by Beryl Tsai
That Sunday morning, Ursula strolled in the rain to church, with her red shoes, pink skirt, purple shirt, and multicolored parasol edged with flowers. By the time she got there she was almost drenched. The usher greeted her, with a long grin on his wrinkled face. “Good morning, what a rainy day, don’t you think?” “Good morning!” Ursula said jubilantly, almost shouting. Since she was well aware of her popularity at church, she felt bound to return his smile. The same old man she saw last week, she thought. Why did they always put an old man in front to greet people? No wonder some young people stopped coming here. She climbed the stairs and strode through the hall to the first pew, where people had already been singing for quite a while. Ursula cleared her throat and sang out loudly, holding her hymn book although she knew all the lyrics by heart. Her vigorous singing must have inspired the chorus onstage, she thought, for they all started grinning. The piano also grew louder, as Ursula sang hard, neck stretched, eyes closed. That’s why the church needs people like me, she thought, because I can help to remind them to be pious. The pastor came to the pulpit and began the sermon. Ursula sat straight in her pew, shared only by a little boy. Ursula listened to the preaching, eyes glaring, lips mumbling in a volume audible only to her, “Oh, Lord, save our pastor from his horrible Mainland accent!” she thought. “And may everyone understand his teaching!” Meanwhile she glanced at the poster behind him, and saw the word mercy. Lord, they could have done something more than write the word “mercy,” she thought, perhaps a bit of coloring and decoration would be catchier, pink flowers maybe, to match my parasol. “Amen!” yelled Ursula and stood up with her arms raised, responding to what the pastor had said. The church fell silent and even the pastor paused, frozen there as if the Holy Spirit had descended upon him. Ursula sat down in satisfaction when the pastor, inspired by her response, smiled and nodded at her. He has a fair complexion, she thought. Then the pastor announced something unusual. “Let’s divide into small groups and pray for those in our group.” After a bit of confusion, groups formed and started their prayers. Ursula looked around, and saw only empty pews around her, with no one but the little child sitting there, absent-mindedly. She approached the child, stretching a chubby purple-clad arm, but the child started fidgeting, looking around for his mother. Then before Ursula even touched him, he burst into an ugly howl. Ursula grabbed his hand and said piously, “Oh pray for this little child. May God console his heart and forgive his careless mother.” The child broke into sobs. In the middle of his prayer, the minister said through the microphone, “What’s wrong with this crying child?” Ursula felt touched, answering, “Yes, Lord, what have you done to this child?” She tightened her grip on the boy’s hand and almost hugged him while the child’s mother hurried to take him away. At the same time she waited for someone to come and invite her to their group, but of course, she thought, they were all distracted by the crying boy. Such an evil and rude child, may God curb his bad temper. People flooded out of the church. Ursula insisted on accompanying the pastor at the door to bid goodbye to everyone. “Let my parasol shield you from the sun,” she said, opening up her damp umbrella, dripping a few drops on his shoulder. He urged her to go home. He must think I had to travel hours to get here, she thought. That’s alright, he kept saying, I love the sunshine. But Ursula stayed put, shaking everybody’s hand so well, so hard, so sincerely that everyone couldn’t help smiling. What a lovely parasol! #Volume 8 Issue 1 a
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The Taida Student Journal has been active since 1995 with an ever-changing roster of student journalists at NTU. Click the above link to read about the authors Archives
May 2024
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