2010 Carol Awards Finalist No longer able or willing to leave her home, the unusual Agnes Sparrow has committed herself to a life of prayer - prayer that has resulted in numerous miracles, both large and garden variety, including a prize-winning pumpkin. The rural residents of Bright's Pond, a quirky Pennsylvania town, are so enamored with Agnes they plan to erect a sign in her honor on the interstate. Agnes wants no part of it and sends her sister to fight city hall. Their petitions are shot down and the sign plans press forward. But when a stranger comes to call asking for his miracle, Bright's Pond is turned on its head and Agnes' feet of clay are exposed, forcing the town to its knees. Welcome to Bright's Pond. Home of Agnes Sparrow! Joyce Magnin is the author of several books, including The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow , named one of the "Top 5 Best Christian Fiction Books of 2009" by Library Journal . Her short fiction pieces and articles have been published in such magazines as Relief Journal, Parents Express, Sunday Digest , and Highlights for Children . A member of the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Fellowship, Joyce is a frequent workshop leader at various writer s conferences and women s church groups. She has three children and one grandson, and is mom to a neurotic parakeet who lives with her in Havertown, Pennsylvania. The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow A Novel of Bright's Pond By Joyce Magnin Abingdon Press Copyright © 2009 The United Methodist Publishing House All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-0164-1 Chapter One Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. — Ruth Knickerbocker If you get off the Pennsylvania Turnpike at the Jack Frost Ski Resort exit, turn left, and travel twenty-two and one quarter miles, you'll see a sign that reads: Bright's Pond, Home of the World's Largest Blueberry Pie. While it is true that in 1961 Mabel Sewicky and the Society of Angelic Philanthropy, which did secret charitable acts, baked the biggest blueberry pie ever in Pennsylvania, most folks will tell you that the sign should read: Bright's Pond, Home of Agnes Sparrow. October 12, 1965. That was the day my sister, Agnes Sparrow, made an incredible decision that changed history in our otherwise sleepy little mountain town and made her sign-worthy. "I just can't do it anymore, Griselda. I just can't." That's what Agnes said to me right before she flopped down on our red, velvet sofa. "It ain't worth it to go outside anymore. It's just too much trouble for you—" she took a deep breath and sighed it out "—and heartache for me." Agnes's weight had tipped a half pound over six hundred, and she decided that getting around was too painful and too much of a town spectacle. After all, it generally took two strong men to help me get Agnes from our porch to my truck and then about fifteen minutes to get her as comfy as possible in the back with pillows and blankets. People often gathered to watch like the circus had come to town, including children who snickered and called her names like "pig" or "lard butt." Some taunted that if Agnes fell into the Grand Canyon she'd get stuck. It was devastating, although when I look back on it, I think the insults bothered me more than they did Agnes. Her hips, which were wider than a refrigerator, spread out over the sofa leaving only enough room for Arthur, our marmalade cat, to snuggle next to her. "I think I'll stay right here inside for the remainder of the days God has set aside for me." She slumped back, closed her eyes, and then took a hard breath. It wiggled like Jell-O through her body. I held my breath for a second, afraid that Agnes's heart had given out since she looked so pale and sweaty. But it didn't. Agnes was always fat and always the subject of ridicule. But I never saw her get angry over it and I only saw her cry once—in church during Holy Communion. She was fourteen. I was eleven. We always sat together, not because I wanted to sit with her, but because our father made us. He was usually somewhere else in the church fulfilling his elder's responsibilities while our mother helped in the nursery. She always volunteered for nursery duty. I think it was because my mother never really had a deep conviction about Jesus one way or the other. Sitting in the pews made her nervous and she hated the way Pastor Spahr would yell at us about our sins, which, if you asked me, my mother never committed and so she felt unduly criticized. Getting saddled with "fat Agnes" every Sunday wasn't easy because it made me as much a target of ridicule as her. Ridicule by proximity. Agnes had to sit on a folding lawn chair in the aisle because she was too big to slip into the pew. And since she blocked the aisle we had to sit in the last row. Our father served Communion, a duty he took much too seriously. The poor man looked like a walking cadaver in his dark suit, white shirt, and striped tie as he moved stiffly down the aisle passi