Rusty’s impromptu idea of calling of mid-week choir practice resulted in a poetic gathering. The only missing choir member was Lanetta. The most important reason he had called the practice was to see if Lanetta would show up. And he knew he’d have to be an idiot to think that Lanetta would, but he called the practice just to see what would happen.
He had called Michelle with a loose excuse about a new song for Sunday’s service. When everyone except Lanetta showed, he knew where he stood—in a way. One of the girls said Lanetta had sent a text message about being too ill, and they dropped it, going on to sing their hearts out.
Rusty tapped his foot to quiet the rattling of his nerves to the rhythm of Michelle’s talent. His heart had closed, and his only shred of happiness had come from knowing that he had pulled Hudson McGee’s plug.
He passed out the new sheet music to his girls. Michelle fingered out the melody for a go-around trial, and they started in singing:
Burn in me, Fire of God,
Burn till my heart is pure;
Burn till Your life shines out in me,
Steadfast and strong and sure.
Burn in me, Fire of God;
Spare not for price nor pain;
Burn till all dross of earth consume,
Only Your gold remain.
The fire of God had indeed burned around his neck as he sang with his girls. Hudson’s golden nugget throbbed like had connected itself to his arteries and blood pumped in and out of the necklace. His groin surged with power, and he had to think hard on Jesus to keep his erection from lifting his pants.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish