Doug looked to be in his thirties and was a hair shorter than Kelli, with one of those faces that seemed to always be smiling. “Cedric tells me you’ve been job hunting, looking for something in the area of public relations and communications?”
“Yes, the search has been harder than I anticipated. Most companies simply aren’t hiring, and those that are want three- to five-years’ experience.”
“Been there. Went through the same thing out of school. You just want to scream, ‘Somebody, please give me a chance.’”
“Exactly!” Kelli wagged a finger. “Haven’t tried the scream yet. Maybe I should.”
“Our communications staff is basically Waylan, Karen, and me, and we’re overworked. We’d love to hire a full-time communications assistant, but it’s currently not in the budget. We can bring someone on board part-time, though.” His smile turned apologetic. “Is that something you’d be remotely interested in?”
Kelli’s face lit up. “Absolutely. I’d love to be part of the team. That is, if you find me suitable.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you sit in on the meeting, get a feel for some of what we do, chip in if you want. Afterward, we’ll talk a little more.”
Everyone moved to a seat at the oblong table in the middle of the room, pens and pads in front of them, along with coffee cups and water.
Doug spoke first. “We scheduled this meeting to play catch-up. By the looks of things, this ministry for young men has tapped into a felt need. Not only was the first day of sign-ups huge, but we’ve fielded a lot of calls since from people interested in participating.”
“That’s incredible,” Cedric said. “So what are you thinking we need to do next?”
“Initially, we thought we’d start with the usual—the printed brochures and flyers we gave you, an information page on the church website. But with this kind of interest, we want to ramp it up. Roll out the ministry with a dedicated web presence like we do for our teen ministry. Plus we’d like to shoot a video that’ll play on the site’s home page.”
Cedric was nodding. “I’m tracking with you. Very cool.”
“What are you thinking for the video?” Scott asked.
“From what you two have told us,” Doug said, “one of the central themes for the ministry is choices. Guys between eighteen and twenty-five are faced with choices that could impact them for the rest of their lives, and the ministry aims to help them make the right ones. Am I right?”
“Exactly,” Scott said. “In fact, we’re planning to kick it off with a series of speakers who will share their own stories of choices they’ve made, some good, some bad, that’ll hopefully inspire the guys to take the right course.”
“Awesome.” Doug scribbled some notes. “So the video could feature snippets of those stories, or maybe just one story.”
Kelli raised a finger, and Doug nodded.
“You could even think about writing a short script and filming a vignette in addition to that. There’s something compelling about seeing a story acted out.”
“I like that a lot.” Doug wrote something in the margin, then looked at Cedric and Scott. “As the leaders, might make sense for one or both of you to share some of your story in the video.”
“That could work,” Cedric said. “We’re planning to speak to the guys, for sure. As long as you don’t think it’ll do any damage to have us old dudes on film.”
Scott looked hesitant. “I don’t know. My wife is still dealing with the residue of my bad choice. Now’s not the time to tell her, ‘Hey, honey, guess what? It’ll be broadcast on video too.’” He shook his head. “Think I’ll stick to speaking in closed sessions with the guys.”
Doug twirled his pen. “That’s totally fine, Scott. We have a lot of options here.”
“Have you all considered a ministry logo?” Kelli asked. “I might be weird for noticing things like that, but I saw that the women’s ministry and the teen ministry had special logos. Might be an added touch that enhances the kickoff.”
Doug looked at Cedric. “Will I have to pay you a finder’s fee? I’m keeping this one.”
Kelli could feel excitement building within and not just because it looked like she might have a job. Right here in the meeting, she heard another song in her head . . . a love letter to young men.
twenty
BRIAN AND MONICA STROLLED THE FESTIVAL GROUNDS in the Lake of the Ozarks, only a hint of sunlight left in the day. It had been a long one. Monica’s tour bus had rolled into St. Louis at ten in the morning, and Brian and his road manager, Nate, hopped aboard for the three-hour trip west. They’d both performed individually at the festival, then wowed the energetic crowd of thousands with the song they recorded for Monica’s upcoming album. They ended the evening watching other artists perform and enjoying the vibe among the crowd.
“Ooh, cotton candy!” Monica tugged on his arm, a grin across her face. “Brings back memories. Let’s get some.”
“Definitely brings back memories.” He could hear Kelli squealing about it, back when the carnival would come to town. They’d share a stick, pulling puffs and stuffing them into their mouths, laughing about their lips turning blue. He shook the memory.
It’s not about Kelli anymore.
They watched the woman swirl the cotton into a big fluff. Monica happily took it. “You gonna get some?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, trying to be happy about it. “I think I will.”
They continued strolling through the crowd, licking sticky fingers, stopping at merchandise booths, occasionally signing autographs. Only one more act to go, a popular band, and they’d decided to stay and hear them. The bus would get back into St. Louis late, then keep going to Nashville.
“You must be excited to be done with the album,” Brian said. “Feel good about it?”
