Hidden Blessings

by Kim Cash Tate

  KENDRA PLAYED WITH HER MORNING OATMEAL, HER MIND CYCLING through the day—the day she’d planned for months. Right now, ten in the morning Eastern time, she’d be finishing breakfast with her bridal party, a limo waiting to whisk them to a day spa for massages, manicures, and pedicures. Afterward they’d return to the hotel suite to dress, and a hairstylist and makeup artist would make them gorgeous.

  She tried another spoonful, and the oatmeal mushroomed in her mouth, making her gag. She didn’t know if it was a chemo effect or the nausea that came with any conscious thought of Derek. She swallowed anyway. Gaining strength was the most important thing, or something like that. Lance had given her a pep talk yesterday on food and nutrition during a forced trip to the grocery store. She’d promised to eat well during those times she could eat. And this morning she’d awakened feeling decent, unfortunately. She’d half hoped to feel cruddy as an excuse to sleep through the day.

  One more spoonful.

  The door to the lower level opened as she put it to her mouth.

  “There you go!” Lance was grinning. “Go ’head and eat that oatmeal with your bad self.”

  Kendra scowled. “I hate this stuff.”

  “That’s okay,” Lance said. “You don’t have to love it—”

  “—for it to work for you.” Kendra fake-smiled at him.

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re listening.”

  She watched Lance pull out his camera equipment on the kitchen table. “You’ve got a shoot this morning?”

  “Later today.” He glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, actually. Why?”

  “I thought it’d be fun if we had a photography tutorial.”

  “We who?”

  “You and me.”

  “Why?”

  Lance was attaching a different lens to his camera. “You said you wanted to know.”

  “I said I never learned how to use that one camera.”

  “Which means you wanted to know.” He wiped the lens with a cloth. “Plus you clearly like taking pictures. The shelves in your room are full of them.”

  “I was definitely the one always taking pictures with my little point-and-shoot,” she said, “going way back to elementary.”

  “The point-and-shoot is cool,” he said. “Extremely basic, but cool.” He smiled and shrugged. “If you don’t want a tutorial, that’s fine. Thought it’d be something nice to do today.”

  She eyed him. “You’re not slick. You’re trying to help again.”

  “Help with what?”

  “To get my mind off the would-be wedding.”

  His mouth dropped. “Today was the day?”

  A laugh bubbled inside her. “Okay, Mr. Alexander, I admit I’ve always wanted to go deeper with photography. I just never had time.” She pushed the last of her oatmeal aside and stood, surveying the gadgets. “The question is, what kind of teacher are you?”

  “You’ll get to the point where the first thing you’ll notice in any setting is the lighting,” Lance was saying.

  An hour into the tutorial, Kendra had found a notepad to jot things down, surprised at how much she was learning.

  “Look at the light in here,” Lance said. “Describe it.”

  Kendra lifted her eyes, looking around the living room. “Let’s see . . . all the light is coming from the big picture window, diffused by the sheer white window covering.”

  He nodded. “The bright sun outdoors is filtered through those sheers, which makes for perfect pictures. No harsh shadows.” He grabbed her hand. “Come stand over here by the piano.” He began focusing the camera.

  “You’re not taking my picture, are you? I’m not camera ready.”

  He kept fiddling with his settings. “Do you want to focus on learning or on looking cute?”

  She made a face at him and heard a click. “You didn’t!”

  He brought the camera to her and showed her. “Look at the way the light falls on that face you gave me. Perfect.”

  “So wait, though.” Kendra looked closely at it. “It’s not just the lighting. How’d you get it to look like that?”

  “Remember the triangle I drew for you with exposure, aperture, and speed?”

  Kendra looked back at her notes, nodding.

  “You’ll get to where you have a feel for what the aperture should be in certain lighting, or what the speed should be, to get the look you want.”

  He backed up, adjusted the settings, and took another, then showed her. “See how there’re more shadows in this one? You’ll learn as you play with the settings. The key is to stay away from automatic mode.”

