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I sat with "my girls" at a table in a church gym—a guest speaker was capping off a Saturday swim party with other Pioneer Girl Explorers from area city churches. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Becky, the tallest one in our group, fussing and fretting.

First she whispered to Brenda on one side, then to Mary Ellen on the other. Responding to Lynette's quiet urging, Brenda whispered to her. Immediately, Lynette, the chatterbox, was passing the message on to Roxie. They carefully avoided looking at me.

I wasn't as annoyed with the whispering as much as I was with the fact I wasn't included. This isn't like them, I thought. I've worked with many of them for a couple of years. We have good rapport. I glanced at Mary Ellen, who had all the makings of a future club leader. She seemed to be thoughtfully giving Becky advice, before turning her attention to the speaker once more.

Finally I leaned over and asked softly, "Something wrong?" Mary Ellen always confided in me. She shook her head and quickly looked at the speaker, avoiding my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt tired inside. I'd arrived here in London, Ontario, four years earlier, eager to serve the Lord in a big city. Fresh from the prairies, it became readily apparent I wasn't cut out to relate to street people and drug addicts.

But when an opportunity opened up to help with Pioneer Girls at the Oxford Street Alliance church, I agreed. I had made my own commitment to Christ when I was about their age. Between my regular office job at an electronics company and the club activities, I came alive. It was exciting to see the girls make a commitment to Christ, grow in the Lord, and witness to their friends.

My thoughts were interrupted by Becky's loud whisper, "You ask her, Mary Ann."

She leaned in my direction. "Can Becky go make a phone call?"

"No," I replied. "This is almost over. Whatever is so urgent can keep a few minutes." I didn't want my girls distracting the speaker or anyone else in the room.

My faithful five. I drifted into my thoughts again. Every Sunday afternoon, we'd meet in my tiny apartment to study the Bible and do craft projects. Routinely, I picked them up in my car and drove them home after the meeting; tonight was no different except Mary Ellen had asked beforehand if she could wait for her parents at my place.

The same puzzling request

The meeting was over, but the whispering continued in the car. Finally, Lynette said, "You can save yourself a trip to my end of town. Just take me to your apartment and I'll call my mom from there."

"Are you sure?" I knew Lynette's mom, Lydia, appreciated the carpooling.

Suddenly Becky and Brenda made the same request. Now I was really confused. I always provided the transportation. The girls' mothers didn't like coming from across town to pick them up.

Roxie who lived with her widowed mother, clamored softly, "Me, too?"

Though still puzzled, I agreed.

My second floor apartment could only be accessed by climbing a flight of exterior wooden stairs. It was one of four small apartments in an old brick building across from the train roundhouse. For my roommate, Elvera, and myself, this humble home had been a big answer to prayer when we first came to the city. At $100 a month rent, the price was right.

Elvera generously shared her dishes, pots and pans, and other kitchen items, but a few months ago she had finished her training in childcare and took a job in Windsor.

Now living alone, I stretched my budget as creatively as I could, decorating with inexpensive wallpaper, paint, and furniture made from sturdy boxes covered with brown and yellow polyester remnants.

Since I began my work with the church, I hadn't invited many adults to my tiny apartment; it was too embarrassing. The girls were a different story. They accepted my hospitality—humble as it was—without criticism and visited often. Since I was coordinator of the two younger clubs, which met at church on Tuesday evenings, and the leader of the older group, too, there was a steady stream of young people in and out every week.

On Sundays, I had different high school girls over for lunch before our regular afternoon meetings with the entire group. The next day was Becky and Brenda's turn to come.

After we arrived and waited for their rides to show up, the girls chatted in my tiny living room. I began preparing the next day's Sunday lunch so there would be little fuss tomorrow after church.

I was standing in the kitchen at my makeshift table—a wooden shelf board on top of an upended cardboard box—when there was a knock at the door. Noticing Lynette darting from window to window, I said, "That'll be your mom. Let her in."

It wasn't Lydia—at least, she was not first in line! A laughing Mary Murfin, Mary Ellen's mother, walked in—carrying a beautifully decorated sheet cake. On it, in green icing, I read the message: "Because We Love You, Ruth." Behind her followed seventeen ladies from our Oxford Street Alliance Church, each carrying a gift!

The secret's out!

Taken by surprise, I was flushed and shivering at the same time. With a spoon poised in the air and my mouth hanging open, I could barely find my voice. "Wha … wha … what's this about? What is going on?"

I could see Mary Murfin was enjoying my reactions immensely. "Well, our girls told us how you have so little, and we figured—there's no telling when we can throw you a bridal or a baby shower—so, since you need some household things, we decided to throw you a shower. Just because we love you!"

As she held out the cake to me, I spun around several times, in flustered astonishment, looking for a place to set it down. Finally, with the secret out, the girls crowded around to tell me this was why they had been whispering earlier.

"You mean you knew?!" I shrieked, precariously balancing the cake over the corner of the sink.

"Yes!" Becky exclaimed. "I was so afraid I'd miss it because my mom is working tonight. Then Mary Ellen suggested we all ask to come home with you."

Brenda leaned on my shoulder. "Wouldn't have missed the look on your face for the world!"

I didn't have a place for eighteen ladies to sit—only two real chairs and five "devised" seats. When I saw Vera Schwass and Mrs. Lightbody about to sit on the floor, I quickly whisked out cotton-covered foam pads—emergency bedding for house guests. Somehow, everyone squeezed in.

The rest of the evening was filled with love and laughter as my new kitchen gifts piled up—pots, cookie sheets, pizza pans, a bread board, countless practical items. Some of the ladies slipped money into cards, enough for me to buy a much-needed alarm clock-radio.

The girls took charge, making coffee and juice, and cutting and serving the cake. I was happy to let them take over. For once in my life, I was at a loss for words. I stuttered and stammered and blinked away tears. I was not the stranger from the prairies anymore; I really belonged to this church!

Copyright © 1997 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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