Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Timmy lay back against his pillows and turned his back to her. He pulled his teddy bear close. The night-light from the hall cast a soft glow in the room. She saw his shoulders were trembling and knew he was crying again, trying to stifle the sounds against his worn stuffed animal. It broke her heart. “I love you, Timmy. And Daddy loves you, too.” She stroked Timmy’s soft hair. It was sandy brown, like Paul’s. Timmy drew his knees up and burrowed his head deeper into the covers. Heart aching, throat tight and hot, Eunice leaned down and kissed him. “You are so precious to me. I love you so very, very much, Timmy.” She kissed him again. “You are God’s blessing to Daddy and me.” She ran her hand over his hair again. Rising, she rearranged the covers so that he would be warm and closed the door quietly on her way out.
Sitting in the living room, Eunice covered her face and wept. Paul had more compassion for rebellious members of his church than he did for his own son. Or her, for that matter. How many times had she asked for his counsel regarding grumbling, gossiping parishioners, and he would hurriedly tell her to be patient, hear them out, and bend as much as possible so that they would enjoy their service for the Lord? And then out the door he’d go again. Did Paul want her to treat these women with kid gloves because all three were elders’ wives? Was she supposed to make special rules for special people? How could Paul command her to bend for them and then refuse to bend at all for his own son? Did Paul even listen? Couldn’t he understand that Timmy acted up because he desperately wanted his father’s attention? Negative attention was better than no attention at all. Paul always managed to rearrange his schedule so that he could have lunch or play golf with one of his elders. Why not for Timmy? Why not for her?
Do this, Eunice. Do that, Eunice.
Paul had told her to form a choir, and then told her to organize a cantata for Christmas and another for Easter. Even as she obeyed, he made it clear in a dozen ways that she should not expect his help as she tried to accomplish his goals. He didn’t have the time. He had more important things to do. Places to go and people to meet.
She kept telling herself that Paul was doing all this work “for the kingdom,” but sometimes a betraying thought would grip her heart. Which kingdom? He was making and carrying out plans so fast she wondered how he had time to ask God’s counsel, let alone hear it.
And yet, everything seemed to be moving ahead just as he said it would. Paul took every success as a sign from God that he was on the right track, that he was accomplishing what God wanted, that his methods were appropriate to the work God had given him. Centerville Christian Church was growing so fast Eunice didn’t know many of the people now attending on a regular basis. Paul did two Sunday services now, and he had the backing of the elders to add staff. Reka Wilson, a retired office manager, had offered to take on the job of church secretary at minimum wage. Over the past month, Reka had fielded calls and saved Paul countless hours of paperwork. Eunice had hoped Paul would be able to spend more time with her and Timmy, and more time writing wonderful Christ-centered Bible studies like he had during his senior year in college.
Instead, Paul scheduled more speaking engagements. “The only way I can be an influence in the community is if people know who I am and what I stand for.” Paul had become well known and well liked in the community. When the mayor came to services, Eunice noticed how Paul cut back on the number of quotations from the Bible and brought in more stories and illustrations, excusing the softened message by saying he wanted people to come back to church again, not come once and then never come back because “they’ve been beaten over the head with some dry lesson on doctrine.” And Paul had canceled the Wednesday night Bible study several months ago, because so few people turned out in the middle of the week.
The clock chimed eleven.
Ashamed, Eunice realized she’d spent more than an hour wallowing in self-pity, assessing her husband’s faults without examining her own.
Lord, please remold my thinking, reshape my heart, burn away the anger that’s threatening to sink roots of bitterness into my marriage and my life.
She went into the kitchen, warmed a cup of milk in the microwave, and sat at the table where she and Timmy ate most of their meals alone.