  “But automatic mode is my friend.” Kendra pouted. “I don’t have to fuss with any settings in automatic.”

  “Nope, it’ll do all your thinking for you.” He smiled. “And you won’t learn a thing.”

  Kendra felt herself losing energy and moved to the piano bench. “How did you learn all this, Lance?”

  “Well, after I got out of prison—”

  “Prison?”

  “I told you it wasn’t pretty.” He sat across from her on the sofa. “After I got out I couldn’t find a job, but I was going to this weekly men’s discipleship gathering at Living Word.” His thoughts seemed to go back there. “Turned out one of the men was manager of a camera shop. They needed somebody to do odd jobs, run the printing machines, things like that. I ended up working there five years. They let me learn as much as I could soak up.”

  “When did you know you had a passion for photography?”

  “My first outdoor shoot. I know it sounds weird, but being in nature, capturing its beauty that way . . . It was like worship to me. God came alive.”

  Kendra looked at him. Such a walking paradox. “So, can I ask . . . ?”

  He focused on the camera. “Why I went to prison?”

  She nodded.

  “Short answer . . . drugs.”

  “I know you like those short answers. How about the slightly longer answer?”

  Lance took his time, absentmindedly moving the settings dial. “I didn’t grow up like this, Kendra.” His eyes took in the surroundings. “I grew up in the city, poor, with a mother who was hooked on drugs, so I had to take care of her and myself. When I got bused to Clayton for high school, a whole new world opened up. It was my ticket out. Saw myself going to college. I was gonna get a basketball scholarship.” He smiled faintly. “A few guys from my neighborhood went to Clayton, too, which means some of the neighborhood stuff came along as well. The day of that fight . . .”

  Kendra waited, moved by this vulnerable side of Lance.

  “It started because I found out Dewey, who was my boy, had sold my mother drugs. And he knew I was trying to help her get off them. So I approached him about it at school, and he said . . .” Lance’s voice faltered. He stared downward, then put his camera aside and stood at the window. “He said my mom begged him and offered to sleep with him for payment. And he slept with her. He slept with my mom. I just . . . I snapped.”

  Kendra’s heart reacted at the emotion in his voice.

  “I never talk about this.” Lance faced away from her still. “It’s too hard . . . you know? I’d rather people think I was a thug who got in a gang fight than know the real reason.” He paused several seconds. “I threw the first punch, the other guys jumped in, and Dewey kept at it, talking about my mom in front of everybody. With everything in me, I wanted to knock him out, but I didn’t see Mr. Magnetti jump in. When he fell to the ground . . .”

  Lance blew out a sigh. “So . . . I got expelled. I was distraught, all hope of doing anything in life was gone . . . After a few months at the neighborhood school, I just said forget it. I became the person I said I’d never be—a drug dealer. Didn’t take long for trouble to escalate. Got shot—”

  “Shot?”

  Lance nodded. “Drug deal went bad. The bullet was actually meant for a friend of mine, but I jumped in the way because he’d just had a little baby and—”


  Kendra couldn’t keep up. “What? You took a bullet for a friend? You were willing to die?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Lance said. “My mind was so warped. I probably thought I was invincible. It wasn’t long before I had runins with the law.” He turned. “God was gracious. I could’ve gotten locked up for a long time, but I only did two and a half years, and that was mostly local jail time. That’s where I met Pastor Lyles.”

  Kendra had so many questions. “What about your mom, Lance? How is she?”

  He returned to the sofa with a sigh. “Mom’s in federal prison in Tallahassee.”

  “Are you serious? Oh, Lance . . .”

  “I just saw her last weekend,” he said. “It’s hard. But the crazy thing is she’s seeing God’s purpose in it. She’s off the drugs. And she’s living for the Lord. It’s amazing really.”

  Kendra cocked her head, staring at him.

  “What?” Lance said.

  “I’m seeing why you’re so good at cooking and cleaning . . . and helping. You grew up doing it for your mom.”

