What Dreams May Lie

by Alana Terry

  You look like you could still be in high school and skinny as a rail.

  Jillian had never been so grateful for a church service to begin. She sat between Connie and her uncle Dennis, with Grandma Lucy in the aisle and already starting to sway before the music began.

  Didn’t she know there was nothing spiritual about reading the announcements?

  Jillian wondered how many more pastors had come and gone between now and the time her family had been kicked out of Orchard Grove. During their first few years in Seattle, her mom would make it a point of pride to keep up with the Women’s Missionary League gossip, proclaiming every six or nine months about how Pastor So-and-So just left, and making comments about how that church could never keep a preacher behind the pulpit.

  As if it were the church’s fault and not her dad’s that the elders told him to leave. As if some other church would have been more forgiving of a pastor who had an affair, or maybe it was the congregation’s fault for putting their pastor under so much stress that he made such a bone-headed mistake to begin with.

  The first few years had been hard. Out of the hundreds of churches in Seattle, none of them were looking to hire an adulterous pastor, no matter how profusely her dad claimed his status as a repentant, reformed husband. By the time Jillian was in high school, he finally found a congregation willing to take their chances on him. When Jillian’s older brother dragged the family through several years of shame from his drug addiction and dozens of failed attempts at recovery, the church had lent the McAllister family their support. Still, when Jillian finally summoned her courage to tell her parents the truth, hasty arrangements were made to send her off to Orchard Grove.

  Apparently, her parents only had the energy to deal with one black sheep in the family.

  Ironically, her parents’ church in Seattle would be far more gracious than the gossips who attended Orchard Grove. Here, Jillian would have to suffer through all the judgmental stares, whispered comments, and painfully intrusive questions that were sure to come. But at least her parents were spared the embarrassment their pregnant daughter would cause.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  She’d managed to daydream through the opening prayer and half of the first three hymns. Oh well. Of all the things she’d done in the past to make God mad at her, getting distracted in church was probably fairly low on his list.

  CHAPTER 9

  RICKY HURRIED UP THE steps to the church entrance and held the door open for his mother.

  “I can’t believe it,” she huffed. “I haven’t been late in over two decades.”

  Ricky got the feeling Mom wasn’t exaggerating.

  Their Sunday morning tardiness was the result of a power flicker during the night that turned off both their alarm clocks. They still could have made it on time if it weren’t for his mother’s tendency to take upwards of an hour until she decided she was respectable. But still she’d found multiple ways of making Ricky feel like he was at fault for their being late.

  “What would your father think?” she demanded, although with his dad away on one of his many company retreats, Ricky doubted he’d care much at all. Mom was the one who made sure the family got up and ready and presentable for church each week. Dad just showed up or else scheduled work meetings when he didn’t feel like going. And since Dad was the one whose courier business paid the mortgage on their home in the Heights, Mom didn’t have much leverage to complain.

  Ricky sighed, certain that even though the songs had already started, Mom would still work her way into the second to front pew like normal. It was stupid for him to feel self-conscious — most everybody at this church met him when he was all of five days old and attending his very first church service — but he still wished Mom would content herself with a seat in the back.

  No such luck. Oh, well. It’s not like he was here to impress anybody.

  There was Susannah with her sister Kitty in a wheelchair in the side aisle. He gave a little smile when Kitty looked his way. Susannah acted as if she hadn’t even noticed him, which could probably be explained by the fact that she was snuggled up next to her new husband and had all her attention focused on him.

  Mom made a big show of slipping past the few souls inconsiderate enough to block her way to her intended space in the pew, and he followed her, making apologies that were probably too quiet to be heard over the hymns.

  Jesus paid it all. All to him I owe.

  Ricky could sing the song in his sleep.

  He didn’t dislike church, but that was probably because he simply hadn’t known anything different. As a Christian, he prayed before meals, read his Bible before bed, and came to every single service every single Sunday - stomachache, toothache, or illness. It’s what he did.

  Sin had left a crimson stain. He washed it white as snow.

  Even though he’d lived a fairly decent (albeit uneventful) life, he knew there were still sins he needed to confess. Jealousy, for one thing. Susannah had found her happily ever after, but he was still single, left to listen to Mom complain about the way that Peters girl would have married him if she hadn’t been foolish enough to fall in love with some exotic missionary from a foreign land known as the East Coast. Ricky never bothered to mention that Susannah had taken on her husband’s name, so she couldn’t really be referred to as that Peters girl anymore.

  Oh, well.

  When the next song began, Mom sang loudly beside him, but Ricky tuned her out and focused on the words.

  What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

  Sometimes Ricky wondered when he’d start feeling like a Christian. He asked Jesus into his heart years ago at the same youth group retreat where his would-be girlfriend Susannah felt God call her to a future in missions, but not a whole lot had changed since then.

  Maybe the spiritual life wasn’t that much about how you felt but how you behaved, whether or not you were acting like the righteous, godly man Mom always talked about. But somewhere in the back of his head was the nagging suspicion that there was more to this whole church thing than pretending to be some upstanding gentleman with the morals and mannerisms from a century or two earlier.

