Be My Amazon

By W. A. Noble

Already coping with spiritual and emotional abuse, Deirdre is diagnosed with breast cancer. Just before undergoing a mastectomy, she hears the Lord tell her to be his Amazon. Relieved to learn he's not asking her to be an enormous river, she fulfills the calling in unexpected ways, showing God's grace to her fellow patients and the homeless men in her town. Using the weapons of prayer and forgiveness, and with the support of faithful friends, Deirdre, God's Amazon, is in the fight of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Oct 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798385201235

W. A. Noble

Wendy Noble has an Advanced Diploma of Education, a Graduate Diploma in Christian Studies and a Master of Arts in Creative Writing. She has been a primary/grade school teacher, a librarian in a theological college and is the wife of a retired Baptist Pastor (30 years in ministry). She resides in South Australia, Australia.

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Be My Amazon

by W. A. Noble

Be My Amazon

Copyright ©

2023

W. A. Noble. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers,

199

W.

8

th Ave., Suite

3

, Eugene, OR

97401

.

Resource Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199

W.

8

th Ave., Suite

3

Eugene, OR

97401

www.wipfandstock.com

paperback isbn: 979-8-3852-0121-1

hardcover isbn: 979-8-3852-0122-8

ebook isbn: 979-8-3852-0123-5

version number 090921

All scripture references are from the King James Bible.

Parts of the text are reproduced from short stories printed in the Wittenburg Door (

2005

/

2006

) www.wittenburgdoor.com and are used with permission.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: ’Tis the season to be jolly

Chapter 2: Revival

Chapter 3: Heresy

Chapter 4: The Homeless

Chapter 5: Happy camper

Chapter 6: Not-so-happy camper

Chapter 7: I’m healed, pending . . .

Chapter 8: He’s alive!

Chapter 9: Caught out!

Chapter 10: Lady Macbeth

Chapter 11: Dr. Philpott v The Prophet

Chapter 12: The big snip

Chapter 13: I am not an animal

Chapter 14: Renew or remove

Chapter 15: Things are a bit off

Chapter 16: Finding a replacement

Chapter 17: Hair today, gone tomorrow

Chapter 18: Tofu and mung beans

Chapter 19: Keeping busy

Chapter 20: Swags and bluebirds

Chapter 21: First the good news, then the bad

Chapter 22: A misunderstanding

Chapter 23: Jezebel

Chapter 24: I have a thought

Chapter 25: The eye of the storm

Chapter 26: Still in the eye

Chapter 27: The good, the bad, and the ugly

Chapter 28: Tears and fears

Chapter 29: Sweet and sour

Chapter 30: Not long now

Chapter 31: Ta da!

Chapter 32: Joy to the world

This is dedicated to my husband, Jeff, who is the best pastor I have ever known.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Professor Robert Darden, Mr. Pete Evans, and Dr. Rosanne Hawke for their kind and supportive endorsements of Deirdre’s story.

My gratitude to the editorial staff of the Wittenburg Door, who seemed to enjoy my contributions, and for their willingness for me to re-use some of them.

Thanks to the Kapunda Writers’ Group for their encouragement, insight, feedback and enthusiasm over the years in which this story grew.

My deep appreciation for my husband’s love, support, and shining example of a life full of grace.

1

’Tis the season to be jolly

Christmas is my favorite time of the year, but it isn’t all tinsel and fairy lights. Sometimes terrible things happen.

A few years ago, one Advent Sunday when Pastor Jim got up to preach, he wasn’t a good color. He seemed pale and clammy looking so I thought the heat was bothering him. It was the hottest day we’d had that summer and the overhead fans weren’t doing it for me. (Grace Community Church doesn’t have air-conditioning.)

Jim was getting on in age; he must have been in his late seventies. His wife had died five years before and I don’t think he’d coped too well since the loss. It’s difficult for the older men to look after themselves when they’re used to a wife doing things for them for fifty years. I tell my husband, Bill, it’s one of the reasons I get him to help around the house. I’m preparing him for his twilight years just in case he outlasts me.

