Surprising as it may be to devout secularists, even religious communities hold "singles night" events—albeit declaring their purpose to be facilitation of ecclesiastically-approved marital attachments—and if Annette's Mom had just chosen to test the waters in the dating pool of a different denomination than that of a rock-ribbed sect whose adherents equate "strength" with discipline, obedience and self-denial, it might have saved both mother and daughter considerable pain. Lauren Ferebee's parable begins with a prologue set on the Nebraska plains in 1848 that introduces us to widow Miriam, whose solitary dwelling offers shelter to itinerant evangelist-preacher Ruth through a harsh winter. The main body of our story, however, is set in 2019, in the same location and perhaps the same house, where single working-mother Sherri and rebellious teenage daughter Annette eke out a living amid squalor, chaos and contention. When a churchgoing gentleman proceeds to court Sherri, Annette is mistrusting of his intentions—even as she finds a kindred spirit in another congregant, the discontented Hannah, betrothed to pastor-wannabe Charley. We can see where this scenario will take us barely twenty minutes into the play, just as we quickly recognize the literary metaphors residing in Miriam's ceaseless mending of torn garments and Hannah's fascination with birds in flight. The possibility of wisdom arising out of suffering is a theme unrestricted by cultural barriers, though, and by the time these pilgrims struggling to find their place in the universe have come to understand that love is not a blessing to be "beaten into submission" but instead offered freely with a full heart, we are likewise thankful for the support, whether based in ancestral memory or playwriting fiat, assisting in their progress. The sensory minimalism inherent in the conversion of Ferebee's time-traveling saga to audiodrama format sometimes renders the voices in group scenes difficult to distinguish from one another, as the narrative leaps spanning centuries make for delays in our chronological orientation. That said, Patty Malaney and Sarah Beth Tanner deliver uncaricatured empathy-invoking performances in the pivotal roles of Annette and Sherri, with sturdy support from Myesha-Tiara and Harmony Zhang as the adventuresome Hannah and Ruth. Only John Ham's Leon succumbs to stereotype, coming on so smarmy from the get-go as to nullify any sympathy we may feel toward his own battle with destructive demons.
