The Lord Works in Mysterious Ways

The Lord Works in Mysterious Ways by Regina ViIIiers 'S » ^ H m ?'?.??? ...v.15 The trouble that started up between Lettie Oliver and me in church on Mother's Day a year ago, and has gone on ever since, sort of nzzled out today. If it's over, and I hope and pray it is, it looks like the weatherman brought about something not even the preacher has been able to do. But I, being a churchgoing woman myself, figure that sometiling stronger than the March wind had a hand in it. Anyway, today being the first day of March, it roared in like a lion here around Grimley. February made its last big noise last night, witii the wind howling all night long like a she-wolf. By church time this morning, mixed rain and sleet pelted against die windows and the wind whistled around the corners of the house, causing the limbs of the old silver maple on the north side to swoop and crash against the roof. You might say the weather was not fit for man or beast, and maybe some folks would say it wasn't fit for churchgoing either. But, when Sunday comes, it takes more than wild weather to stop me from going to the Lord's house. I rode the church bus, like I always have since the falling out between me and Lettie. When it pulled up to our church, which is Grimley Baptist, I could see a knot of people gathered on the church porch. Among them was my youngest son, Floyd, Mamie Lou, his wife, and my grandson, Mickey. They live over close to Top Hat, but tiiey go to our church. Mickey is a fine boy, if I do say so myself. He's the light of his grandma's life, especially since he's the best on Grimley's basketball team this year and gets mentioned nearly every week in The Grimley Bugle. Mickey has long legs, and he sure can use them; but I had no inkling mat his fast legs would do Lettie a good turn when tiiat bus pulled up. One by one, we all started piling off the bus, which actually is a big van. And die rain was pouring down, and the wind was blowing hard. Right then and there, Lettie Oliver, in her car, pulled up alongside of the bus. She got out of the car, and hardly before she'd planted botii feet on the ground, the wind caught under her plastic rain bonnet, and it sailed off like a kite. She couldn't do a tiling but stand there and look after it, witii her hair getting blown to pieces and getting wetter and wetter by the minute. Well, I stood there laughing hard, inside myself of course, because I iust knew she'd gone out and got her hair done on Saturday. She does every Saturday of the world. Then she puts it all up in pin curls and sleeps in a nightcap every night of the week. I know that for a fact. And I'll tell you another thing. She colors it. I know that for a fact too. Oh, let me tell you! That Lettie is some vain woman about her hair! And it's just plain old, ordinary hair too, nothing special-looking at all. So, if anybody deserved to get her hair all messed up in the rain and March wind, it was Lettie Oliver. That was my thinking on the subject this morning. Well, everybody else just stood there too, watching her rain bonnet billow off like a parachute, except for Mickey, my long-legged grandson. That boy took off after it Idee it was a loose ball in a basketball game, and he chased it clean to the crossroads before he caught it and brought it back to Lettie, who by now was standing on the church porch, patting and pushing at her dripping hair. Mickey was all wet too, and I couldn't believe he'd get himself all messed up like that, just for Lettie Oliver. I know full well he knows how she has been carrying on against...