  The only problem was he didn’t know what.

  What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

  Ricky resisted the urge to glance back at Susannah. She’d always been out of his league. He knew that even before she met Mr. Missionary Massachusetts Dude. But his mom had spent so many years when Ricky was a teen talking about how good of a match they’d make that he was still somewhat thrown off balance by her recent marriage.

  So instead of thinking about her, he turned off his brain, sang the words that mechanically came out of his mouth, and waited for the pastor to come up and signal that it was time for everyone to sit down.

  CHAPTER 10

  ONE THING JILLIAN COULD say in defense of a church like Orchard Grove was they knew how to close a service on time. Good thing, considering how uncomfortable these pews were.

  The preacher was just about to dismiss everyone when Grandma Lucy stood up.

  “Pastor Greg?”

  Oh no. Does she still do this?

  Jillian wanted to disappear into the back of her seat.

  At first the pastor acted like he hadn’t heard Grandma. Smart man.

  “Pastor Greg?” she repeated, and he turned with a smile Jillian would swear was forced while her grandmother asked, “May I close in prayer today?”

  Greg glanced at his wristwatch. Jillian didn’t know how long this particular preacher had worked at Orchard Grove, but he had apparently learned all about Grandma Lucy’s delays. How could a woman that tiny and old and generally soft-spoken hold up an entire service for fifteen or twenty minutes?

  And why did the pastors here always let her?

  Greg let out a hefty sigh then handed her the mic. “Sure, Grandma Lucy. That’d be a real blessing.”

  So he was a pushover and a liar, too. Great combination for a preach
er.

  “Thank you.” Grandma Lucy stepped into the aisle and faced the congregation. Jillian wished she’d chosen a pew closer to the back of the church. She certainly didn’t want to be associated with her grandmother when she phased into one of her infamous Holy Spirit trances.

  “The Lord is so good,” Grandma Lucy began.

  Jillian slunk a little farther in her seat. May as well try to get comfortable while she was down there. This would take a while.

  “I’m so filled with awe at what the Lord’s done for me, at the way he sent his Son to die on the cross to take the punishment for my sins.”

  Wasn’t this exactly what they’d sung about eight times over this morning and then sat and listened to for the past forty-five minutes? Why did Grandma feel the compulsion to repeat everything that had just been preached?

  “When I think about the sins of my past, how hardened my heart was against the Lord, I’m simply amazed at the way he chose to save a wretch like me.”

  As if Grandma Lucy had entertained even so much as a single sinful thought in the past half a century.

  “God tells us in the book of 1 John that if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. That promise is for all of us, my friends, a promise of true forgiveness when we turn our mistakes over to the good Lord who takes our stains and makes them as white as snow.”

  Funny how white had become such a symbol of purity and cleanliness. From all the way back in Bible times until now, the cultural symbolism ran as strong as ever. In fact, the day Jillian told her parents she was pregnant, the very first words out of her mother’s mouth were, “And you would have looked so beautiful in a white wedding dress.”

  Of all the things to be upset about when you find out your daughter’s pregnant.

  “Back in my younger days, I was lost.”

  It was funny to hear Grandma Lucy talk about her younger days as if they’d just been a few weeks ago. Even in the family photos that showed Jillian as a baby, Grandma Lucy was the exact same white-haired, spectacled old lady that stood now addressing a church full of adults half her age and nearly all twice her size. Jillian was no bodybuilder, but she was certain she could lift Grandma Lucy off the ground with one hand if she ever found a reason to.

  “I thought I knew the Lord,” Grandma Lucy said, “but I was still living by the set of rules others had told me made up the Christian life. I was still acting as if I could earn my way into God’s grace by the good things I did. Even as a young woman on the mission field, I didn’t fully know God for who he was until he opened my eyes. Let me see how wretched I truly was. And that’s when I learned to depend on him. That’s when my walk with Christ started.”

  Jillian had heard it all before. Grandma Lucy recited her conversion story every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and any other major holiday that saw more than two or three relatives together under the same roof. Out of her dozens of cousins, Jillian figured each and every one of them (including those whose names she couldn’t even remember) had memorized Grandma Lucy’s testimony word for word.

  It was great that Grandma Lucy was so steadfast in her walk with Christ. And if it hadn’t been for the way that this very church turned their backs on Jillian’s family — as if she and her brother and mom were just as much to blame for her father’s adultery as he was — maybe she’d be as fiery for God as her grandmother was. She knew that’s what Grandma Lucy hoped as she rocked the hours away in her prayer chair.

  Oh, well. Grandma Lucy was just another one of those people Jillian would end up disappointing.

  CHAPTER 11

  RICKY LEANED FORWARD in his seat. His palms were sweaty, and his leg jiggled so fast his mom put her hand on his knee and squeezed hard.

  He couldn’t stop.

  “We serve a God of power, glory, and incredible, infinite might.”

