Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489)

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  This morning the pastor rose. “Today we’ll focus on Psalm 46,” Pastor Phil said, allowing people time to open their Bibles. “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam. . . .”

  Lana’s mind drifted, and the source of her guilt edged into her consciousness. Her age-old problem. She tried to be her own refuge and strength. Her own help in time of trouble. And she rarely felt eager to help anyone else. What would life be like if she were like her sister, always helping the needy and concerned about others. . .like stray—?

  “ ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’ ” Pastor Phil’s words struck Lana’s ears like a jackhammer, as if God Himself had pinned her to the chair. She ruefully recognized that she wasn’t still very often. She preferred to direct everyone else’s traffic as well as her own. She needed to remember those words. “Be still, and know that I am God,” she whispered.

  Scowling, Barb hissed in her ear. “Shush. You may think you’re God, but don’t tell everyone around you.”

  Lana’s heart jolted. Had she said the words aloud? She slid lower in the pew and kept her lips sealed.

  Near the end of the service, Lana’s distracted thoughts settled on her very empty stomach. Fearing she’d be late for church, she had neglected to eat breakfast. To add to her emptiness, Mark seemed nowhere in sight.

  But Pastor Phil came forward, as if God considered Lana’s concern, and addressed the congregation. “This morning I’m happy to introduce you to our long-awaited youth director, Mark Branson. Mark is ready and eager to begin working with our young people.” He scanned the congregation, a look of apprehension on his face. “Mark?”

  Lana’s heart sank. Had Mark overslept or, worse yet, died during the night from her dinner?

  The pastor’s face brightened, and Mark came down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary. When he turned to face the congregation, Lana’s heart tripped over itself. He looked terribly handsome in gray slacks and a navy blazer with a gray and navy tie against his white shirt—a dramatic contrast to the jeans and casual shirt he’d been wearing when she first met him.

  “Thank you, Pastor Phil,” he said, his eyes filled with pleasure as he scanned the worshipers. “I’m looking forward to getting to know the young people of this congregation. Young people are filled with untapped energy and spirit. I think together we can build a strong youth organization here. I ask for your prayers as I begin my ministry.”

  The congregation applauded as Mark retreated down the aisle. After the final hymn, Lana worked her way toward the exit with Barb on her heels, both anxious to get some food. Before Lana reached the foyer, Mark’s voice wrapped around her thoughts like waxed paper on a sandwich.

  “If it isn’t Miss Doody. Great to see you here. Where’s your fancy costume?”

  For the second time that morning, she felt pinned to the spot. “At home on a hook.” She faced Mark’s amused gaze which, at the moment, looked even more appealing than a honey-baked ham. “Surprised to see me?” she asked.

  “I am. What are you doing here. . .besides worshiping, that is?”

  “This is my church. I’ve been a member here for years.”

  He looked puzzled. “You never mentioned it.”

  “No. I would have except I had to answer my smoke alarm.” She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  “Now that I think about it, you did leave me hanging that day.”

  His taunting eyes ruffled her emotions again. “You mean choking. I tried calling yesterday afternoon to thank you again for opening my door.”

  He sent her a heartwarming grin. “Sorry I missed your call.”

  “I still feel badly about that dinner. You look great today,” Lana said.

  “Don’t feel guilty. Like I said, I’m sorry I didn’t mention my peanut allergy. You said dinner, so the problem hadn’t entered my mind.”

  “I’ll know next time.” Uneasy, she focused on the beige tweed carpet.

  “Next time? Now that sounds promising.” He slid his hand into his jacket pocket. “Did you want to set a date?”

  Her pulse kicked like a mule, and she raised her head, hoping she could hide her attraction. “I was speaking figuratively. Right now, I’m on my way to breakfast.” She scanned the crowd looking for Barb. “But I’ve lost my sister, it seems.”

  “I’m sure she hasn’t gone far.” He gazed over the milling worshipers, then faced her again. “Breakfast? Sure that’s a great offer.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and ran it through his hair.

