jamie doom

After dinner, my parents and I walked to the church together. First, though, I checked my phone messages, and nobody had called me. Which means, after church, if nobody had still contacted me, I would be free to do what I wanted, rather than fulfill any acquaintance/companionship obligations. It was turning out to be a rare evening indeed.

At church everybody was in a rather glib mood. Lately PD, known to some as Pastor Danny, has been directing the church to set aside Wednesday night prayer meetings for actual prayer. It was an interesting and novel concept, but one we were willing to try on for a while. So Rick Mundy read a portion from Psalms 119, PD muttered something unintelligible but quite profound, I imagine, about the passage, and then we began taking prayer requests. All the while, P.D. seemed extremely mellow and pleasant. As we were taking prayer requests, P.D. mentioned that if he had to leave suddenly it was because he was to be passing some kidney stones in the very near future. The church gasped. Wow! Kidney stones being passed at church? People remarked out loud at PD’s mellow mood. I too had thought he was being rather bravely good natured despite the prospect of having to pee some painful gravel in the near future. PD then admitted he was taking pain medication, and it was taking full effect at precisely the time church began. PD on pain medication is something to behold, my dear friend. His head kind of rolls around on his neck and his smile just spreads slowly across his face…like creamy peanut butter on a hot English muffin. His voice is much lower, too. But, since he seemed comfortable and pain free, our minds were put to ease and we went back to the happy business of giving prayer requests.

Prayer request time was brilliant. We were able to lightly gossip, exchange humorous anecdotes, and all nod our heads solemnly and knowingly in unison about the graver things in life. And despite the more serious requests, everyone’s disposition remained quite light. My dad too, even without the absence of hard drugs, seemed to be in good spirits himself. And of course Erik Berg, that lovable, loud Swede was laughing heartily at everything as unto the Lord.

I was both spectator and participant. Towards the end, after my dad had already made several requests and interjections about other people requests, he remembered that he’d had a grandson born the day before, Thomas MacCheyne Doom, who will be known to the adoring masses as Mac Doom. Thomas entered the world with a wrinkled brow and red screaming face all but assuring us that the happy legacy of his grandfather Doom will remain solidly intact for at least another generation. My father told the church as much proudly, and we all laughed, Erik the loudest, PD with the most feeling.

Then we began to pray. I opted not to pray out loud that night. The thing is: if you always pray out loud, then people will expect you to always pray out loud, and brother, some days all I can manage to God is: “I’m really, really, really sorry,” over and over again, which despite getting high marks for earnestness, just doesn’t play very good out loud.

So, when I do pray out loud in church, and I could be wrong about this, I imagine my praying is noteworthy to people. Later, I can picture church members driving in the dark on winding roads to their homes nestled safely in the mountains outside of Asheville. One of them will remark to their wife or husband in passing, “Jamie prayed tonight.” They will each nod, not understanding why it is noteworthy, yet knowing it is. Then their attention will turn to the kids in school, the new development going up down the road, or any of the myriad of subjects that husbands and wives talk about on a dark night after church.

So church was good. I prayed silently a little while, but mostly I listened to the different voices, tones, accents, and grammars earnestly being sent up to heaven. Prayers were made for the sick, for financially needy, for the spiritual downcast, for safety in traveling, for our nation, and even more for our world. Each prayer was different, some more educated than the others, some longer, some shorter–but we were a church praying together. We were praying on a beautiful night. Once, I looked up from where I was praying and caught a brief glimpse through church windows, a silhouette of tall oak trees bowed slightly in reverence against the textured gray sky.