by Neta Jackson
Michelle was glad she’d arrived early. Her Hope and Healing group didn’t start till ten. Shutting the door of the meeting room, she sank into a comfy chair, poured more hot peppermint tea from the thermos she’d brought with her into her travel cup, and pulled her Bible out of her briefcase. Probably should’ve taken time for devotions at home, but somehow she got busy with laundry and making up the grocery list. Huh. The tyranny of the urgent crowding out the important.
Well, she had a few minutes now. Turning to Paul’s letter to the Philippians, she reread the passage about “do not be anxious about anything,” then she flipped back to the Psalms, searching for something to share with the young women in the post-abortion group. A verse she’d underlined at some point in Psalm 27 stood out: “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”
Fear. That had been a constant refrain in the stories these young women had shared in the group. Fear of an unplanned pregnancy . . . of becoming a single mom. Afraid to have an abortion . . . afraid not to. Fear that parents would find out. Worry about what people would say. Anxiety about the future. Fear that God wouldn’t forgive them . . .
Why had she underlined this verse? Michelle couldn’t remember. But it’d be a good one to share with the group today as a reminder that they didn’t have to live in fear.
Funny thing, though. Even as LaVeta and Ellie and Maria filed in a while later, followed by Denise and Linda, giving each other hugs, showing off the “creative expressions” they were each working on to share at the memorial service next week, Michelle couldn’t shake the feeling that God had led her to that scripture today, not just for these women, but for herself.
* * *
They planned the memorial service for two o’clock next Saturday since Michelle had her monthly women’s ministry event at Northside that morning. But the later time seemed to suit the group, who wanted to invite a few family members and friends. That would be the last meeting for this particular group, which was probably a good thing, since Michelle could tell Hannah West a new group would be starting soon.
Maybe she’d take a couple of Saturdays off and start the new group in July. Each group usually met for nine sessions, which would take them through the rest of the summer. Perfect.
By the time Michelle did her Saturday errands, it was almost three o’clock when she got home, and she was almost shaking with hunger. She’d only had a piece of toast with her tea early that morning, but had decided to save time by doing her grocery shopping on the way home from Lifeline . . . though she knew it wasn’t smart to shop on an empty stomach. She’d probably thrown a few too many “impulse buys” into her grocery cart today.
Jared and Destin had gone out job hunting, but she’d been in touch with the twins by phone . . . Tavis was over at the Bentleys, and Tabby had actually gotten a call from Nicole Singer asking if she’d come down to the house to entertain the kids as a “mother’s helper” for a few hours that afternoon—prelude to babysitting, no doubt. Scrambling a couple of eggs for her late lunch, Michelle was just about to go downstairs to move the laundry when she decided to lie down instead, just for a few minutes, get off her feet . . .
* * *
“Michelle? Honey? You okay?”
She felt someone shaking her shoulder . . . Jared’s voice . . . felt herself swimming up, up, through a deep darkness, up toward the light . . .
Michelle opened her eyes. “What? . . . Oh . . .” She struggled to sit up. “Goodness, what time is it?” She squinted at the bedside clock. “Six fifteen? Can’t believe it. I just laid down for a few minutes . . .”
Hadn’t realized she was that tired.
“Didn’t mean to take such a long nap.” She swung her legs off the bed and slipped her feet into her sandals. Uh-oh, the twins. “Are Tavis and Tabby home?”
Jared nodded. “Yeah. Begging for food. Uh, got any supper plans?”
She followed him out of the bedroom, still shaking sleep from her brain. “Just went shopping—I’ll come up with something.” Okay . . . baked potatoes in the microwave, canned chili and grated cheese on top. Couldn’t get easier than that. But the kids liked it. Opening the refrigerator, Michelle pulled out some cheddar cheese and green onions. “How did the job hunting go?”
