by Chris Fabry
TVs over the treadmills were tuned to SPEED and gave updates on the race in Texas. They replayed highlights of yesterday’s race and the qualifier for this afternoon.
All through the exercise and music and TV images, Jamie couldn’t shake the feeling from last night. It wasn’t the dream that stuck with her but what the pastor had said and the look on her mother’s face. The more she thought about it, the more she pumped the weights, and the more convinced she was that her mother’s tears had been for her. Jamie was sure her mother was crying because she thought Jamie needed to give her dreams and her life to God. She closed her eyes as she bench-pressed the weights.
Chapter 21
Chapel
“NICOLE AND I HAVE decided we’re not going to force you to go to church services,” Dale said to Tim as they walked toward the media center. They’d bought several shirts, a jacket, and a hat at the concession area, and Tim had stuck them in his suitcase in the hauler.
“Of course, we hope you’ll want to go with us, but we’re not going to make you,” Dale said.
“Okay,” Tim said.
“There’s a chapel service right after the drivers’ meeting, so you can stay or head back to the hauler if you’d like.”
Tim looked around and spotted who he thought was the chaplain—an older guy with a bad suit. He didn’t want to go, but he figured it wasn’t a good idea to annoy Dale just before the race. Sure, Tim was ticked that Dale wouldn’t tell him who had pushed him at Talladega, but he assumed Dale had a good reason for not saying anything yet.
“I’ll stay,” Tim said.
Tim tried not to stare at the famous drivers sitting around him, but it was kind of hard. Faces he saw plastered all over magazines and TV commercials were just a few seats from him. He’d never seen so many sunglasses in one place in all his life. There were also officials scattered around the room and family members of the drivers and the crew chiefs.
The drivers were laughing and joking until the leader stood up. He had a voice like a bullhorn, so he didn’t really need the microphone, but he used it anyway. He talked about the rules of the race, some of the different aspects of the track, and the speed to maintain on pit road. He asked if there were any questions, and everybody just looked at one another.
“All right, let’s stand as the chaplain comes to lead us in prayer. And right afterward, for those who want to stay, there’s going to be a short service.”
To Tim’s surprise, the guy with the bad suit stayed at his seat, and a younger guy who looked like he worked out twice a day went to the front. He had curly hair and wore a nice pair of jeans. He smiled and said, “Let’s pray.”
Tim looked around and saw everybody had taken off their hats, so he grabbed his. A lot of the guys kept their eyes open, but he glanced at Dale, and his eyes were shut tight.
When the prayer was over, almost everybody said, “Amen,” especially the wives of the drivers.
Dale sat back down, but the rest of the room looked like a sale at Target on the day after Thanksgiving. Or like the plug had been pulled on the bathtub, and the drivers were the water heading for the drain.
When the room cleared, the chaplain welcomed newcomers and checked his watch. “We have only 12 minutes today, so let me get right to the point. We’ve been going through the book of James. . . .”
Tim mentally checked out and focused on the sounds surrounding the building. The jet blowers cleaned debris from the track and nearly drowned out the chaplain. Radios crackled as security people passed. Cars revved. Tim’s stomach fluttered in anticipation of the race, and he couldn’t believe that someone just about to go to battle on the track would sit as calm as Dale and listen intently to a guy a lot younger read from the Bible, but here they were.
“. . . which takes us back to verses three and four of the first chapter: ‘For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.’
“You see, a lot of people think life is supposed to be perfect—no problems, no difficulties, all tidy and nice like a hotel room that’s just been cleaned. But life is messy and we make mistakes, and God’s way of perfecting us is to walk through the grime with us.”
Tim watched the people bow their heads around him. He looked up at the chaplain, and the guy was looking straight back at him.
The chaplain smiled and then closed his eyes and prayed.
Chapter 22
Couch Talk
“CAN I TALK WITH YOU a minute?” Jamie’s mom said when Jamie came in the front door.
“I’m kind of grubby—I was going to take a shower and come down before the race starts.” The house was unusually quiet. “Where’s Kellen?”