Halfway through the sermon Pastor Jim suddenly clutched his upper left arm, moaned, and then collapsed. For a few seconds we all froze in our seats. Then Mike Davis rushed out to the pulpit. Ruth, get an ambulance, he yelled. Triple zero!

His wife, Ruth, is from America and she still dials 911 if she doesn’t stop to think about it. She called out, On it!

Bill got up to see if he could help. Audrey Lane ran out to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water for Jim.

As far as I could tell, Pastor Jim was conscious but he looked as if he was in a lot of pain. It felt as though it took the ambulance forever to arrive but Bill said later that they only took ten minutes to get there. They strapped an oxygen mask on Jim and then rushed him off to hospital. Mike and Bill followed behind in Mike’s car.

We didn’t go on with the service. The old ladies from the widows’ pew were quite distressed, so George Baker and Graham Hawkins drove them back to the retirement village.

Most of the young families left at the same time. Several of the children were crying. I heard one young mother tell her kids that they’d go to the local hamburger place for an early lunch and that seemed to cheer them up.

Some of us hung around for a while, talking, hugging, and crying. Ruth Davis and Lorna Small got organized in the kitchen and made cups of coffee and tea. When we were all sitting down, sipping our drinks and our chatter had run out of steam, Lorna offered to pray on behalf of us all.

Lord, she prayed, you love dear Pastor Jim more than any of us. If this is your time to take him home to you, then we thank you for him and ask that you make it swift and painless. However, we throw ourselves on your mercy for his healing. Amen.

I wasn’t too sure what to make of that prayer. Should we have just let Jim go without a fight? Was it a prayer of faith or of doubt? I can never figure this stuff out. When Lorna had finished, I added my own silent prayer, Please don’t let him die.

When Bill got home in the afternoon, he said that Jim had had a heart attack. The doctor wanted to get him stabilized and then he’d run some tests to see what was going on. Jim was in the ICU and seemed comfortable, considering everything.

This happening at Christmas time, made it all seem so much worse. I hoped Pastor Jim would recover quickly and be back in church in time for Christmas morning.

The following Thursday night, things were a bit strained at the practice for the Christmas play. I’m sure it didn’t help that we were all still a little rattled because of Pastor Jim.

Audrey Lane is the drama coordinator for Grace Community Church and she usually does an excellent job but that year she’d made some strange choices. I’d been the Narrator for the Christmas play for fifteen years. You can imagine my shock when she gave the role to her niece, Tallulah.

I knew you wouldn’t mind, Deirdre, Audrey said. It’s important to let the young people feel involved.

Why couldn’t they start out like I did, by being a palm tree or a sheep? Why should a twelve-year-old, with an enormous overbite and an earring in her tongue, take my role? Why should I, with years of experience, get delegated to the sidelines? I wasn’t even one of the wise men. I was the third angel on the left. I had to stand there, look pious, and say nothing.

I swallowed my pride and did my best to be gracious and encouraging. Very well, I admit I did a bit of sulking. I suppose I stared a bit too intensely at Tallulah while she read her part before we rehearsed anything else. I don’t know why she left so early, as she didn’t have school the next day. I expect her tongue earring was hurting her. It would explain why she looked so miserable.

Shortly after Tallulah left, Audrey and George Baker got into a fight. Audrey had written a new version of the Christmas story. She said she was striving to make the message relevant for the modern audience and was using shock value for maximum impact. George said that having Jesus born in a modern birthing clinic, with Bill Gates, Franklin Graham and Brad Pitt as the wise men bearing gifts, was taking too many liberties with the scripture.

I’ve never known George to be so upset. He’s usually quite reserved but that night he was red in the face and you could see the veins standing up in his neck. He screamed, What’s next, Jesus in a Santa suit? There were little flecks of spit in the corners of his mouth.

Hey, that’d be awesome! one of the teenagers said.