Jared shrugged. “We stopped at Starbucks, Mickey-Ds, several other fast-food places, talked to the managers, he filled out applications . . . got the usual ‘we’ll call you if something comes up.’” Her husband shook his head as she handed him some large potatoes to scrub. “I dunno, Michelle. Don’t think the job market’s very good for teenagers right now. But it was a good experience for Destin, I think. He’s going to need to do most of this on his own from now on, but at least he got the idea.”
“Speaking of Destin, where is he?”
Jared handed back the five baking potatoes, scrubbed clean. “Back on the laptop. I told him he needs to show up and apply to at least one place each day after school next week, but he has to get himself there—bus or ‘L’ or even his bike if it’s close.”
“You’re a hard taskmaster,” she teased. But it was good. Destin was a good kid, but he had a lazy streak if it didn’t involve basketball or sports.
Supper was on the table in twenty minutes. She’d added chopped green onions and sour cream to top the hot chili and cheese, and wasn’t surprised when she had to microwave a few more potatoes for her hungry crew.
“How’d babysitting at the Singers go?” she asked Tabby.
Tabby shrugged. “Okay. Wasn’t really babysitting, because both their parents were there, which felt a little weird. Mr. Singer was busy on the phone in the living room and Mrs. Singer was doing . . . something. But I had fun with the kids. They showed me their ‘school’ in the basement—man, do they have a lot of books! We played board games down there for a while, then went out in the backyard, played ‘Mother May I?’ an’ stuff like that.” Then she grinned. “They paid me too.”
Jared nodded his approval. “That’s good. Maybe it’ll turn into a real job.”
“Yeah,” Destin muttered, “then you can pay for your stupid cheerleading camp, like I have to.”
“Da-ad!” Tabby wailed.
“Destin, that’s enough,” Jared barked. “We’re not going to go over that again.”
The phone rang. Tavis and Tabby both jumped up to get it . . . but it was Shareese Watson for Michelle, wanting to check on whether the video series for the summer women’s events was going to be announced in church tomorrow. “I went ahead and made some flyers to hand out, Sister Michelle, hope that’s okay . . .”
* * *
Sunday morning . . . finally in the car and off to church. At the last minute, Jared handed the keys to Destin in spite of groans from the twins. “Dad! Don’t let him practice on us!” Tabby wailed. “I haven’t lived long enough yet!”
“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Jared ordered as he climbed into the front passenger seat. “Everybody buckled up?”
Michelle climbed into the third seat and tuned out. At least she didn’t have to be the “responsible adult” in the front seat. She was too distracted this morning. She’d spent half the evening last night on the phone, making sure everyone on the committee had followed through on their assignments. So far so good . . . Sister Norma had given an enthusiastic thumbs-up on the Discerning the Voice of God video series. Sister Mavis had gotten approval from the church treasurer to purchase the leader kit and had put a rush order on it. It was supposed to arrive by Wednesday of this week. And Sister Gleniece had put an announcement in that week’s bulletin. With Shareese’s flyer—which no one had asked her to do, but would probably be helpful—they should be good to go by next weekend. All she had to do was arrange for a DVD player and projector. Huh. Did the church even have one?
The other half of the evening had been spent washing and braiding Tabby’s hair, which was really getting unmanageable. Taking longer and longer to care for. And
it was time to get her own hair permed again too. Next weekend? Mmm, no, the women’s event at Northside was in the morning, and she had the memorial service for the Hope and Healing group in the afternoon. She’d better make appointments tomorrow for both of them for the Saturday after that.
In spite of some jerky starts and stops—and Tabby squealing, “We’re all gonna die!” when her brother bumped over a curb—Destin pulled into the church parking lot with the minivan still in one piece and a triumphant grin on his face. But by the time he also drove the family home after church—stopping by Eng’s to pick up the Chinese takeout she’d called in while they all waited for Jared to get out of his meeting with Pastor Q and the deacons—Michelle felt ready for a nap. Riding with a teenage driver took more emotional energy than she had at the moment. She needed to recharge her batteries before Estelle Bentley picked her up at five o’clock for the visit to the Manna House shelter that evening.
