by Neta Jackson
Nick felt warmed by her affirmation. But he realized they were only a few blocks from the shopping center and he wanted to ask her something. “Uh, Sister Avis, I noticed that the membership covenant Pastor Cobbs gave me talks about being baptized as a requisite to becoming a member. Can you say more about that?”
Avis glanced at him thoughtfully. “We practice ‘believer’s baptism’—that is, someone old enough to make a genuine decision to follow Jesus. Not really tied to age. Depends on the person’s understanding. Sometimes a young person, sometimes an adult.”
“And membership at SouledOut?”
Avis didn’t answer immediately, concentrating on pulling into the parking lot of the Howard Street shopping center and finding a parking space near the church. She shut off the motor and turned to him. “The covenant emphasizes baptism first, because the most important thing is becoming a member of the family of God—the body of Christ. Not just a member of a particular church.”
“But getting baptized doesn’t make you a Christian. It’s the heart commitment to Jesus, the decision to accept His gift of forgiveness and salvation.”
She smiled. “You’re right. But as you know, in the New Testament, as soon as someone believed, they were baptized. And Jesus told His disciples to make more disciples and baptize them. So . . . baptism is being obedient.”
Nick fiddled with the door handle. “What if someone has been a Christian for a while but didn’t get baptized . . . or maybe they were baptized as an infant. What is SouledOut’s position on that?”
“As an infant? Were you—?”
“No, no. I was baptized as a teenager. Fourteen. Just wondering is all.”
“Infant baptism. Hmm. I certainly have friends who were baptized as infants in their denomination who have a vibrant faith. But not everyone. For some it was a meaningless ritual. So it might depend on the person . . . but as for someone who became a Christian but hasn’t been baptized yet, I’d say to them—let’s do it! What are we waiting for?”
Nick was tempted to laugh. That sounded like Kat. “Let’s do it! What are we waiting for?” “Thanks, Sister Avis.” Ha! He got it right that time. “Oh, one more question . . . if someone wanted to get baptized at SouledOut, how would they go about it? I mean, how long a process is it? Could they do it right away?”
A slightly knowing smile touched Avis’s lips. “Well, the pastors usually meet with the person to talk about the meaning of baptism and to be sure that the person is making—or has made—a genuine faith declaration in Jesus. We usually wait until there are two or three people who want to get baptized and then schedule a baptism at the lake. It’s always a very joyful experience.”
Wait? Nick’s heart sank a little as they got out of the car and headed for the doors of SouledOut. He wished he knew what Kat really thought about becoming a member this Sunday— and getting baptized. Then he could bring it up tonight in the meeting with Pastor Cobbs and see if that was possible. But . . . no. He needed to talk to Kat first.
Two hours later Nick opened the passenger side door of Mrs. Douglass’s Camry and sank into the front seat. “Wow,” he said, buckling his seat belt as she started the car and pulled out of the parking space. “That . . . was quite a meeting. I mean, I really appreciated the prayer time before we even talked about anything. Most meetings I’ve been in at various churches ‘open’ with a prayer, but nothing like that.”
The three of them—well, Pastor Cobbs and Sister Avis, mostly—had just worshipped God for a good ten or fifteen minutes, no requests, before asking God for guidance and wisdom as they pastored the church in the coming months. The experience had filled him with awe, as if they indeed had been ushered into God’s throne room. They’d made him feel so included in the prayers, part of the team, even though he’d been too choked up to speak into the prayers.
“How are you feeling about the sermon themes for the summer?”
“The sayings of Jesus surrounding His death and resurrection? Awesome. Pastor’s sermon yesterday about Jesus’ prayer for unity among the disciples was a great kickoff.”
“And your first assignment?”
Pastor Cobbs had given him Jesus’ interaction with Peter on the beach after the resurrection. Nick nodded. “I’m excited. Can’t wait to really dig into the text.” He gave her a sheepish glance. “Okay, scared spitless too.”
She laughed. “You are going to do just fine.”
They said good-bye on the second-floor landing of the three-flat, and Nick used his key to let himself into the apartment as she continued on up the stairs to the third floor. It had been a good meeting, and he was starting to get a feel of what might be expected of him as an intern—though Pastor Cobbs had warned him that Robert Burns’s famous quote about the “best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men” was doubly true for pastors. One never knew who or what would come walking through the church door on any given day, sending orderly plans into a tailspin.