Monica paused by a guy twisting balloons into animal shapes. “I love it. I think it has just the right mix—a little funk, rock, praise and worship. It’s really eclectic. I’ll e-mail it to you.”
“I was wondering why I hadn’t gotten it. Didn’t want to chastise you just yet.”
She laughed. “You knew it was coming.” Her smile faded. “Still can’t believe your friend’s song didn’t make it on there. My producers had found another song that same weekend and thought it was a better fit to round out the album. We’d been battling about other things, so I didn’t want to make that a fight too.”
“Don’t sweat it. It worked out. I’m using the song on my album, a remake of it. Already recorded it.”
“Really? Wow. Can’t wait to hear it. Can you send it to me?”
Brian’s face issued an apology before his words. “Wish I could. We’re waiting until we figure out how we want to share the story behind the song. It’s . . . kind of personal.”
Monica looked puzzled. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Kelli. We recorded it together.”
“Oh.” She looked away. “And you have a personal story to go with the song? I’ve never heard you mention a special person in your life.”
“She’s not . . . I mean, that’s all in the past. She happened to move back to town, and we’re working on this album together.”
“Oh,” she said again. She tried a smile, but it was thin. “Must be why I haven’t gotten a call to sing on the album.”
“Truthfully? I probably would’ve called you if it hadn’t come together this way. But I’ve got several songs to go yet.” He tried his own smile. “So keep your vocal cords warm.”
Monica started walking, and Brian was sure he heard a sigh.
“Monica,” he said, coming up behind her, “talk to me. You’re upset because I haven’t asked you to sing on the album?”
She turned toward him. “I don’t know. That might be part of it . . . feeling like I’m out of the loop.”
“Oh my gosh! It’s Monica and Alien!”
The girl was probably in her early teens.
“Hey, you guys!” She waved her arms to get her friends’
attention. “Come here!”
Brian and Monica looked at one another. The girl hadn’t exactly spoken to them, wasn’t even looking at them, but they knew they needed to wait right there for her friends.
Five other young teens emerged, all of them giggly, braces shining in the evening spotlights as they smacked on chewing gum.
“Can we get your autographs?” The first girl spoke for them, but they all produced their programs. “We love you guys. Like, totally. I can’t even tell you.”
Monica flipped her inner switch and smiled big. “Aww, very cool! You guys are awesome.” She whipped out a black marker and signed each, then passed the marker to Brian.
“We appreciate the support.” Brian handed their programs back. “We couldn’t do what we do without you. Thank you.”
“Can we get a picture too?”
“Of course,” they both said.
The girls flagged down a woman who’d been hanging back, probably mother to one of them. She had her camera at the ready and took at least three shots.
“Facebook it tonight,” one of the girls said.
“And send me copies!” a couple more chorused.
Brian and Monica smiled and waved good-bye, and the mood dialed down quickly again.
She glanced up at him. “We’ve got about ten minutes before the last band comes on. Can we talk?”
He had a good idea where this was going but no idea what he would say. “Sure.”
They walked to the edge of the crowd to claim some quiet space and stood side by side, looking around. Monica finally spoke.
“I don’t really have a problem with not singing on your album.” Her gaze remained on the crowd. “I think it’s the fact that you’re working with Kelli.”
“Why is that a problem?”
Her gaze fell to the ground. “I guess I liked fancying myself as the main girl in your life, the friend you could talk to and hang out with. And I always kind of hoped that one day . . .”
Festival noise abounded, but the awkward silence swallowed it whole.
Brian measured his words. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, Monica, but you actually have been the main girl in my life for a while now, my closest female friend.”
“But . . .” Monica said.
“I really didn’t have a ‘but.’”
Monica looked at him now, exasperated. “Brian, do you not get it? We get along so well. You’re single, I’m single. We’re both in the business. Yet you’ve never once indicated an interest in me beyond friendship. There has to be a ‘but.’ Either you find me unappealing—”
“Oh, Monica, you know that’s not true.”
“—or it’s Kelli.”
“That’s not true either. That writers’ conference was the first time I’d seen or talked to her in years.”
“Doesn’t mean your heart hasn’t kept a primary spot on reserve for her.”
A crease formed in his brow. “I’ve just been focused on school and music. I haven’t had time to think about much else.” He paused. “But I value your friendship. Who knows what the future could hold?”
“Can I be honest with you, Brian?”
“You know you can.”
“It’s hard for me to keep being friends with you, yet having to hide my feelings.” She threw up her hands. “I’m falling in love with you.”
Brian sucked in a heap of air and tried to blow it out under his breath, to hide his shock. He stared into the dark sky, searching his heart for answers he might’ve missed. How did he feel about her? Could he see the two of them in a real relationship?
Seemed a given on so many levels. She was beautiful, kind, talented, serious about her faith, and a good friend. And she was interested in him. Did he need special bells to go off to alert him that she was worth pursuing?
And yet . . .
Was Kelli a factor? How could she be? She’d made it clear they were barely friends.
But what did that matter to his heart?