She never did get a chance to talk to Grace Meredith about what she planned to do and how her sharing would fit, but Estelle had said not to worry, these Sunday night meetings were very informal and she knew God would fit everything together just right. Well, hopefully Estelle Bentley had an inside track on what the Almighty planned to do, because Michelle didn’t feel all that confident.
She’d just kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed when Jared came into the room and flopped down in the bedroom chair, a thoughtful frown on his face. “You okay?” she asked. “Is something wrong?” O Lord, don’t let him get fired from his job or anything . . .
He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. But I uh, wanted to tell you what Pastor Q said to me after the other deacons left the meeting after service. Would like to know what you think.” He scratched his chin absently, as if mulling over what he wanted to say.
She plumped the pillows and sat up against them. Whatever it was didn’t seem like lying-down news. “Okay . . .”
“Well, he said he’d heard a lot of good things about my sermon last week, and told me I should consider going to seminary, get my MDiv, maybe take over the pulpit when he retires down the road.”
Michelle blinked. “Wait . . . take over the pulpit? Do you mean . . . like, quit your job? Go into the ministry?” The idea made her head swim.
Jared threw up his hands. “Back up . . . waaay back. Mainly he was suggesting I consider going to seminary. Forget about the rest.”
“Still . . .” She blew out a breath. “How would you manage that? Not just the money, but even the time. You hardly have time now for”—she almost said, for me, for your kids. But she just finished with—“for life beyond work and church responsibilities.”
He shrugged. “I know. The whole idea sounds crazy to me too. Except that . . . I felt really energized giving that sermon last week. You know I’ve always enjoyed doing ministry. Never really thought about going into the ministry, but . . .” He lapsed again into a thoughtful silence.
Michelle’s thoughts tumbled. Jared go back to school at this stage of their life? Why, Destin would be going to college in a year . . . how were they going to pay for that, much less seminary for Jared? “I hardly know what to say.” They sat in silence for several long minutes. Then she leaned forward. “Except for one thing. It’s really a compliment to you, coming from Pastor Q. I . . . I really wish I’d been here to hear your sermon.”
The doorbell rang. Michelle glanced at the bedside clock. It was only four. She hoped it wasn’t Estelle, wanting to leave earlier.
“I’ll get it.” Jared stood up. “But yeah, Pastor’s affirmation really meant something to me, even if the seminary thing is just a wild idea. I’d like us to at least pray about it, see if God gives us any leading.” The doorbell rang again. “Better see who that is.”
She let him go, hoping it wasn’t for her. She heard him open the door and then say, “Singer! Uh . . . come in.”
Their neighbor from down the street? Was it just Greg or Nicole too? She hopped off the bed and listened at the half-open door and heard Greg say, “Hope I’m not bothering you folks. But I, uh, wanted to share something with you. You got a minute?”
Chapter 21
Jared didn’t call her, so Michelle assumed it was just Greg Singer, come to talk to her husband about something. Good. She really should start to get ready for the visit to Manna House this evening. She only had an hour—enough time to change clothes and hopefully a little more time to think and pray about her sharing this evening.
Now . . . what to wear to the women’s shelter? The women at the shelter certainly wouldn’t be dressed up, but it was kind of a worship service, Estelle had said. Michelle still had on the good white pants and purple blouse she’d worn to church, though she’d long since shed the matching white jacket. Pastor Q asked women who took part in the service, even the choir, to wear dresses, but he and First Lady Donna were tolerant of modest slacks and pantsuits in the pews. She finally decided on a pair of tan slacks, black fitted T-shirt, tan jacket, and brown ankle boots—business casual—as the day was fairly cool for June, low seventies, even a sprinkle now and then.