  “Offer?” She laughed. “You mean you’re coming along?”

  “Why not? It sounds safe. No peanuts.”

  She rested her fingers on his arm. “Will you ever forgive me?”

  “You were forgiven when I saw your horrified expression. No words needed.”

  No words needed. The Bible said God forgave like that. But the Bible also talked about repentance, and until she could lasso some patience and compassion, forgiveness seemed hopeless. “Let me find Barb,” Lana said, distracted by her thoughts.

  As she walked through the church’s front door, Lana spotted her sister in a circle of friends.

  “Do you mind if we skip breakfast?” Barb asked when Lana caught her attention. “Jenny invited me to her place for brunch.”

  “That’s fine,” Lana said, hoping she could come up with some interesting conversation at breakfast rather than revealing all her idiosyncrasies and flaws. She wished she were a woman worthy of spending time with a kindly, handsome youth director.

  “Ready?” Mark asked, slipping behind her.

  “Barb’s going to brunch with friends,” she said.

  “No problem. Why not ride with me, and I’ll bring you back for your car?”

  She nodded and followed him to the parking lot, admitting his safety seemed more guaranteed in a restaurant than at her house. Between the burnt biscuits and peanut poisoning, she’d become a human danger zone.

  ❧

  Mark placed his menu on the table and watched Lana peruse the breakfast choices. He’d never seen her in a dress before. Around the house she wore jeans or slacks and knit tops, but today, she’d donned a dusky blue dress with a navy stripe that accentuated the gray of her eyes—a violet gray like heather.

  “What are you going to have?” he asked. “I’m ordering bacon with the mile-high stack of pancakes.”

  She sent him a wry grin. “That’s because you’re a mile high. I’m a shrimp, but that’s not on the menu.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and refocused on the menu. “I think I’ll have a two-egg omelet with an English muffin.”

  “You’ll waste away.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She slid the menu onto the table and sipped the coffee, her gaze searching his as if she had questions to ask.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “Just wondering.” Her fingers circled the cup.

  “Wondering what?”

  “About you. What made you decide to be a Christian youth worker, for example?”

  “That’s a funny story,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d planned to be a coach and phys ed teacher. I loved gym class in high school.” His mind flew back to his folks’ frustration with his low marks in math but straight As in phys ed.

  “You must have done well in other subjects since you made it through college.”

  “I wasn’t too bad,” he said, “but I worked hard for some grades. . .like math.”

  “Math wasn’t my favorite either.” She leaned forward on her elbows and grinned. “You still haven’t answered me. Why did you become a youth director?”

  “When I headed for college, my parents weren’t thrilled with my phys ed choice, but I was determined—do or die. I do have an occasional flaw.”

  “Really. I can add that to your unwillingness to carry the EpiPen.”

  �
�It’s the same problem. I’m stubborn at times.”

  Her face brightened. “Glad to hear I’m not the only sinner.”

  “Not by a long shot,” he said, pushing away the list of his flaws. God knew his flaws, but why admit them to Lana until they were evident? The thought made him smile.

  “You’re also evasive. Tell me why you became a youth minister.”

  She’d caught him again, and he grinned. “Like I said, I was determined to go into coaching. You know, be a phys ed teacher. But when it was time to go through registration, I stood in line clutching those forms, and a strange sensation came over me. Something inside me gnawed and pushed until my fingers gripped the pen and filled in my classes without my consent.”

  “Huh?” She tilted her head, her face was charged with bewilderment.

  “I felt the same way you look, Lana. Puzzled. Perplexed. All I can say is God’s will pushed my pen that day. I changed my major to leadership and specialized in youth ministry.”

  She gave him a blank stare. “You mean God filled out your college registration?”

  “He pushed my pen. . .but the choice hadn’t been mine.”

  “Are you sorry?” A frown wrinkled her freckled forehead.

