Miss Julia Stands Her Ground by Ann B. Ross

I?”
    Frankly, he wasn’t. In fact, I’d never seen the pastor quite so distraught. I could’ve felt for him, if he hadn’t long ago exhausted all my compassion.
    â€œTry again,” I said, “and tell me how in the world I’m involved with the antics of the General Assembly.”
    â€œLook at this.” He strode behind his desk and took several pages from a folder. Waving them in the air, he said, “This is a petition, signed by practically every woman in the congregation.”
    â€œ I didn’t sign it. I don’t know anything about it.”
    â€œI know you didn’t,” he said, shaking the papers. “Don’t you think I haven’t studied every signature on the thing? And that’s another problem, which makes it illegitimate in the first place.”
    With that word, I stiffened again. I was not going to listen to any aspersions cast against Little Lloyd. But before I could open my mouth, he was ranting on.
    â€œBefore any name can be put on the ballot, that person has to acknowledge his willingness to run and to serve if elected. And since they didn’t get your permission beforehand, I’m within my rights to just ignore it.” He slapped the papers down and ran his hand through his hair again. “Except I can’t. There’re too many names, too many people supporting you. The only thing to do is to plead for your understanding of what this will do to the church, and ask you to refuse.”
    â€œI still don’t know what I’d be refusing.”
    â€œThe session, Miss Julia!” His voice caught in his throat, as he almost strangled over the words. “They want your name on the ballot when we elect elders next month.”
    â€œWell, my word.” I collapsed against the back of the chair, stunned almost as much as he was. “I’ve never thought about . . .”
    â€œI know you haven’t,” he said, as a conciliatory tone crept into his voice. “I know this isn’t your doing, for you are as traditional as the day is long. There’s no way that you would want to be the first to break with tradition and create strife in the church. We’ve always had men on the session, and I just can’t see you leading a new wave of modernism.”
    â€œNor can I,” I mused, half to myself.
    Relief flooded across his face. “Good! So we can just tell these ladies that you aren’t willing to run, and be done with it.”
    I held up my hand. “Not so fast, Pastor. I’d like to know who all has nominated me.”
    â€œOh, I don’t think that would be wise. Suffice it to say that there are enough signatures to make you a strong candidate. But I think it best to just file this away, since you’re refusing the nomination.”
    â€œI didn’t say that.”
    His face fell. “You didn’t?”
    â€œI don’t think so. I need to study on this a while. It comes as a shock, you know.”
    â€œI think,” he began, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I think you should talk it over with Sam. And pray about it long and hard. You may not realize what a hornet’s nest a woman elder would stir up.”
    Oh, I thought I did, especially in the session itself. And I couldn’t help but smile at the thought. On the other hand, to accept the honor simply to show our arrogant preacher and the smug old men on the session a thing or two was hardly sufficient reason to take on such a heavy responsibility—and it a spiritual one, at that.
    So I turned it over in my mind for a few minutes, gradually realizing that I was more interested in the political aspects of the nomination than the spiritual ones. “How many supporters do I have?” I pointed to the pages on his desk.
    â€œA fair number,” he reluctantly admitted. “But of course, when it comes down to it, not all of them will vote for you. They may change