Maybe Monica knew better than he—his heart had held a place for Kelli, no matter how ridiculous that might be. Or maybe he’d been waiting for someone else to fill it, to become all that Kelli had been to him. Did Monica come close to that? Was it even fair to ask? He didn’t know. But what he knew was that it wouldn’t be fair for Monica to think he felt the same.
His heart sank when he looked at her, her arms folded, wet streaks down her face. He’d never wanted to hurt her. “Monica, you’re my friend. That won’t change.”
“It has to change.” She wiped her face with the palm of her hand. “My heart needs to let go, and the only way to do that is to minimize contact.”
“But your album’s coming out. We’ve got dates on the calendar to perform that song.”
“I know and that’s fine. But talking on the phone, being together like this . . . I can’t do it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything. I’ll be okay.”
The band had come onstage and started to play.
“You want to walk over and listen?”
“No. We should go.”
Without a word they walked back to the area where the buses were. It would be a long and lonely ride to St. Louis. The next days, weeks, and months would probably be lonely too. Maybe one day his heart would get its act together, find room for someone else.
Or maybe . . . maybe one day, if a miracle happened, it would welcome the one person it longed for.
twenty-one
SO, WILL YOU FOREVER BE HEATHER THE ADULTERESS, resigned to hang your head in shame and regret? Is that who you are?”
Heather sat cross-legged on the sofa, bare feet poking out, hair falling forward as she double-checked the verse in her lap. She didn’t know this was in there. She was named among a whole host of what she could call “bad actors”—from idolaters and adulterers to thieves and drunkards. She leaned into the page to read again what it said about them. About her. “And such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.”
“And such were some of you . . .”
Heather looked up at Cyd. “No.” Her voice was bare. “That’s not who I am. I’ve been washed . . .”
She didn’t want to, but she broke down, crying through the pain of what she’d been and the joy of what Jesus had given her— the gift of a new identity.
Kelli draped an arm around her, and Cyd came over from the armchair to sit on Heather’s other side.
“Sweetie.” Cyd handed her some tissues. “I’m so glad you’re seeing who you are in Christ, the ‘new you’ as you like to say.”
Heather wasn’t looking at her, but she could tell Cyd had a smile in her voice.
“Let’s look at your papers and see what you ended up with. You two made quite a list.”
Heather dabbed her eyes and took her paper from the coffee table. Cyd had told them to write I am at the top of a page, then jot down anything they could spot during the study that made up their new identity. She called it their “new who.”
Heather and Kelli had made a contest out of it. She leaned over now to look at Kelli’s paper.
“Nope.” Kelli hid it. “First let’s see who has the most, then we can swap and add the ones the other has.”
Heather smiled. “Okay, here’s my list. I am . . . forgiven, loved, redeemed, blessed, a child of God, saved, a witness, an ambassador, protected, accepted, adopted, more than a conqueror, salt and light, free, delivered, a bond servant, an alien and a stranger”—she glanced pointedly at Kelli—“and a new creation—woo!”
“Woo-hoo!” Kelli and Cyd sent cheers up.
Kelli was looking at her paper. “You had a few that I didn’t catch. I’ll just tell the ones I didn’t hear you say. I am . . . a believer, born again—”
“I can’t believe I didn’t have those!” Heather wrote them down.
Kelli kept going. “—a slave to righteousness, a citizen of
heaven, set apart, a living stone, and His workmanship.”
Heather shook her head. “This is mind-boggling. Just one of those ‘new whos’ is enough to get excited about. To know that I’m all those things?”
“And more. Those are just the verses we had time to cover.” Cyd closed her Bible. “I want you to keep your list close and read over it now and then to get it down deep. The enemy will try to make you feel guilty about your past, and he’ll use your own thoughts or he’ll use other people. But if you know who you are, he won’t succeed. Got it?”
“Got it!” they said.
“Ready to pray?”
“Cyd, first . . .” Heather could feel the nerves inside. “I don’t know how to say this, but . . . last week at the mall, I noticed the tension between you and Dana, because of me. I just wanted to say I’ve gotten a lot out of just these two times we’ve met. I think I’ll be fine studying on my own from here.”
Cyd’s eyes were soft, sympathetic. “Heather, you don’t even have a church home. I love your heart, but I’m looking forward to spending more time with you and covering more ground. Discipleship isn’t an overnight process.”
“I feel so bad, though. What do you do when you’ve played a part in devastating someone like that? I know I can’t go to her and apologize.”
“This is one of those hard realities,” Cyd said. “You know you’re forgiven. You know you’re a new creation. But sometimes we still have to deal with the consequences of the past. Honestly? Dana may never like you. And no, I would not advise going to her.” Cyd made a face that said it would not be a wise move. “But you can always pray for her. In fact”—she nodded as she thought about it— “that would be awesome.”
The suggestion moved Heather. “I like that. I’d like to start right now.” Heather thought a moment. “And I have something else. My mother’s having a fiftieth birthday party tonight, and I don’t really want to go. When she and her friends start drinking . . . it’s a scene I can do without.”
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