Taming the Wild Wind by Donita Kathleen Paul

Author:Donita Kathleen Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: christian fiction, cherokee, historical 1800s, humor and romance, prairie romance, donita k paul
Publisher: Donita Kathleen Paul

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Chapter Eleven

The double wooden doors and the windows on each side of the frame church stood open. Strains of “Mendelssohn's Almighty Father, Hear Our Prayer” thrummed through the air as Ida stepped into the small house of worship. A family in the last pew slid closer together so she could have a place to sit. She smiled her thanks and stood with her head bowed as Preacher Farrell prayed the invocation.

A deacon made announcements. A deaconess, Mrs. Phillips, reminded the ladies of a prayer meeting Tuesday morning at Kathleen Kuntz' house. Mrs. Phillips also smiled pointedly at Ida and welcomed her back, embarrassing Ida by mentioning that she had returned to the fold.

Ida smiled meekly under the attention. Goodness! Mrs. Phillips made it sound like Ida had been leading a disreputable life just because she hadn't made it into town for three Sundays. They stood to sing another hymn. The piano needed tuning, but the enthusiastic congregation drowned out the off-key accompaniment.

When everyone sat to listen to the sermon, Ida spotted Jeremiah Griggs sitting halfway up on the other side. A tremor of anticipation shot through her. She intended to speak to him after the service. As the official authority over the mission's school project, he needed to know about the trespasser. Ida wanted to know if he had any idea who the man could have been. And if he had any ideas on how to keep him off the farm.

The sermon delved into property rights as spelled out in Chapter 22 of Exodus. Ida knew that the preacher had a point but each time she thought she had identified his meaning, his next statement contradicted it. Ten minutes into the convoluted message, she decided there wasn't a point and let her mind drift. Her eyes fell on Mr. and Mrs. Turner. Her letters!

Oh, Lord, I'm so frustrated. I want my letters now. I don't like this church and its boring preacher. I don't even like these crude pews. They're more like benches with a back. The polished pews at home have curved seats and are much more comfortable than these planks.

The trend of her prayer struck her as being very ungrateful. She decided to try again.

Dear Father in Heaven, I do like it here. I do. But I want John to be here so I won't be afraid of running into "things" in the barn. I want to hurry up and get started with the school.

Ida took a deep breath.

This prayer isn’t much better, she chastised herself.

She knew what she had to do. Instead of fuming over her situation, she would break it down into pieces and pray over each bit. She started by praying for each of the people back in Pittsburgh who might have sent her one of the letters she had to wait to read. Instead of trying to decipher Preacher Farrell's longwinded discourse, she prayed for his ministry and the health of this church. Instead of moaning over the situation at the farmhouse, she began to thank the Lord for all that had already fallen into place.

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