But he felt drained, even if it was only nine twenty. The day had started early with his run along the lake, and hitting the sack early would feel good.
“Oh, yay, you’re back!” Kat finished a text she was sending on her cell phone and scrambled off the couch. “There’s something I want to talk to you—oh.” She must’ve seen the look on his face because she stopped short. “Rough meeting?”
He dropped into the padded armchair. “No . . . meeting was great. Just tired. Was thinking about hitting the sack.”
“Oh.” Kat’s features fell. “I was hoping . . . well, this is kinda important, but . . . guess it could wait. Except I just got my new schedule for July and I have to work the evening shift tomorrow.” Her face brightened. “What if I fix you a mango smoothie? We’ve got a ripe one. Would that perk you up for ten minutes?”
Tempting. “Make that mango-pineapple, and I’ll give you fifteen.”
“Done!” Kat headed for the kitchen. “Oh, I hear Bree. Good. That’s three. Tell Rochelle, will you? Just don’t wake Conny. I’ll make smoothies for all of us.”
Brygitta came in the door and was cajoled with the same smoothie offer. So it wasn’t just him and Kat? Even though Nick didn’t know what this was about, he’d assumed . . . what? Maybe hoped—hoped for more time to talk, just the two of them. But five minutes later Kat brought four tall glasses brimming with creamy-gold liquid into the living room and passed them out.
“Mm, good.” Rochelle, curled up on one end of the couch in a big, roomy sleep shirt, sucked on the straw in her smoothie. “And no, didn’t have any luck job hunting today, so don’t ask. What’s up with you, Kat?”
Kat set her own smoothie on the coffee table and leaned forward, arms resting on her knees. “I want to ask you guys a favor . . . Come visit a food pantry with me.”
That’s what this was about? Nick felt a brief stab of disappointment.
“What in the world for?” Bree’s face was a comical mix of puzzlement and here we go again. “What’s a food pantry— upscale Dumpster diving?” She rolled her eyes.
Rochelle gave Bree a dark look. “Don’t make fun. A lot of poor people depend on the food pantries. But . . .” She eyed Kat. “If this is about me and Conny eating your food without paying, just say so, okay? I am trying to get a job so I can contribute to the food expenses.” Frowning, she stirred her smoothie with the straw so hard it bent.
“No, no, no. This has nothing to do with you or our food budget or anything. See . . .” And Kat went on to explain how she’d wanted to talk to Edesa Baxter about teaching a nutrition class together, but so far all they’d done was go on a fake shopping trip with Estelle Bentley’s cooking class at Manna House, which she’d found embarrassing. “But on Sunday Edesa suggested visiting one of the food pantries in the area, maybe even volunteering. She said food pantries were a surer way of getting food to people who need it than, uh . . .” Kat floundered.
“Than Dumpster diving?” Bree was enjoying this. “Well, finally, someone has talked some sense into you.”
Nick listened. Why was it so important to talk to all of them about this? Usually if Kat got a bright idea, she’d just do it and then announce it to the rest of them. And . . . what did her quest to study what the Bible said about Jesus and food have to do with this?
“So, do you want our blessing or something?” Bree shrugged, slurping her smoothie. “I say, fine, go for it. Sounds like right up your alley.”
Kat took a deep breath. “Actually, I want you guys to come with me. There’s one at Rock of Ages Church not too far from here.” She still hadn’t touched her smoothie. “I mean, it would be really helpful to talk it over with someone, and you three are my current family, probably know me better than anyone. The Rock of Ages food pantry is open on Wednesdays, four to eight. I work the afternoon shift at the coffee shop that day, but I get off at five. So does Nick. And you work morning shift that day, Bree. And Rochelle doesn’t have a job yet. So maybe we could all—”
“Slow down, girl.” Rochelle’s forehead puckered into a frown. “I’ve seen my fill of food pantries the last few months, and I’m trying to get my act together so I don’t need to go there. So maybe count me out.”