  “That’s true.”

  Kendra watched his gaze fall again, the way it did whenever he spoke of his mother or his past. “Thank you,” she said.

  “For?”

  “For sharing all of that with me. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  His gaze met hers. “Actually, for some reason, it was easier than I would’ve thought.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TREY COULD FEEL THE BATTLE RAGING FOR HIS SOUL. THE constant barrage of thoughts. Relentless accusations. Unending pressure. It was getting harder to escape, harder to fight.

  “What are you doing?” Molly blew a bubble, glancing around. “I thought we were headed to my apartment.”

  He’d pulled into a small park near home, cut the engine, and dropped his head on the steering wheel. “I need to think through some things.”

  Fight through was more accurate, except the fight had dwindled. He was tired.

  “Let’s walk,” he said.

  Trey slipped his key from the ignition. They walked past a toddler playground along a short trail to an area of benches. He chose one closest to the waterfall. Over the years, it had become his thinking spot.

  Molly pulled her feet up in front of her on the bench and hugged her knees, staring with him at the waterfall. She knew that in times like this, he didn’t feel much like talking.

  Trey kept his gaze fixed, focused on the crossroads before him. He knew clearly the path of each—and which he should take. But he couldn’t do it in his own strength. Wasn’t God supposed to help him? Why wouldn’t He help him?

  Stop waiting on God, Trey. Don’t you think you’ve waited long enough?

  He definitely had, and he’d told God that.

  I’m tired of waiting, Lord. I’m tired of trying to do everything right, and seeing nothing from You in return.

  He’d cried out to God as he walked across campus this past spring, having just dropped all his classes.

  How many prayers do I have to pray? How much pain do I have to endure? Huh? How is this fair? If You won’t help me, forget it. That’s where I’m at, Lord. I can’t take this anymore.

  He’d made up his mind. He would take the path of least resistance. Smoking and drinking made it easier. Numb the pain. Silence the voices. Stoke his inner rebel until he no longer cared what God thought.

  Why should I care anyway? You don’t care about me.

  Exactly. Trey’s eyes welled. Part of him had hoped that dropping his classes would get God’s attention. Maybe He’d finally show up, do something. So he still waited, in a sense. He’d put boundaries on his current path, to go only so far. So he could easily turn when God tapped him on the shoulder.

  But God was still nowhere to be found.

  This is the path that makes sense. Stop constraining yourself and live.

  Trey turned to Molly. “I’m moving to Atlanta in two weeks.”

  “You’re what?” Her feet dropped to the ground. “How did that come about?”

  “I told you about my high school classmates who are at Emory,” he said. “I might transfer. Meanwhile, they said I could come stay with them and see how I like it down there.”

  Molly shook her head. “You said if you ever look to move away, I should make sure you talk to somebody.”

  “I am talking to somebody.”

  “You know what you said, Trey. One of your Christian friends.”

  Trey waved her away. “That was a year ago. I don’t even hang with them anymore.”

  “Your sister’s here now,” Molly said. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

  “Kendra’s the last person I would talk to.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s never had a real problem,” Trey said. “Everything has always come easy for her: A’s in her sleep, cheerleading captain, gazillion friends—and boyfriends. She wanted to work for one of the biggest law firms in the world. Bam, she got it.” He looked away. “She’d never understand my struggles.”

  “You can’t say she’s never had a real problem. You were supposed to be in DC right now, dancing at her wedding.”

  “Perfect example,” Trey said. “Kendra’s fiancé breaks up with her, and it’s like the world ended—because she’s never been through anything. She comes home, all depressed, even has Lance tending to her.” He shook his head. “In a few months, she’ll be seeing somebody else, saying Derek was never worth anything anyway.”

  “Okay then.” Molly folded her arms. “Talk to Lance.”

  “Why are you on me like this? It’s not a big deal if I move to Atlanta.”