Lord, You are my shepherd. You have given me everything I need. Your strength and power, Your love and guidance keep me on the path You’ve laid out for me. Protect me, Lord. Keep the enemy away, Father, please. I’m vulnerable right now, Jesus. I know in my heart it’s who You are and not what I do that’s important. But it’s so easy to get caught up in the show of it all. Let my life be a light by which others can see You. I want to do what’s right, but sometimes it seems there are so many things going on, so many irons in the fire, I don’t even know where to start.
The front door opened.
Eunice put her hands around the warm mug of milk. She heard the soft catch as the coat closet door was opened and then closed. Footsteps on the linoleum. A weary sigh. “There was a message on the answering machine from Marvin Lockford. LaVonne is feeling unwell and may not be able to be in the performance.”
“That’s just as well.” She was tired of the struggle. She imagined Jessie Boham and Shirl Wenke would be calling sometime tomorrow with the same lame excuse.
“Just as well? What do you mean, ‘just as well’?”
Lord, please don’t let me speak in anger. “They have the wrong idea about the cantata.”
“It was up to you to give them the right idea, Eunice. Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused me by not handling this situation with more delicacy?”
“You’re blaming me for something I have no power to change.”
“You’re in charge. The buck stops with you.”
She wasn’t about to throw his failures in his face. “All right, Paul. Then as the one ‘in charge,’ I have this to say: The point of the cantata is not the size of LaVonne’s wings or the amount of glitter on her robe, but the proclamation of the birth of our Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ.”
His face tightened. “I’m sure she understands that as well as anyone.”
“If she did, you wouldn’t have received a call from her husband.”
“I called Marvin and said you’d call LaVonne tomorrow and apologize for the misunderstanding.”
He assumed she would comply. Fuel on the fire she had asked God to snuff out. Daddy, is this one of the battles you meant? So be it. “I will call and tell LaVonne how sorry I am that she’s too ill to be a part of the cantata.”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“I’m not acting, Paul.” Tears filled her eyes. “I will not be held hostage by LaVonne Lockford’s emotional blackmail.”
“You’re letting your pride get in the way of unity with a Christian sister.”
Was LaVonne Lockford a Christian sister? “How can I have unity with a woman who wants the spotlight on her rather than on Jesus?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re not listening, Paul! You haven’t listened to anything I’ve said to you in months!”
He scraped a chair back and sat. “Okay. I’m listening now. Tell me what your problem is.”
Her problem. Not theirs. She looked across the table at him, the mug of warm milk growing cold between her hands. “You’ve already assigned blame to me. Why is that?” Was she just a convenient scapegoat?
He said nothing, but the look on his face made her want to scream at him.
Lord, Lord, Your words, not mine. Please. Your will, not mine. “It’s not my problem with LaVonne, Paul. It’s her relationship with Jesus. Does she have one?”
“Her husband is one of our elders, Eunice. Of course LaVonne has a relationship with Jesus.”
“I’d like to think so, but I haven’t seen any evidence of it since she joined the choir.” Nor before that, she wanted to say and did not dare. The Lockfords had seemed a nice enough couple when they had joined the church, and they had apparently served in several other churc
hes before moving to Centerville. Still, she had been shocked three years ago when Paul had informed her of Hollis Sawyer’s and Otis Harrison’s resignations and sprung the nomination roster with Marvin Lockford named as a candidate for eldership. They hardly knew the man. No one had questioned the names Paul gave the congregation, except Samuel, who voiced his reservations to Paul in private and was summarily ignored. “I told him I’m not about to conduct a CIA investigation on a Christian brother and sister!” Everything had gone smoothly with Marvin, who encouraged and backed Paul’s endeavors to build the church membership, but from the beginning, LaVonne tended to use her husband’s position to gain a platform for herself.
“Eunice, why are you making such a big deal out of such a little thing? What harm is there in putting more glitter, or whatever it is she wants, on LaVonne’s costume?”
Was she overreacting? It was true she liked LaVonne less and less as time went on. Perhaps her own feelings were getting in the way of her judgment. On the other hand, wasn’t there something fundamentally wrong with repeatedly giving in to a person’s petty demands?