Kat nodded slowly. “Okay. I can understand that. But if you change your mind, your perspective would be— Oh, sorry.” Kat’s cell phone sitting on the coffee table pinged with a text message. She looked at it, then shut it off. “What about you, Nick? Bree?”
“Hmm. I’ll think about it.” Bree yawned.
But Nick nodded. “I’ll go with you, if you can wait till I get home from work. Except I’m supposed to cook supper Wednesday night.”
“I’ll trade with you for Thursday,” Rochelle piped up. “I’ll make something in the Crock-Pot so you all can eat whenever.”
Kat gave Nick a happy smile. “Thanks, Nick.” She stood up. “Okay, my fifteen minutes are up. See, I keep my promises.”
Rochelle gave Kat a hug on the way to her bedroom. “Thanks for understanding.”
Bree gave her a hug too. “Sorry I sounded snippy. I know this is important to you. It’s just . . . hard to keep up with you sometimes.” The two girls hugged a few moments longer, then Bree headed for the bathroom.
Nick waited until it was just the two of them in the living room. “Kat? I wanted to ask you something too—about becoming members on Sunday. I’d like—”
“Can’t.” Kat shrugged. “Haven’t been baptized. Not even the baby thing. I texted my parents and asked. Here’s my mom’s reply.” She picked up her cell, found the text message, and showed it to him.
It read: No. You aren’t getting involved in some cult, are you?
Chapter 15
Acrack of thunder rattled the windows of The Common Cup and startled Kat just as she was putting the lid on a mocha decaf for a woman in a rumpled business suit. Some of the hot liquid spilled, wetting the dollar bills the woman had laid on the counter. “Oh! I’m sorry.” Kat grabbed a damp cloth and dabbed at the dollar bills. “I’ll make you a new mocha.”
“Never mind,” the woman said, drumming her fingers. “I don’t have time . . . Here, I’ll put the lid on. Keep the change.” Snapping on the lid and grabbing the tall cup, the woman marched quickly out the door, casting an anxious eye at the darkening sky.
Kat made a face at Billy the Kid, her nickname for the other barista on her shift, a twenty-year-old with fake blond stand-up hair, a lopsided grin, and flirty eyes. “Win some, lose some, I guess.”
He picked up the bills from the counter and opened the register. “I’d say you won this one. She put down a dollar too much. Lucky you.”
Kat snatched the extra dollar and put it in the tip jar shared with all the staff and glanced at the wall clock. Four thirty! Why did it have to threaten rain just as she was about to get off work? She’d been planning to dash home, meet Nick, and walk to the food pantry. But if it was going to rain . . .
It did rain. Buckets. At five o’clock Kat whipped off her apron and pulled out her cell. She hit a speed dial number and the phone rang once . . . twice . . . “Nick? Thank goodness I caught you. I’m going to go straight to the Rock of Ages Church to save time. Are you still coming? . . . No, I don’t want to wait till next week! The rain will probably let up soon, usually does . . . Okay. See you.”
But her relief person was late. “Sorry. The rain . . .” The girl brushed past Kat, hustled into the back room to dump her stuff, and then came out again to take up her place at the counter. “Who’s next?” she chirped.
Well, at least the hard rain had rolled on and it was only a drizzle now. The air was warm and muggy. Popping up the small umbrella she kept in her backpack, Kat walked quickly, dodging puddles, squinting through the drizzle at street signs, from time to time stepping into a doorway to check the Google map of the neighborhood she’d printed out.
She’d called the church yesterday and actually talked to the woman who oversaw the food pantry, a Beatrice Wilson, sounded African American. When Kat said she’d like to visit the pantry to find out what they do—she’d introduced herself as a member of SouledOut Community Church to make the visit sound more official—the woman had asked if she could come by earlier, before the pantry opened at four, but had reluctantly acquiesced when Kat said she didn’t get off work until five. “Don’t know how much time I’ll have to talk,” she’d said. “Sometimes we get real busy.”
Kat felt a little guilty saying she was a member of SouledOut— though a week ago the word to her simply meant “my church.” Once she’d decided to attend SouledOut regularly, she thought of herself as a member—a new member, sure, but there. Now it seemed so complicated, having to get baptized and everything.
Well, she couldn’t think about that now because . . . here she was.
