to the fridge.
Grandma Nell bustled around the church kitchen, quite at home in the midst of the potluck chaos. She gave her grandchildren a knowing look, then pointed toward the door. “Out you get,” she ordered. “Service is starting!”
Prissie had never been more grateful for an excuse to retreat. “Yes, Grandma,” the siblings chorused and took off.
Milo didn’t sit near the Pomeroys that morning, but Prissie could see him on the other side of the sanctuary, standing behind Pearl’s husband, Derrick, and making faces at their eighteen-month-old daughter, Amberly. The mailman wasn’t the kind of person to stake out a favorite spot and sit there every week; he was always there, but never in the same place twice. All throughout the first two hymns, the little girl waved shyly at Milo, and Prissie thought it was cute, but sort of unsettling. Did the toddler know that the smiling man she was reaching for wasn’t what he seemed? More important, was it okay for him to trick her by pretending to be normal?
While she made a halfhearted stab at the second verse of a chorus, Prissie watched Milo like a hawk, unsure if her resentment was directed toward him or the child who had claimed his attention. Amberly giggled, and Pearl smiled on indulgently when the mailman held up a hand so the little girl could pat it; but then Milo seemed to sense Prissie’s gaze and turned his head. His happy smile faded, becoming something uncertain, and the expression looked so wrong on her usually carefree friend that Prissie had to look away.
Muffled thumps of closing hymnals and the shuffle of feet signaled that the congregation was taking their seats. Prissie carefully arranged her skirt and crossed her ankles before idly scanning the bulletin as one of the elders went through the announcements. It didn’t take long for her attention to drift.
First Baptist Church wasn’t as grand as the Presbyterian church on Main Street, but to Prissie’s way of thinking, it was everything a church was supposed to be. Traditional white clapboard, double doors, polished wood pews, and a cross on the wall behind the pulpit. They didn’t have stained glass windows, but the lady’s guild made beautiful banners that hung between the windows along each wall. They were changed out every month to fit the seasons, and for August, everything was in summery shades of green with snippets from the Psalms on them: “He shall be like a tree,” and “His leaf shall not wither.”
The soft rustle of pages alerted her that Pastor Albert Ruggles, or Pastor Bert as he liked to be called, had already taken the pulpit and given the morning’s text, so she stole a peek at Tad’s Bible to see where to turn.
In spite of the heat of the day, their pastor wore a navy blue suit and greeted them with a smile as sunny as the yellow of his tie. “If you’ll recall, we’ve spent the last few weeks in a study of the life of Abraham. This morning, we pick up his story in Genesis 18.
“Whenever people tell this story, they like to skip to the end … cut to the chase … deliver the punch line, as it were. They’ll tell you that this is the story of Sarah, the woman who laughed at God, and how the Lord got the last laugh. Sarah gives birth to a miracle baby, and they name him Isaac, which means laughter!” Pastor Bert chuckled, and a few titters came from the audience.
“It’s a wonderful story, and one I’m sure Isaac heard many times when he was growing up. But today, I’d like to back up and slow down, because if you look at this section of Genesis in a different way, it’s the story of two men, each visited by angels.”
Prissie’s wandering thoughts jolted to attention.
As her pastor recounted Abraham’s generosity toward the strangers who appeared on his lands, comparing it to Lot’s treatment of his angelic visitors, Prissie glanced Milo’s way, only to remember that he was downstairs, teaching Zeke’s class. She wondered if they were having the same lesson and decided to drill her younger brother about it later. Who better to teach about angels than an angel?
Prissie flipped through Genesis, skimming for more details about the angels and not having much luck. She was frustrated that the text didn’t go into more detail about the most interesting part of the account. When she finally tuned back into Pastor Bert’s sermon, he was