Angels of Humility: A Novel by Jackie Macgirvin Page B

doing something wrong. The ladies in that class have been church members for hundreds of years!”
    “Maybe she’s not so much loony as she is lonely. I’ll invite her in for a cup of tea the next time she comes by.”
    “I’d prefer you don’t do that. She might be like a stray cat; if you feed her, she’ll never go away.”
    “Then I’ll speak to her at church and see if I can get a sense of what’s going on.”
    “You’ve got a great heart, hon, but it’s just not wise. If she’s fixated on our family and has some desire for recognition, we shouldn’t feed into that. Besides I don’t want her around Jordan. Jessica is going to have a chat with Sarah. You can trust the situation to her.”
    The conversation quickly shifted to Paul’s five-year plan for the church.
    “Honey would you get me some coffee? I’d like to show you my completed plan. I finished it yesterday and ran it by Mike today, and he seemed impressed. He’s not only the head of the elders, he’s also head of the pulpit search committee, you know. I thought that was encouraging.”
    Kathy returned with two mugs of coffee and a washcloth. She handed Paul the mug that said, “Old preachers never die—they just go out to pastor.” It was a graduation gift from his best friend in seminary. After cleaning applesauce from Jordan’s hair, face, hands, T-shirt, jeans, and shoes, she releasedhim from the confines of his high chair. He scampered into the living room to play with his collection of stuffed animals.
    “Come around to this side of the table, honey, so you can see.”
    Saldu, who was standing behind Paul, glanced sadly toward Valoe, who was shaking his head. “Paul,” said Saldu, “this isn’t just about your plan. You’re supposed to be pastoring Father’s beloved children. You’re supposed to be a servant-leader just like Jesus. If you want to tower over everyone in a grass root’s movement, it probably means you’re a weed.” 3
    What Paul couldn’t perceive was a spirit of Pride perched on his shoulder, influencing him. He opened a black leather folder to reveal 100 pages printed in multiple colors, complete with graphs and pie charts. “I’ve been working on this all week. I think this is God’s plan for our church.”
    “Our church?” exclaimed Kathy, rolling her eyes and sloshing coffee over the side of her cup.
    “Yes,
our
church. I think this is where we’ll end up. I really do. Let me show you what I’ve done,” he said, ignoring her obvious frustration. Valoe laid his hand on Kathy’s shoulder, and she took a deep breath and vowed to compose herself.
    “See, I’ve got a master goal of where the church should be in five years. Then I have subgoals for each of the individual five years and then smaller goals for every six months. If we break it down into six-month increments, it’s very doable. See, that’s 30 smaller goals, one on each page and the predicted timetable to start and accomplish it. If we’re on track, three years from now we’ll be starting a large building campaign. The church will be way too small. We’ll need to buy land; I saw some last week. It’s a little beyond the reservoir. It’s about three miles out of town on the corner of JJ and Old Highway 3. Right there, at the northwest corner is, I’m guessing, about 40 acres. It would be perfect. Don’t you think that sounds like God? I think He’ll provide this land for the church, and I’m going to pray about it every day.”
    Saldu’s face was sober. He looked at Malta and shook his head, “I’m doing everything I can to discourage it. He just wouldn’t entertain the idea that his plan isn’t also God’s plan. It’s all about what he thinks and feels. Humility results from laying down the right to be right, but pride is like aconsuming fire. It’s insatiable and, unless he repents, it will be his downfall.”
    Kathy was reeling from Paul’s discourse. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of