Kat tipped her umbrella back and gazed at the brick edifice on the corner of two residential streets. Rock of Ages wasn’t a large church and looked a bit worse for wear. Could use a paint job around the stained-glass windows. A sign on the front doors—also in need of paint—said “Food Pantry Wed 4–8 Side Door” with a large arrow pointing around the corner.
She looked up and down both streets, but no sign of Nick. Well, she wasn’t going to wait in the rain. She followed a Hispanic woman with two little girls through the side door— and found herself squeezing into a crowd of people packed into a small vestibule.
“Number thirty-two!” a burly man standing at an inner doorway called out.
The crowd jostled as a woman with a thick black braid down her back and wearing an Indian tunic and trousers threaded her way through the crowd and disappeared through the doorway. Kat noticed that the Hispanic mother she’d followed was signing in at a table just inside the door and getting a number. She sidled up to the table as the woman left and spoke to the white-haired white lady on the other side. “Is Beatrice Wilson here?”
The woman nodded. “Back in the pantry, helping people. Are you a volunteer? We’re shorthanded today. I think someone forgot to send out the new July schedule.”
For a nanosecond, Kat considered saying, “Yes.” That’d be one way to get a feel for the food pantry, by jumping in! But she didn’t have a clue what to do. She shook her head. “Sorry. If you get a chance, just tell Mrs. Wilson that Kathryn Davies from SouledOut Community Church is here.”
“I can’t leave the table in case someone else comes in. Tell that gentleman by the door. Maybe he can get word to her.”
Kat felt somewhat daunted by the number of bodies between the table and the burly man at the inner door. When he called out, “Thirty-three!” she decided to wait until Nick arrived. Maybe the crowd would have thinned by then.
“Is it always this crowded?” she asked the white-haired lady.
“Oh, we often serve a hundred or more families on Wednesday—though on good weather days, most of them wait outside. But the rain today brought them in . . . Oh, hello, Mrs. Montoya.” The woman greeted a newcomer. “So glad to see you again.”
Kat turned from the table—and found herself face-to-face with Nic
k grinning at her. And Rochelle. And Bree.
“What? I thought only Nick was coming! And . . .” Kat looked them up and down. “Hey, no fair. You guys are dry.”
Nick laughed. “We hitched a ride with Peter Douglass. He left work the same time I did and gave me a lift. Rochelle and Bree were waiting for me in the foyer, but it was still raining so Mr. D said he’d drop us off on his way to some business appointment . . . Uh, maybe we should get out of the way here.”
The four of them squeezed around the crush of damp bodies until they were standing against the wall of the vestibule. Kat gave Rochelle and Bree quizzical looks. “So what made you two change your minds?”
Rochelle shrugged. “Like you said. Whatever’s pulling your chain about food pantries, you might need my perspective. And like Nick said, Peter has a business appointment this evening, so Mom was happy to have Conny for company.”
“I just came along for the ride,” Brygitta confessed. “Didn’t particularly want to eat Rochelle’s Crock-Pot supper by myself.”
Kat grinned. “Whatever. Glad you’re here. Though I’m not sure we’re going to get a chance to talk to Mrs. Wilson—”
“You folks from SouledOut Community?” The man Kat had noticed calling numbers loomed up beside them, two hundred fifty pounds at least, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down his back. They nodded. “We’re pretty shorthanded here today. Sister Beatrice wants to know if you could give us a hand for an hour or so. If one of you will take over at the registration table, Miss Sylvia can take the rest of you back into the pantry and tell you what to do.”
Kat couldn’t believe it. “Sure! Right, guys?” She raised her eyebrows hopefully at her housemates, who all looked at one another and shrugged.
Leaving Brygitta at the registration table—“Just come back and check on me,” she hissed at Kat nervously—the other three followed the white-haired lady through the inner door and into a large room filled with shelves and tables. Canned goods and nonperishable items were stacked on shelves along two walls. Another wall contained folded clothing marked by size and type—Infant 0–18 mos . . . Children’s Tops . . . Women’s Sweaters Lg . . . Men’s Sport Shirts Misc—and a rack with hanging clothes. Two large freezer chests sat along a third wall, and in the middle were tables with baskets of bread and baked goods, fresh fruit, and vegetables. Kat’s eyes widened. Whoa.