  “Not one bit. Youth ministry is my calling. God had to hit me over the head a little, but I finally came to the realization that working with kids in a church setting was what I was meant to do.” Another truth crossed his mind. “And my career strengthened my faith even more than I could imagine.”

  Her frown had vanished, replaced by interest. “So how did your parents feel about that choice?”

  “They loved it. My folks. . .” He halted as the breakfast fare appeared in front of them. He eyed his huge stack of pancakes and slabs of bacon, then focused on Lana’s small omelet and muffin.

  “Anything else?” the waiter asked.

  “You can refill the coffee,” Mark said.

  The young man nodded and left.

  “Would you like me to say the blessing?” Mark asked, taking each of Lana’s hands in his.

  She nodded, and they bowed their heads while he thanked God for the food and their friendship. He gave her fingers a squeeze before he released them. Then he eyed his pancakes and picked up his fork.

  “Thanks,” Lana said, a gentle look in her eyes. She tried her omelet and then cornered him again. “So what about your folks? What did they think about your choice?”

  Mark chuckled at her inquisitiveness. “You mean I don’t even get one bite?”

  “Go ahead. I can wait, but I’m interested.”

  He forked into the pancakes dripping with butter, then after the first bite, added some maple syrup. The next taste left him with a pleasant sweetness clinging to his lips, and his mind drifted to Lana. . .and her lips. Would her kiss be as sweet? Surprised at his mind’s journey, he refocused on the breakfast and pushed the romantic thoughts from his mind.

  When he’d satisfied his hunger, Mark washed the syrup away with hot coffee and returned to Lana’s question. “My folks were active Christians, so they were thrilled when I decided to focus on church work.” He rubbed his neck and chuckled. “I suppose if I’d been a city road worker, they would have been supportive. They’ve always been that way.”

  “Where did you grow up?” Lana asked. “Around here?” A piece of English muffin stood poised in her grasp.

  “In Michigan. We lived in Warren while I was in high school. Now my folks live in Sterling Heights. You know where that is?”

  She nodded. “I grew up in Fenton. My parents are still there, but after college, Barb and I decided to live on our own. I like my independence.”

  “I suspected that,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.

  She nibbled on the muffin, then picked up the napkin and patted her mouth. “So how do you know my neighbor Jim?”

  “Whoa. Let’s talk about you first,” Mark said. “What’s fair is fair.”

  “What’s that mean?” She eyed him with suspicion.

  “What do you mean, what does that mean?” He shook his head. “You made me tell you my life story. Now let’s hear yours.” He delved into the pancakes again, looking forward to a break.

  “I hate talking about me.”

  “Too bad,” he said through his mouthful of pancakes.

  “Just tell me about Jim,” she countered. “Then I’ll talk about me.”

  Remembering her persistence, he swallowed his mouthful and gave in. “Jim and I met in college. We were roommates for a couple of years until I got my own apartment.”

  “He didn’t move with you?”

  “We realized even though we were friends and had some things in common, we had a few things that clashed.” Mark felt the sting of his words. He’d been the one to move out, and when Jim had asked about moving in with him, Mark had suggested it wasn’t a good idea. Jim had been hurt by his decision.

  “How did you clash?” She took another forkful of omelet.

  He knew she’d ask. “He has different beliefs than I do. That’s the main thing.”

  “You mean religious beliefs? I notice he doesn’t seem to go to church.”

  “He doesn’t, but that wasn’t the reason. He drank too much when we were in college. That really bothered me. He seems to handle it better now, but I didn’t want to be around it.” If he were baring his soul, he needed to tell her the whole story. He studied her serious face for a moment before continuing. “To be honest, my faith wasn’t as strong then. I felt myself tempted to follow along. You know, be part of the group.”

  She looked at the tabletop and nodded. “It’s what kids tend to do, isn’t it?” She lifted serious eyes to his. “At least you’ve admitted your failing.”

