasis in her back yard, instead of the usual crop of thistles and tumbleweed, that she would take it as a sign she was to start The Miracle Prayer Club he had shown to her in many a vision. And God had seriously exceeded all her lofty expectations.
With the stunning and elaborate garden already entered in the county's upcoming annual floral contest, she left her bedroom and sauntered down the steps then passed her front door, headed for her beautiful garden. She once again sought to survey God's breath taking handiwork.
Her two feet high Aquilegias, whose divided leaves boasted perfectly rounded lobes, sported spectacular bright shades of purple, crimson, white and royal blue. There were, however, preliminary signs that an aphid and caterpillar infestation was in the offing, with some foliage in danger of becoming ravaged. She quickly removed any infected leaves and felt relieved she had noticed the pilferers in time.
Her Anemones would also need similar attention, the underside of their delicate leaves having developed a touch of plum rust. She reached for the propiconazole spray, knowing that although the problem could not be eliminated, it could be masked until after the county's annual floral contest that was to take place in just two short weeks. She nevertheless sighed, knowing that the wide pink blooms on their five inch stems would eventually have to be destroyed to prevent a spread of the disease.
There were, fortunately, no other potential problems in sight, and she uttered a word of thanks to the almighty under her breath. Her fuchsia shrubs were free of the spider mites that had threatened them last month, and were now ablaze with bright carmine red and an intense deep purple, a strange color combination, which seemed to translate into a brilliant backdrop for her eye popping orange dahlias, and striking golden gladioli.
Off to the side stood her dozen white blooming hydrangea plants, with all twelve rising breathtakingly like proud steps, with each precisely four inches taller than it's predecessor. She sighed another whisper of thanks in God's direction at the disappearance of the gray molds and mildews that had threatened their leaves in previous months. Also conspicuous by their absence were the once prolific capsids, whose voracious appetites had only weeks earlier threatened to feed lavishly on the sensitive leaves and flowering buds. She nodded her joyous approval almost imperceptibly. Obviously her homemade pesticide concoction had worked without any visible side effects.
"Good morning."
The man's voice was not only unexpected, but startling, almost making her jump.
Her gasp was therefore audible and caused him to realize his sudden ill-timed appearance had frightened her.
"Didn't mean to frighten you," he spat out apologetically.
"Oh wow, well you did frighten me...you...you actually scared the bejabbers out of me. You shouldn't be sneaking up on people like that."
"Sorry," he sighed, his face somewhat reddening. "As I said. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm assuming you're Lynn, the church secretary. You gave me your address in your last email. I'm Steve Harkins, your new pastor."
Lynn took a moment to survey his appearance. He was tall, well over six feet, with stunning, wavy black hair that was combed off to one side. He had an amazing cute dimple, and dazzling white teeth that were magazine cover perfect. He also sported bulging muscles under his tight fitting t-shirt, indicating a muscular chest with rippling abs. She tried not to visibly swoon. He was definitely a hunk.
"I'm glad to finally meet you," offered Lynn tentatively, glancing at her plain, mud spattered dress and cringing at the thought of her uncombed hair. "But you might have called before you came. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."
He didn't answer right away, but instead seemed somewhat captivated by Lynn's good looks that shined through despite her mediocre appearance. It gave her a chance to note that he also was far more handsome in person, compared to the grainy picture accompanying his last email.