George stormed out shouting, Pastor Jim is far too lax with you people!

Audrey was in tears and the rest of us stood around in fidgety little huddles. Someone asked if we were still going to have a play and Audrey said she wasn’t sure.

Melva Johnson suggested we could always do something traditional to capture the essence of Christmas. Let’s keep in mind the real reason for the season, she said. "I always like it when the little kiddies wear novelty hats with antlers attached and sing, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer."

Audrey didn’t seem too interested. She said we might as well do the same tableau as last year. She’d inform Tallulah of the change of script. I didn’t know why Audrey wouldn’t use me. I knew the old narration off by heart. For a season of love and goodwill, Christmas generates an awful lot of anger and selfishness.

The next day, I toddled off to the shops in a brave attempt to finish off my gift list. I still had Bill’s mother and a couple of the old aunties to buy for. Every year I struggle to find them something they would like and not just be polite about.

I drifted into the Lovely Lady store, not expecting to find anything I could afford but it was always nice to look. The shop reeked of elegance and sophistication. They had fabulous decorations that year, all glittery silver and frosty white, and perfect for a traditional Aussie summer Christmas. In the front foyer, there was a chap wearing a dark blue suit and playing Christmas carols on a white piano. His tie was an unadorned cherry red. I took a photo of him with my phone to show Bill. For Christmas, my husband usually wears a tie with a big reindeer face on it, or candy canes and bells, or fat little elves.

Above the tinkling melody of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas I could hear screeching and shouting coming from a crowd of angry women that were heaving and shoving around a sale table. I wandered over to see what the fuss was all about and happened to spy, through the tangle of arms and elbows, an aqua and mauve patterned scarf that would be perfect for Helen. I dove in.

Just as I clamped my hand on the scarf, another hand made a grab. Then a sharp elbow jabbed me in my ribs. An older lady, and I use the term loosely, bared her yellowing teeth at me. I bet she was a smoker! I clenched my jaw and gave the scarf a gentle tug, just to establish my claim. She tugged back. I tugged again, more forcefully this time.

I saw it first, I said.

No way! It’s mine, she said.

Then she positively yanked the thing. I lost my balance and bumped into the sale table but I still hadn’t lost my grip. Then, while I was still off balance, she stomped on my foot and pulled at the same time. I yelped and let go. She made a run for it. Where was her Christmas spirit?

I met Pat Burrows for lunch. She and her husband, James, had been coming to Grace Community Church for a couple of years by then. Pat and James have a faint hippie air about them. She has an intriguing tattoo on her upper arm of a woman with a halo of roses instead of a hairdo. They have funny ideas but they’re warm, kind people and Pat and I get along well.

We chatted happily about this and that over our turkey and cranberry sandwiches and cappuccinos. I told her about my run-in with the feral shopper in Lovely Lady. I described the scarf I wanted to get for Bill’s mother. Pat said it sounded nice. Then she said something that made my coffee go down the wrong way. Her family didn’t bother with giving each other presents any more. Instead, they gave money to a different charity each year. The previous year, they’d provided a well for a Ugandan village and that year they were going to buy a goat for an Indian family.

Won’t that spoil Christmas for your children? I said.

She said her children were old enough to know the true meaning of Christmas and were happy to give to people less fortunate than themselves. I should have known. Pat’s one of those people who are so earthly minded they’re of no heavenly use.

Bill thought the Burrows had the right idea. I told him that everyone knew Christmas was for children.

"I thought it was good news for all people?" he said.

I told him we had a duty to keep the magic of Christmas alive. I didn’t see why giving aid to the poor and presents to your family had to be mutually exclusive activities. Besides, would he like to explain to his mother why we weren’t giving her a gift? He saw my point.

It’s a good thing this season only comes around once a year. Sometimes I wonder what the good Lord was thinking about, inventing Christmas in the first place.