  “I felt guilty. . .like I should have been stronger. I am now.” He chuckled. Since he was spilling his faults out on the table, he might as well barrel along. “But I’m still not perfect.”

  “Aha. Another flaw. Stubborn, determined, and not perfect. I’m tallying this in self-defense.”

  He grinned, but saw her face grow serious again. “So what about now? You’re staying with Jim.”

  “I tried talking to him when we were in college. It never worked. Now I just offer a few gentle comments, hoping one day it’ll sink in.

  “That’s what you have to do, I suppose. If you push too hard, a person pushes back.”

  She’d spoken the truth. He’d teased her a little about her impatience, but pushing wouldn’t do any good. He’d seen it in himself. Anyway, he had a long way to go with perfection. He hid his private grin. If change happened, it had to be the sinner’s decision with lots of help from the Lord.

  “I’m surprised you and Jim are still friends,” Lana said, nudging her plate away and resting her cheek on her propped-up fist.

  “That’s my fault.” He released his tethered smile. “I don’t like to make enemies or lose friends. He was upset when I moved out, but he got over it. I think he understood in the long run. When I was called to First Church of Holly, I knew he lived in town. I called him, and he offered me a place to stay. He’s a nice guy. . .and like I said, I’m a stronger Christian now. . . even with my faults.”

  A truth struck Mark that he needed to remember. The teens would grow in their faith as they became adults. Working with them, he couldn’t push like he wanted to sometimes. He had to be firm but compassionate.

  He pulled himself from his thoughts and focused on Lana. “Okay. I answered your questions. Now it’s my turn to ask. Tell me why you became a teacher.” He’d wondered about that since she’d mentioned not being fond of teenagers.

  “My parents’ idea.” She blinked a couple times before continuing. “They were willing to help me finance college if I picked a sensible career.” She shrugged. “Teaching seemed sensible to them.”

  “But what about your own interests?” He couldn’t believe she’d become a teacher for her parents.

  “You just told me God signed you up for church work. Why can’t my parents sign me
up for teaching?” A silly grin settled on her face. “Just teasing,” she said. “When I was younger, I thought I wanted to be a nurse. I suppose all kids do. I felt the qualities of a nurse fit my skills.”

  “For sure,” Mark said. “Organization, authority, details. A nurse with the marines. Am I right?” He playfully patted her hand.

  “No,” she said, giving him a ferocious scowl, “but it doesn’t matter. As I said earlier, my math wasn’t great either, and my science was even worse. So I got realistic.”

  “Realistic?”

  “My parents are practical people. Dad is a factory worker in Flint. Automobiles. He worked to provide all our needs, and my mom’s a homebody. I needed to study something sensible.”

  Empathy nudged at his emotions, but her analogy made him chuckle. “So you became a teacher and hate it.”

  “No, not really. I suppose I sound like I hate it. It’s just frustrating. Kids have too many problems and not enough guidance. Mothers and fathers both work while teens are left on their own too much. They want everything handed to them. They don’t want to figure out anything. At least that’s the way it seems.”

  “And that’s why I’m a youth director. Even Christian kids fall into that rut—like I did. They need to find out no matter how busy their parents are, Jesus is walking along with them. God is on their side. If they need help and they can’t talk with their parents, turn to the Lord in prayer. . .or maybe, their youth director.”

  Lana grinned. “My parents would have considered a church youth director practical and sensible too.”

  “What about Barb?” he asked. “What does she do?”

  “She went to business school and works in an office. That’s—”

  “Very sensible,” he said.

  She laughed, but the lightness faded, and in its place, her face shifted to a more serious expression. “I know I drive people crazy with my organization and details. I was the oldest, and my parents emphasized being on time and always doing my best. It just stuck, I guess. When I was a kid, I wanted to please them. Now I can’t seem to forget that need. I’m still trying to please them, but I’m not making myself happy. I get frustrated at my own flaws and inabilities, and I don’t like to deal with disorganized, tardy, abstract people.”