  “We made a pact, Trey Woods.” Molly’s green eyes bored into him. “We said we’d be there for each other. You’ve been there for me when I’ve gotten weak and wanted to start sleeping around again. This is my chance to be here for you. You’re my best friend.”

  Emotion choked her last words.

  “You just had to go there.” Trey moved closer to her on the bench, put his arm around her. “You really care about me, huh?”

  “I love you, you jerk.” She blew a big bubble. “Promise me you’ll talk to Lance. If you end up moving anyway, fine.” She elbowed him. “Promise me.”

  “What am I promising to tell him exactly?”

  “Everything.”

  “What?” Trey rose up, frowning at her. “No way. Come on, Moll.”

  “What’s the point otherwise?” Molly said. “You have to. That was the deal.”

  “Are you sure I wasn’t high when I made that deal?” Trey blew out a sigh. “All right, whatever.” He sighed again. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LANCE HAD PRAYED HE COULD SOMEHOW GET TREY AND KENDRA to church today. But Trey didn’t come home last night, and Kendra woke feeling nauseated and went back to bed. As he drove, he thought more about it, how hard it would be. Trey hadn’t been in over a year, and Kendra in over a decade, plus her sickness made it that much harder. But by the time he got to Living Word, his mind had begun working in reverse.

  Why not bring church to them?

  He walked into the youth building with that one thought, unsure what to do with it. What did it mean? Was it something he’d come up with? Or was it God? When Pastor Lyles had raised the idea of starting a church plant in Clayton, he hadn’t felt led to take it on. He couldn’t see himself at the helm of a new church, trying to fill pews in a building. And he cringed at the thought of his name circulating around Clayton as pastor of a new church. Given his former reputation, the only thing that would start was a boycott.

  But what if they did something in the home?

  Maybe Molly would even come.

  He entered the auditorium where the students had service. The worship band was rehearsing, and he stood there a moment, processing. What if he didn’t think of it as church at all? He was known for meeting friends and strangers alike at the Bread Company, hearing their hearts, talking about life, studying, and in the midst of it all, sharing
the gospel. Why couldn’t the same thing happen at home?

  But how would Mr. Woods feel about that? And what would it look like? Who would even come?

  He thought about the circles Trey and Molly ran in, the friends who were a little wild, or troubled, bucking the conventional side of life. They wouldn’t flock to pews in a building anyway. But maybe they’d come for a meal and fellowship.

  Lance felt a churning inside. He needed to flesh this out with Pastor Lyles, and—“Cyd!”

  Lance didn’t know why he called out to her, but as soon as he saw her walking through the auditorium, the idea popped into his mind. Cyd London lives in Clayton. Her parents had been members of Living Word for three decades. Now in her forties, Cyd had become known herself for a love of discipleship. Nothing was framed in his mind, and yet he already knew he’d be more excited if she were part of it.

  Cyd came near, smiling. “Hey, Lance, we were talking about you last night.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  She laughed. “You know it was all good. We had dinner at my parents’, and Pastor Lyles was raving about you as usual. Then he said something curious—‘Pray about whether the Lord would open a door for Lance to minister in Clayton.’ I wondered what that was about, since you don’t live in Clayton.”

  “Actually, I’m staying at Marlon Woodses’ home,” he said.

  Her eyes lit up. “Really? That’s awesome. Should be really good for Trey.”

  “You’re familiar with the situation?”

  Cyd nodded. “From the Living Word side of things and also, I’m a professor at Wash U. So I know Marlon, and I know Trey’s professors. They’re concerned.”

  “I forgot you teach up there,” he said.

  Lance’s wheels turned all the more.

  “Listen,” he said, “are you and Cedric busy after church? I’d love to talk to you about something.”

  Once Lance and Cyd got talking, the ideas flowed. They’d been sitting at the kitchen table in the Woodses’ home for over an hour. Cyd’s husband, Cedric, had bailed before it started.

  “I know how my wife is when she gets going with something like this,” he had said. “I’m taking the little man home for a nap.”