My most distinct memories of church as a child include listening to the surprisingly gentle hellfire and brimstone sermons from my perch in the choir loft, attending church picnics filled with fabulous food and laughter, and watching the little old ladies file in and out of church. Statistics, time, and the hard life in the coal region created a population of widowed women in my church that seemed to float as one. I ate their pies during holiday festivities, played on the floor behind their pews, and washed their feet on special Sundays. They were dignified and calm, and they clearly drew strength from each other. I admired that strength as well as their friendship.
A few months ago I joined a Skype group for an online activity in which I was participating. By the time the event had concluded, most of us realized that we did not want the Skype chat to end. We now continue to check in with one another daily on issues ranging from coupon deals to WordPress glitches to prayer requests. We are spread about the country, different ages, different backgrounds. Some of us vote Democrat, some Republican, and some prefer not to discuss politics. I sit at my computer drinking my chemical filled Dr. Pepper and learning from those who avoid meat and make their own butter. So what is it that unites us? It is what I realize now must have been the glue that held that circle of women so close through the years: our love for the Lord.
Our kids will likely never play together. We won’t have a girls’ night out or play bunco. In fact, we will likely never all be in the same room together.
Yet, we are a tight circle of women. And I am so grateful to have found them.