Some of Y’all Already Know Sister Velma

In an alternate universe in which That Church By The Vape Shop became a network of physical locations instead of a blog, we had a very successful Vacation Bible School a few weeks ago. A reader wanted to know a little bit more about one of the members of that congregation, and someone in that realm was happy to oblige:

Some of y’all already know Sister Velma, or someone like her. If you came to our Vacation Bible School this year, you definitely heard her—usually hollering things like “Who put half a hot dog in the baptismal?!” or “These are new mop heads, not skates!”

She’s our Director of Facilities, Minister of Mop Buckets, and Unofficial Sheriff of the Fellowship Hall. If you tracked in mud, left glitter on a pew, or clogged the church toilet (to be fair, that plumbing can only handle liquids and toilet paper), Sister Velma was coming for you—with a wet rag in one hand and Hebrews 12 in the other.

She loves Jesus. She believes in forgiveness. However, she also believes that your shoes should be dry and your snack should stay in your mouth.

So, imagine our surprise when the same woman who once declared, “The wrath of God is stored up for whichever unbeliever left this prophylactic on the playground,” ended up teaching us all a little something about grace, judgment, and the spiritual meaning of pigeon poop.

Here’s what happened.

Sister Velma did not believe in “outdoor church,” but she came. She had a velvet tracksuit, a cane, and that one gospel T-shirt she still fit into, even though the dove on the front looked like it had seen some things.

She said the sun is trying to smite her just like in Psalm 121:6, the breeze blew pamphlets into her orthopedic sandals, and nature was “just bugs freeloading off God’s glory.” But, as a part of a special week focusing on missions, the associate pastor had insisted on a sunrise prayer walk through downtown to “proclaim resurrection life to the sleeping city.”

We had barely made it out of the church van when Velma tripped on a cracked stretch of sidewalk and shouted, “I rebuke the neglect of the municipal leaders in Jesus’ name!”

We were near the old train station when she stopped cold, stared up ahead, and hissed, “Y’all,” which we rightly took to be a warning. 

A wiry man in his sixties, red-eyed, reeking of gin and last night’s grievances staggered toward us, looked right at Velma, and slurred:

“What are you people doin’ out here botherin’ decent folks? Ain’t y’all got welfare checks to cash?”

Silence.

Have you ever seen a dog hear a high-pitched noise only it understands? That’s what Velma’s face did. One eyebrow lifted like it was asking Jesus if He wanted to take this one personally or delegate.

Deacon Thornton stepped up, palms out, voice calm. “We love the city, sir. We love you too. It’s a new morning—we’re just praying peace over these streets.”

The man scoffed, muttered something too ugly to repeat, and staggered off.

We stood there, stunned, in awkward silence, as if waiting for someone to declare whether church was still happening, or if we should all just go home.

Velma just sighed. Not the angry sigh. Not even the “I’m going to take my belt off and this fellowship will learn” sigh.

Just tired.

And right then, right there, she whispered something that hit me in the gut:

“You know… somebody told me once, ‘Pigeons do what pigeons do.’

And I shouldn’t be surprised that my shirt needs washing after standing under their roost. Doesn’t sting any less when it gets in my eye, but at least I know next time to move over.”

We all just stared.

Then she added, “Same goes for people. I wish I could remember that more often before I start mouthing off, but it's the truth.”

Elaine, one of the visiting college girls from up north—Notre Dame, I think—came over to Velma. Elaine had joined our mission week for course credit and “religious exploration,” which we learned meant she was raised Catholic, baptized cranky, and had been afraid to unclench her jaw in a church. She’d been mostly silent all week, like someone expecting the roof to fall in if she exhaled near an altar. Now she looked at Velma with the kind of ache that doesn’t fit into a theology paper and said, “People like that man... they don’t care what we’re doing. I try to do all the right things. I try to be good. But someone always makes it feel like it’s not enough. Him… or God...”

Velma looked at Elaine and said gently:

“Baby, sounds like you grew up with the God that only comes down from the mountain to be disappointed.”

Elaine blinked. “I mean… yeah. He’s big, and holy, and… everywhere. But mostly disappointed.”

Velma nodded, like she’d met Him too once.

“Let me tell you something. The God who made the stars also made breakfast on the beach for a man who denied Him three times and smelled like fish grease. He ain’t lookin’ to slap your hand. He’s tryin’ to hold it.”

Elaine blinked. Velma continued: 

“Jesus didn’t save you to make you nervous. He saved you to make you new. Ain’t no chalkboard in heaven with your failures on it—He broke the chalk and threw the board in the fire.”

