Teaser to the Prequel Serial Novel The Naked Ladies Ministry
Joy Harper stood before the two-story home, coffee cup in one hand and the other tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. She took a sip before saying under her breath, “Well, Lord, it’s not much to look at yet, but it’s home.”
Nate called it “quaint.” Joy called it “a fixer-upper with a prickly personality.” Either way, it was theirs.
She stepped aside as one of the movers rolled a dolly full of boxes toward the house. Following him up the walkway, Joy stepped onto the porch and ran her hand along the weathered railing. The wood was rough beneath her palm, but the bones were strong. “You and me both,” she murmured to it. “A bit worn, but still standing.”
The front door creaked open as the mover disappeared inside, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy practicing what she called “reflection,” though it felt suspiciously like self-pity.
They’d left behind comfort and certainty in Atlanta for this—small-town ministry, chipped paint, and people who hadn’t yet decided if they liked them.
What made it harder was facing this new chapter alone. Her youngest daughter was in college, her oldest halfway across the country. No children to occupy her time or distract her from the turbulence that came with being a minister’s wife. Loneliness threatened to smother her like the early morning humidity.
“This place needs some naked ladies.”
The comment was meant for herself, but the mover had the unfortunate luck to step outside at that moment. The look on his face clearly said he didn’t know what to make of the words coming from the new pastor’s wife.
A melodic chuckle escaped her lips. “Flowers, darlin’. They’re flowers.” She took a few steps toward him and placed a hand on his arm as she explained, “For most of the year, the plant appears to be doing nothing at all. But beneath the soil, it’s storing energy, preparing for its grand entrance. Then, in the dry heat of late summer, when most flowers are fading, she sends up bare stalks that burst into color. There’s this explosion of pink—fragrant, unashamed.” She winked. “Joyful—and I love Joy.”
Nate came up the walkway carrying a box, even though they’d hired movers so he wouldn’t have to. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “My Joy from the Lord is my strength.”
She smiled at his familiar reframing of Nehemiah 8:10.
The mover chuckled softly before heading back down the steps, muttering something about never looking at flowers the same way again. Nate trudged inside to place the box in its designated room, ever the helper despite her protests.
Joy lingered on the porch, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup as she became lost in her silent prayer to God. She didn’t surface until she heard the bells from the church chime the top of the hour. She took another sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through her hands and heart alike.
Joy closed her eyes and finished her prayer out loud, “All right, Lord. New town, new walls, same grace. Help me bloom where you’ve planted me—and burst forth as a joyful naked lady.”
And for the first time since leaving Atlanta, peace—quiet, sturdy, and sure—settled in her heart.