Pastor Jim had to have a triple bypass operation. Because his recovery would take ages afterwards, he asked the church to accept his resignation. Mike told Bill that they had an emergency meeting of the elders and deacons. According to Mike, George Baker said it was obviously God’s will that Jim’s time as pastor was over and we should all move on. George had been hinting for a while that Jim was too old.

I told Bill that Mike shouldn’t have told him what went on in that private meeting. The two of them are as thick as thieves but that didn’t excuse Mike’s indiscretion.

You’re quite right, Bill said. I won’t say another word. My lips are sealed. He turned the television on and settled himself in the recliner.

I put the kettle on. Coffee? I said.

I could murder a chocolate-coated shortbread, he said, without taking his eyes from the screen.

I lifted the hat off the ceramic gnome I use for treats at Christmas time and peered in. They’re all gone. What about chocolate chip cookies?

He nodded so I put three on a plate and took them to him with his mug of coffee. He grunted his thanks and picked up the remote. Then I got my mug of coffee, sat down, and watched the TV with him.

The show finished. Another started. My mug was empty. I picked up his plate and mug and took them over to the sink. He cleared his throat.

Yes? I said.

Just got a frog, he said.

Oh, for Pete’s sake, I said. Spill the beans! He smiled a slightly smug, slightly triumphant smile.

According to Bill, Mike said he couldn’t let George get away with it. Jim deserved all the recovery time he needed. Mike didn’t think they should make a final decision until Jim was well again. Then, if he still wanted to retire, we should let him. However, he should have the chance to continue if he thought he was up to it.

Lorna Small said she believed that as the Lord had spared Jim at the present time, it was only right to see what God had in mind for Jim in the future, as well as for Grace Community. George disagreed and demanded a vote. The majority voted for a stay of execution, as Bill so colorfully put it. For the time being, we would have to manage without our pastor. He wouldn’t be having the operation until after Christmas. When he was well enough to leave hospital he’d finish his recuperation down at his sister’s place, at Tranquility Bay. Sea air is supposed to be good for you. It’d be months before any further decision would be made.

Audrey canceled the Christmas play. When she made the announcement at rehearsal, young Tallulah was a little teary. I hugged her and told her that I thought she would have made a wonderful Narrator. I also suggested that Audrey would be sure to give her a role in the Easter play. She brightened up a bit after that. We had a prayer time for Pastor Jim and then went home. It was going to be a bleak, sad Christmas.

2

Revival

Pastor Jim had his operation on the third of January. I admit I had a little cry when I heard that he’d come through it so well.

Meanwhile, Grace Community soldiered on without him. The famous Paul Roberts, who preferred to be called, The Prophet, had finally visited our church. He’d been bringing a prophetic word, as the Spirit had led him, to various congregations in our town for over a month; even in churches that hadn’t invited him. He was an old friend of George Baker. When he heard about dear Pastor Jim he kindly offered to step into the breech. We all thought it was a wonderful start to the New Year.

When he stood up to speak, a ripple of excited anticipation swept over the congregation like a spiritual tsunami. His reputation had gone before him and we were on the edge of our seats. However, I have to say it was shocking to hear how badly our little church had gone astray.

I had no idea that the organ was the sacred instrument preferred by God. I’m surprised Pastor Jim had missed that. We’d put ours in storage three years before, after our organist died. We’d been happy to sing accompanied on guitar by a couple of enthusiastic teenagers, Gary and Sam Jones. Little Tilly Brown had recently joined them with her flute. Only nine years old, sitting out the front in her wheelchair, she looked and played like an angel.

Mike Davis said he couldn’t find any reference to an organ in the Bible and asked why the kids couldn’t use their talents.

We must all make Sacrifices to Please the Lord, Paul the Prophet said. I swear you could hear the capital letters when he spoke. Giving up their music is the youngsters’ opportunity to Carry Their Cross.

Little Tilly wouldn’t stop crying and her mother finally wheeled her outside.