Then Velma pointed to the direction the drunk man had gone.

“That man? That’s God’s business. And I don’t mean that in the dismissive way, I mean it’s literally not our job to fix him. He’s made in the Image of God, and God ain’t ugly or a bad artist. Jesus died to save that man just like He died to save us”

Elaine was crying now. Not loud, just leaking like a tired faucet. She hugged Velma like she’d just seen her real grandma for the first time in twenty years.

“I just… I always thought grace was this temporary thing. Like I had it ‘til I messed up again.”

Velma smiled. “Nah, honey. That ain’t grace. That’s probation.”

Back at the church, I asked her who taught her about pigeons.

She took a sip of her church kitchen burnt coffee, which was as thick as prophecy, and said, “An old deacon I couldn’t stand. Smelled like mothballs and hard candy, but he knew Scripture.”

I laughed. “So, you don’t take it personally when folks say hateful stuff?”

Velma raised one of those off-brand Fig Newtons that Sister Terri buys in bulk and pointed it at my chest like she was about to rebuke me in three dimensions.

“Baby, I do take it personal. I just take it to the cross before I let it settle in my bones. Jesus forgave it. I don’t get to tape it back on their file.

Some folks are just gonna make a mess. Say dumb things. Flap around and leave you with a stain you didn’t ask for. And you can squawk about it like a sanctified seagull, or you can remember: Jesus already carried that mess to the cross. So if He’s not holding it against them… why should I?”

Sister Clarice blinked. “So we’re supposed to just… let it go?”

Velma wiped a suspicious spot off her sleeve. “You don’t let it go. You hand it over. Big difference. One’s denial. The other is trust.”

We all nodded, half-convicted, half-confused.

Then she said something I haven’t forgotten:

“Loving people means you remember they’re made in the image of the God you claim to love. And if Jesus thought they were worth dying for, I can at least act like they’re worth not cussin’ at.”

That Sunday, Velma came back with a new shirt. It said: “WASHED CLEAN—PIGEON-PROOF.” She winked at us, took her usual seat, and silently dared a single bird to test her theology.

Elaine came back to church that Sunday. Sat right next to Velma, wearing one of the “Washed, Not Wishy-Washy” T-shirts we’d handed out to the kids. During the closing song, I saw her glance up toward the rafters.

She smiled.

So did Velma.

Then she handed her a napkin. “Just in case.”

Whether it was for tears of joy at the thought of God above and loved ones across Jordan, or for unexpected feces from birds in the rafters, she was ready.

Now, I’d be lying if I told you that the man under the train station girders got down on his knees that morning and cried out for salvation like a Hallmark Channel prodigal son.

What did happen was about six weeks later, he got tased on TV during an episode of COPS after trying to “borrow” a backhoe from the city maintenance yard in order to dig his own baptismal pool in the park. He claimed it was in response to a vision from the Lord; his public defender also says too much or too little medication were possibilities. The golden halo around his mouth and nose in his mugshot suggests he may have been huffing paint, too, either way.

After a while, he showed up at our church parking lot cookout with a black eye, an ankle monitor, and a store-bought lemon pie that he told everyone he didn’t spit in.

We called that progress.

Sister Velma saw him coming, and before he could recognize her, she handed him a plate. And that was that.

The Holy Spirit softens us, generally. There are those times when the Spirit came upon someone and they killed, like, 600 people with a farm implement, but David, the Judges, etc. are unusual in the grand scheme of things. The Spirit looks good on Velma. When little Kentrell managed to knock over the nativity scene for the third year in a row, Velma didn’t yell. She just looked at the wreckage, then at him, then said:

“Well, the Lord came into a broken world. Might as well start with the décor.”

And from that day on, sometimes when someone acts like a hot mess in the fellowship hall, Sister Velma just pats her shirt, sighs, and says:

“Well, I’ve stood under worse. That one’s God’s project. Just like me.”

Other times, she just reacts with a quickness, but we all stumble in many ways.

So, why is she hard on the kids sometimes? Apart from the Sisyphus-like frustration of endlessly trying to keep the meeting space presentable, she loves them and knows they are capable of better. She takes particular interest in the little saints that the world is prejudiced against, as being misjudged on sight is all too familiar.

There is a kind of tough love that the Accuser will try to tell you demands achievement to get or to maintain, but is actually an unshakeable belief that you deserve a great future. The extent to which it is understood or misunderstood can make a child into a valedictorian, a basket case, or both. I wish to reiterate that I had the best human father that anyone ever had; hug your parents while you can.

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