“It is a little thing, Paul. I know it is. And Abby made changes to the costume to please LaVonne, but it wasn’t enough.” It was never enough. “There have been lots of little things over the past three years. Haven’t you noticed? And all of it adds up to one big question: Is she saved?”
His eyes darkened. “I would hardly have asked Marvin to be an elder if I wasn’t convinced both he and his wife were saved.”
There was no use reminding him that he hadn’t known the Lockfords that long before drafting Marvin to assist in the running of the church. He hadn’t known the Bohams that long either. Or the Wenkes, for that matter. “Paul, it matters more to me that we know where LaVonne stands with Jesus than whether she sings one of the solos in the cantata.”
Paul scraped his chair back, his cheeks red. “And you think it doesn’t matter to me? You call her, Eunice, and you apologize. Do you understand me? You’re my wife, and you’re supposed to be building bridges, not burning down the ones I’ve built all by myself without any help from you!” He headed out of the room.
Battered and bruised by his accusation, she sat stunned and hurt. Lord, is he right? Am I burning bridges? Help me let go of hurt feelings and concentrate on the needful issues, God. Help me . . . help me. “Paul?” Oh, God . . .
“What?” The long-suffering look on his face made her feel she was nothing but trouble to him.
She fought tears. Needful things, Lord. Please, make him listen this time. “We need to talk about Timmy.”
He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Not tonight. I’m tired.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
But when Eunice awakened in the morning, Paul was already gone. He’d left a note on the kitchen table. “Breakfast with SD. Lunch at the country club with the mayor. Might be home for dinner.”
She knew better than to keep it warm.
By the time Stephen arrived at the Christmas cantata, the fellowship hall was packed. He stood in the back corner, along with half a dozen others who, like he, had had to park six blocks from the church. The way he saw it, if the membership of Centerville Christian kept growing like it was, the powers that be were going to have to consider building a bigger facility to accommodate the flock. This pen was becoming too small.
He could relax now that he had found a space to stand. The air smelled of pine mingled with gingerbread. The hall looked like something from an old-time Victorian Christmas card with pine-and-holly garlands tied with red velvet bows on windowsills, podium, top of the piano, and front of the stage.
Everyone quieted when Pastor Paul entered—elegantly dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie—and announced the cantata. Paul’s prayer was a bit long, but eloquent as always. He looked downright regal as he nodded his head and then took a seat in the front row. Stephen wondered why Timmy wasn’t sitting with his father. The boy was perched on a chair between Abigail and Samuel Mason.
When Eunice entered, Stephen caught his breath. Her blonde hair hung down around her shoulders. She was wearing a single strand of pearls and a long black dress. Stephen swallowed hard and spent the next hour watching every move she made, relishing the pure pleasure of the experience from the dark back corner of the fellowship hall. He had never seen a woman so completely, inwardly, outwardly, breathtakingly beautiful.
This was her third Christmas cantata, and each was better than the last. More sets, more singers, more cookies, more punch, more decorations. More work! When the performance was over, Stephen lingered in the back. He’d save his congratulations for later. The choir members in their costumes were mingling with those who had come to listen and watch the show. People had to draw back quickly when LaVonne Lockford passed by, glittering wings flopping. Stephen almost laughed. She looked more like a giant mutant fairy than an angel.
Now that the show was over, thanks and congratulations offered, the flock stood grazing at tables laden with Christmas cookies and hot apple cider. Eunice was smiling, Timmy at her side, but Stephen recognized fatigue when he saw it. At a guess, he’d say the adrenaline rush had worn off and collapse was near at hand. Paul was busy serving punch to the mayor and his wife.
Stephen made his way through the crowd. His gaze met hers, and he felt a shock of awareness heat his blood. It always caught him off guard. He hoped she didn’t have a clue how much he admired her. He didn’t want her to put up walls and withdraw from their friendship. “Hey, sport, how’re you doing?” he said to Timmy. “What do you say we go get a gingerbread cookie before they’re all gone? Unless your mother nixes the idea.”