As she came out of their bedroom to slip across the hall to the bathroom, Michelle could hear the men talking in the living room . . . something about a new business opportunity. She listened a moment. Singer sounded quite enthusiastic about selling a new sports drink. Well, good. She wished him the best. But she was glad Jared hadn’t asked her to join them.
Locking herself in the bathroom, she freshened her makeup to bring out her coppery skin tone and used a pick to lift her straightened cap of black hair. Hmm. She really did need to get to the beauty shop. How long had it been? Four, maybe even six, weeks? Could she squeeze a hair appointment into next weekend, along with the Northside women’s event and the last session of her post-abortion group? Probably not. She sighed. She’d just have to make do a while longer.
Coming out of the bathroom ten minutes later, she noticed Destin leaning idly in the archway between dining room and living room, listening to Mr. Singer’s animated spiel. Should she let him eavesdrop like that? Not that it was a private conversation. In fact, Greg Singer’s enthusiastic voice could probably be heard anywhere in the house. She’d let Jared handle it if it was a problem.
At five minutes to five, Michelle walked into the living room. Singer had been there for almost an hour. Did Jared need rescuing? “Hi, Greg! I hope you’ll excuse me for not coming out earlier.” She held out her hand to him. “I have an appointment downtown this evening. Someone is picking me up at five and I needed to get ready. How are Nicole and the kids?”
Greg jumped up apologetically and shook her hand. “They’re fine, fine. Didn’t mean to keep you folks. It’s just such a wonderful opportunity, I wanted to let Jared, here, know about it on the ground floor.”
Jared stood up too. “I appreciate it. But I’m really not in a position to take on anything like that.”
Michelle slipped out the front door. She’d let her husband take care of saying good-bye. Had to hand it to him . . . Jared was being extraordinarily polite and patient, even though she knew he had absolutely no interest in getting involved in any kind of “business” selling whatever-that-was, that sports drink Greg was so excited about.
Estelle Bentley came out of their two-flat, yoo-hooed at her, and waved her over to the small black SUV parked in front. Estelle was wearing one of her classy African tunics with a head wrap, and Michelle worried that she should’ve dressed up a bit more. But when Grace Meredith came out the front door of her bungalow and headed across the street too, Michelle was relieved to see her next-door neighbor was also wearing slacks—black, slightly flared over boots, a long black blouse worn casually over a white tank top, leather hobo bag slung over her shoulder, and no jewelry except simple hoop earrings. Very understated—but, Michelle had to admit, the professional singer was so attractive, she’d probably look pretty just out of bed with no makeup and bedhead.
“Oh, Estelle!” Grace called, even before she go
t to the car. “Can we wait just a few minutes? Sam isn’t here yet, but I just got a call. She should be here anytime. She really wants to go with us—oh, wait. That’s her car turning the corner.”
Samantha Curtis’s gray Honda Civic pulled up to the curb in front of Grace’s house, and a moment later the vivacious young woman with the wild sassy twists and yummy caramel skin bounced across the street to join them. “So sorry! Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long! For some reason traffic was all snarled up on the Drive. On a Sunday afternoon too!”
Estelle Bentley chuckled. “We waited all of two seconds. It’s only just five now. Glad you could join us, young lady. Well . . . climb in, everyone. DaShawn supposedly cleaned the car yesterday, but let’s just say his standard of ‘clean’ needs an upgrade.”
Grace and her young assistant climbed into the backseat of the RAV4, so Michelle got into the front passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. “Thanks for letting me tag along again,” Sam said from behind them. She was one of those people who had a perpetually cheery voice. “Since Grace is singing this time, I used that as an excuse to invite myself . . . I hope you don’t mind, Michelle. I think it’s great that you’re going to share about the crisis pregnancy center.”
The young woman was nothing if not friendly. Michelle twisted slightly in her seat to address her as Estelle started the car and drove down Beecham. “Did you say ‘again’? You’ve been to Manna House before?”
Estelle chuckled at the wheel. “Now you walkin’ where angels have trod.”