on the outskirts of town along the road heading to the Miracle Mountains seemed interesting. An artistic study in neglect. Col Rant slipped carefully through the rusted barbed wire fence strands on the other side of the shallow ditch a little concerned about snakes in the hayfield's border, but there were none. The spreading oak was in the last stages of budding out in new, lush leaves. An armadillo was hunkered in its shade rustling the dried leaves looking for bugs and other tastey morsels. The sagging tent's flap was open and a shaft of light tried to illuminate the musky, dark interior. The rough hewn planks pegged to firewood rounds were a little askew but present. The long cold potbelly stood rusting inthe middle of the room. There came a suden ruslting and in the back of the tent som light came under the flap momentarily and then some running footfalls fading inthe distance toward the creek. The COL moved swiftly around the tent to get a look at what was making the noise, but not swift enough. The tent ropes had slowed him and all he saw was the waving of a low branch disturbed by the runners passage, then there was a small splashing sound. Tiraedicus had almost gotten a glimpse of the shy gillman, probably a convert. He'd heard where Gillman had started quietly serving the congregation here at the tent after some new found spirituality appeared in his life. He guessed that the Gillman just hung around out of force of habit after the congregation dried up and went about their fish fry. The preacher general walked to the whiskey barrel and cracker-crate pulpit and stood behind it, and a spirit of yesteryear opened his eyes to a bygone Sabbath.... It was so vivid he could hear the breathing of the Fifty Footman, the chirping protest of Jane as big M.A. put a light pinch on her pretty bottom through her summer dress as she passed by in the aisle. They were all there, even the troll, gnawing on a tourist part over in the corner, all waiting for their sermon. The potbelly was warm then, but cooling, going ot after it had been lit to take the Sunday morning crispness out of the room, burning off the impregnatinng dew.
Tiraedicus felt like praying.
"Oh God, I suppose there is only one thing more melencholy than an empty church, and that's not being there with ones fellows. And though two or three are not here physically, gathered in Your Name, Sweet Jesus, there are a few faithful in spirit. For how shall they hear unless someone preaches? In the name of the friends of yesterday, Oh Lord, we welcome your presence with us now, unified in our love for you, separated by mere leagues and barriers, time and space. Father, we bring before you those of our loved ones and companions that do not know You. We ask that You reveal Yourself to them. Give them eyes that see and ears that hear. Oh, Living God, use miracles to open eyes. Grant desires of hearts in a way that cannot be interpreted as anything but Your pure grace. We think of those with terribly ill loved ones. Father, in miraculaous fashion, heal those loved ones and bring them with their families into Your Kingdom where righteousness rules with an iron sceptre. Oh living God, soothe the aches in our hearts. Fill the voids of life that makes it so imperfect. Cover over, Oh God, a multitude of our sins with you Love. Put them as far away as the east is from the west. Teach us appreciation, gratitude and kindness. Give us the wisdom to know when being tough is more loving than being mushy. Take us by the hand, Oh God and in heaven, let there be a reassembly of all those who frequent Blorpe Falls. Return the Old Timers, O God to their home board where we may grow in Your word, where unity runs down the beard like fine oil; where brotherhood is foremost and all other things are laid aside; Where liberals learn to act like conservatives... heh heh heh, Where atheists become Godly because they want the Love Your children display for each other.
Come, Sweet Prince of Peace. Give our nation Victory over the Moslem killers. Turn us back to You, Sweet Savior so that there will be good reason for you to protect us once again. Father, befuddle the cult leaders like Kenneth Copeland and Benny Hinn and the rest of the wolves in sheep's clothing that predate your flock. Give their followers eyes that see them for the charlatans they are and ears to clearly hear their lies as such.
Thank you, Father in Heaven, that we can prayer. We pity those, Oh Father who don't have a prayer. Because You are merciful, we can have hope. In the Name of Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen"
From outside the tent, nearby, on the shady side came a muffled, "Amen" and then a scampering through the dry leaves sound and then in short order a distant splashing in the creek.
"Gunna hafta get me an old cow trough and put it inside the tent so Gillman can hang around long enough to hear a long sermon without drying out," the fat Colonel Rant thought to himself.
Dd