“Mommy?”
Smiling, she ran her hand over his slicked-back hair. “Go ahead.”
Stephen took two cookies and filled an extra cup of punch, but when he turned, he saw that Paul had signaled his wife to join him with the mayor. Eunice rose from the chair where she’d been sitting with the Masons and threaded her way through the crowd to shake hands and offer greetings to Paul’s illustrious guests. When Eunice looked around, Stephen raised his hand so that she spotted him. He pointed down. Timmy was still safe at his side. She smiled and beckoned.
“Do you want to meet the mayor, Timmy?”
“No. I want to go back and sit with Sam and Abby.”
Dead set on that, Timmy took off. Stephen shrugged and pointed again. Timmy was already sitting between the Masons. Stephen followed and handed Abby Mason the cup of punch he’d poured for Eunice. “Quite a crowd tonight.”
“Over three hundred,” Samuel said. “Some standing.”
“I was one of them.”
“We were here an hour early or we wouldn’t have gotten a good seat,” Abby said.
Samuel put his arm on the back of Timmy’s chair. “The fire marshal was here and chewing his nails. If he wasn’t a member of the church, he’d have to cite us for violations.”
“Might be better if they put on the performance two days running.”
Samuel nodded. “I think so.”
“Too bad we don’t have a bigger church building.” When Samuel raised his head, Stephen grinned and lifted one hand. “Not that I’m looking for work, mind you. It was just a thought.”
Abby smiled tightly. “A thought I’m sure has occurred to Paul Hudson.”
“Abigail. We wanted growth.”
“Growth, yes, but—” Samuel cleared his throat. Abby closed her parted lips and said no more.
Amused, Stephen drew a chair from one of the rows and sat with them. He looked between the two elderly people. “I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“What?” Samuel said, bemused.
“A man able to silence a woman without saying a word.”
Abby slapped his knee. “You’d do well to take a few lessons from my husband instead of trying to stir up mischief.”
Stephen grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“My wife is seldom quiet for long,” Samue
l said with a chuckle.
Stephen leaned back. “Do you think we should keep the church small?”
“Depends on how you define small,” Samuel said.
Paul had complained about the elder’s caution several times over break-fast at Charlie’s. “Say fewer than three hundred.”
Samuel looked at him. “God has never been concerned with numbers, Stephen. He’s concerned with focus and the heart. Growth in numbers is a blessing as long as spiritual growth and maturity come along with it.”
Stephen nodded. “I agree, but sometimes growth comes fast. Remember, the church gained three thousand members in one day during Pentecost.”
“Yes—” Samuel smiled—“and Christ had reared 120 individuals for leadership. They had lived with Jesus, heard His teachings, seen what it meant to live by and practice faith. The Holy Spirit came upon them as they were praying together in that upper room, and it was through the Spirit of the Lord that hearts were stirred that day. It wasn’t because of a good show.”
Stephen felt his hackles rise. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have programs like this?” He jerked his head toward the stage, thinking of how hard Eunice must have worked to bring it all together.
“Not at all,” Samuel said, and Stephen felt the probing behind the elder’s look. “Clearly, Eunice’s motivation was to put together a program to please the Lord. Anyone who knows her also knows she loves the Lord and seeks to serve Him. And everyone who attended tonight heard the heart of the gospel, Jesus Christ, proclaimed in every song and scene. The birth of mankind’s Savior is the reason for celebration. Eunice is a prime example of the right focus and heart I’m talking about.”
Others joined them, steering the conversation to weather, visiting family members, holiday plans, Christmas shopping, and complaints about prices. Stephen found his attention wandering until Abby leaned close. “As babies grow, they need something more than milk, Stephen. They need meat.” She patted his knee as though he were a little boy. “And now that the men are talking football, it’s time for me to see what needs to be done in the kitchen.”
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