  He’d heard Grandma Lucy preach like this scores of times, but for some reason today her words reached out and grabbed hold of him. He couldn’t resist even if he wanted to.

  Which he didn’t.

  “In spite of his unspeakable majesty and strength, in spite of his immeasurable greatness, this same God has called you his own. This same God who set the stars and the heavens into place knows your name, knows your fears and sorrows and your secret inmost longings. The psalmist says he’s intimately familiar with all your ways. You’re beloved of the Most High God. So what is there on earth to make you afraid?”

  How could it be that this little old spitfire was saying truths he’d known his entire life, but today they made his heart race as if he were hearing them for the very first time?

  She looked at him, and something zipped through his heart like electricity. A surge of power. A desire to understand this God she worshipped, to really, fully know him.

  “The Lord will raise you up on eagle’s wings and carry your sanctification on to completion.”

  She was using all the same words, all the same phrases he’d heard in church his entire life. Why did they suddenly have such intensity behind them? Why did he feel as if she were peering into his soul?

  “Calm down,” his mom snapped and pinched his bouncing knee.

  He hardly noticed.

  This was the answer he’d been looking for. This was what it meant to live out a godly, righteous life. Not holding doors open for little old ladies or being punctual or always coming to church with a clean and pressed shirt. This God who created the stars and held them all in place in the universe — what did he care about starched collars or straight neckties?

  “Today I want to do something a little unorthodox,” Grandma Lucy declared.

  Mom sniffed in her seat, but for once, Ricky didn’t care what she thought. Her version of righteous living was so different from the glimpse he’d just seen that he wondered if she really knew anything about God or the Bible or the way to true satisfaction in Christ.

  “I want anyone who’s longing for more of God to come forward. I know we don’t do altar calls nearly as much as we used to back in the olden days, but God’s putting it on my heart that there’s someone here. Someone who needs to hear and respond to his invitation for a fuller, more satisfied life. Someone who has lived knowing about God, but now it’s time for them to really know God in all his power and matchless love. If that sounds like you today, I want you to come forward so I can pray with you.”

  Ricky hesitated for a single moment, the same moment when Mom’s hand gripped his knee even more tightly.

  Ignoring her pointed glare and the heat of her disapproving anger, he stood up and walked forward on eager, steady legs straight toward Grandma Lucy.

  CHAPTER 12

  JILLIAN COULDN’T REMEMBER a longer service. As humiliated as she was for Grandma Lucy making such a scene at the end, outshining the pastor and leading the congregation in one of those old-fashioned, emotionally laden altar calls, she was even more relieved when it was finally over.

  Connie was busy talking to some friends, Uncle Dennis was waiting by the door holding Connie’s purse, and Grandma Lucy was still up front, praying for that gangly boy who’d been the only one to walk up the aisle.

  After all the charisma she’d thrown into that emotional appeal, Grandma Lucy only got one customer willing to risk his own personal dignity and come to the front for prayer.

  How embarrassing.

  Jillian would never make a fool out of herself like that. What was so wrong with maintaining your walk with God and your commitment to him in the quietness and privacy of your own heart?

  Did her grandmother think they were back in the days of big-tent revivals and old-fashioned gospel meetings?

  Oh, well. It was finally over and they could go back to the farmhouse. At least they could once Connie was done chattering away and Grandma Lucy finished praying with that boy.

  Poor kid. You’d have to be some kind of desperate to walk in front of everybody and let a little old lady pray over you like that.

&
nbsp; Jillian wouldn’t be caught dead doing the same.

  The one good thing that came out of Grandma Lucy’s whole impromptu revival call was that the congregants were mostly all eager to head home. No more awkward conversations like before the service. Everybody in Orchard Grove, at least the older generations, treated punctuality as the most prized of virtues, and nobody wanted to be late for lunch.

  Come to think of it, neither did she.

  “Hey, there, Jillian. How you doing today?”

  She glanced up at the tall boy who’d been praying with her grandmother just a few moments earlier.

  “It’s me.”

  “Okay.” Was that supposed to mean something? He looked slightly familiar, but that was probably because he was the only individual in the entire church desperate enough to risk his own personal embarrassment and walk to the front of the sanctuary.

  “Hey, you gonna be home later this afternoon? I might have to swing by and pick up my flannel.”

  His flannel? Did he think she was somebody else?

  “You don’t need to wash it or anything. My mom will take care of that Monday.”

  Lovely. A mama’s boy. Just the kind of guy she wanted hanging around. Now if she could only figure out why he was talking as if he knew her.

  “Hey, how’d the milking go today?” He offered a cocky grin that looked more like a grimace than anything else. “Hope you didn’t spill any buckets today.”

  Oh, yeah. HIM.

  “I think I left your shirt in the barn. You can just swing by and pick it up whenever you want.”

  His expression fell. Had she said something rude?

  “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll do that. Does three o’clock sound like a good time?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then. Or, I mean, I’ll see my shirt then. In the barn you said, right?”