George said that because Gary and Sam had a rock and roll band, it proved they weren’t true followers of Jesus. I don’t agree. I happen to know George went to the Alice Cooper concert when he recently toured out here, so he was being a little hypocritical. I was surprised to hear that Alice Cooper is a Christian but it just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its gothic cover.

We decided to advertise for an organist in the local newspaper and one of the members of the widows’ pew offered to make inquiries in the nearby retirement village.

What was even more shocking was that none of us had realized we were watering down the Gospel by investing so much time in our welfare programs. Pastor Jim had always encouraged us to find opportunities to serve the community.

The Lord commanded us to care for the poor, Mike Davis said.

The Prophet very kindly pointed out that what the Lord wanted was for us to preach to the poor and then, when they were saved and Living in God’s Favor, the Lord would bless them with prosperity just like he’d blessed Paul. Several of us squirmed in our seats when he said that because Grace Community had a lot of low-income families and a few of us were unemployed; proof positive we had gone badly astray.

You are building Straw Castles with your programs, instead of Things of Gold that will last, The Prophet said.

Among other things, we’d set up a food co-op, had a Friday night soup and blanket run to the homeless guys in the park, and some of our members, including Bill, ran a free car-repair service for widows and single mothers. The Prophet said that this made us look like a bunch of do-gooder social workers instead of a Bible-believing, God-fearing church. He decreed we should immediately begin door-to-door evangelism instead.

Melva Johnson said that most people she knew didn’t appreciate strangers coming to their doors and haranguing them about religion. The Prophet reassured her that we would be Led and Blessed by the Lord and therefore would be welcomed with open arms by all those who were seeking the truth. He had a word from the Lord that he would bless us with an Abundant Harvest of Good Fruit. It sounded so exciting!

Mike asked The Prophet when the last time was that he’d done any door-to-door evangelism, but I don’t think he heard the question because he didn’t answer. Anyway, he wouldn’t have had time to do that sort of thing. He was far too busy helping Christians find out where they’d gone wrong.

The Prophet’s teaching made me realize that if I wanted to please the Lord I’d have to change. First, I had to get Bill to start wearing a suit and tie to church services. I’d let him get away with casual attire for far too long. The Prophet taught that anything less than a suit was disrespectful to the Lord.

I don’t think Jesus could give two hoots about our clothing, provided it covers all the naughty bits, Bill said. I make allowances for him. He didn’t grow up in a Christian home.

It really worried me that we didn’t have a lot of money. What sort of a witness were we if we weren’t financially blessed like The Prophet? To be honest, it would have been lovely to have a bit more leeway with my budget. For some time, I’d had my eye on a gorgeous evening purse in Glad Bags, which is next to the Lovely Lady store. I’d been waiting for it to go on sale. If we had a better income, I could have bought it straight away and I would have given God the glory for it.

After hearing The Prophet’s word from the Lord about being a do-gooder, I decided I had to say more and do less. I’d have to stop getting excited about the Lord’s grace and do more repenting instead, and I would have to stop looking so happy. Bill disagreed with me on this but the revival hadn’t taken hold of him yet. The Prophet said we needed to take The Faith more seriously.

When the offering plate came around, I put in the $50 I was going to waste on a food voucher for Tilly’s mother. A man like The Prophet, who lived by faith and the generosity of the saints, deserved my thanks. Why, if he hadn’t visited our church, I would have still been wasting my time helping the poor and praising the Lord like a fool.

The next morning, Bill and I visited Pastor Jim in hospital. He looked old and frail. He smiled so sweetly when he saw us walk in that I wanted to give him a big hug. However, I was scared I’d pop his stitches so I restrained myself and just kissed him on the cheek. In typical Pastor Jim fashion, he asked how we were.

I told him about the revival going on and my struggle to please the Lord. He was quiet for a while, obviously taking it all in, and then he seemed to sag a little against his pillows. Deirdre, dear, he said, the Lord knows your heart and that’s what’s important. I’m very tired now.

Of course, Bill said. We’ll come back another time. He shook his hand and then patted his shoulder. God bless you, Jim.

I kissed