“He went to Sunday school. Then over to Paul’s house.”
Little show-off, Jamie thought.
Her mom patted the couch and said, “Come over and sit a minute. I don’t care if you’re grubby.”
She had the TV in the living room turned down and a cup of coffee in her hand. The pits were swarming with people in colorful uniforms, and reports about racers had begun.
“I saw Dad qualified in the ninth position,” Jamie said. “That’s a lot better.”
“He was really happy about it when I talked with him this morning. He said to say hi.”
Jamie stared at the TV. “Aren’t the people from your Bible study coming over?”
Her mom shook her head. “I told them we wanted to be alone this weekend. They’ll still be praying—”
“Look! There’s Dad’s car!” Jamie interrupted. She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
The reporter was standing in front of the Maxwell crash cart talking about a conversation he’d had yesterday. “And you could tell how excited Dale was to finally crack the top 10 in the hunt for the pole.”
Her dad’s face was covered with sweat, his hair matted. He was smiling as broadly as she could ever remember. “I had a good second lap. The first one I got in some loose stuff out there. . . .”
“Who’s that?” Jamie said, looking at a dark-haired guy almost hiding behind her dad.
“That must be Tim,” her mom said. “He flew to Dallas and is at the race. They’ll come home this evening.”
Jamie stared at her. “That was my idea.” She closed her eyes, realizing how angry that sounded, then tried to recover. “Are you putting him in the guest room?”
“That’s what I’d planned. I’ve put some things in there I’m hoping will make him feel at home.”
Her dad’s face disappeared, and the camera focused on the building at the far end of the infield as the reporter began again. “You can bet Dale and a few others are inside this tent right now. This is where the prerace chapel is held—you can see some of them heading toward the track now. As you probably know, Dale is a religious guy and attends this meeting each week. We’ll see if his connections upstairs bring him any better luck. Back to you, guys.”
“Well, being religious hasn’t helped much in the last year,” a commentator said.
Jamie’s mom turned down the sound and put her coffee mug on the table. “There’s something we need to talk about. I’ve been thinking a lot about—”
Jamie scooted forward and shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything more, Mom. I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve made my own decision.”
Her mother’s eyebrows came together in a tight squeeze. “How could you know what I’m thinking?”
Jamie sighed. “I know how you feel about me and . . . God. And when that pastor talked about letting go of what’s dearest to us, I knew you thought about me and how I should give up racing. That it’s becoming the biggest thing in my life—”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” her mom said.
“I know you want me to be a better Christian and be more like Cassie. I see the way you look at her when she sings up front or works in the nursery.”
“Jamie, I can’t believe you’d say that!”
“So I’ve made my decision. I’m going to give up racing and be a nun or something.”
Her mom turned her head, and at first Jamie thought she’d made her cry. Instead, when her mom turned back she was laughing, her shoulders shaking.
“What did I say?”
“The first NASCAR nun,” her mom choked. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Jamie tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. “Seriously, Mom, you don’t want me to move ahead—you want me to stay your little girl and be safe. I’m probably not good enough to go further anyway.”
Her mother stopped smiling, and Jamie stared at the screen.
“Jamie, look at me.”
When Jamie wouldn’t, her mom turned the TV off.
“You’re going to miss the start,” Jamie said.
“Look at me.”
Jamie did.
“It’s true that I want you to have a relationship with God. I’ve prayed for that for years. But I don’t want you to be Cassie Strower or any of the other kids at that church. I want you to be Jamie Maxwell. I want you to be who God created you to be.”
Jamie looked at the blank screen, but she could see her mother’s face in the reflection.
“Now I want you to listen to something,” her mother continued. “You want to know what touched me the most during that sermon last night? It wasn’t the thought of you giving up racing—it was the thought of me giving up you.”
Jamie turned. “I don’t get it.”
“Abraham could have held on to his son and not let him out of his sight. He was the dearest thing in the world to him. But instead, he trusted what God said and followed his leading. He gave his son back to God and allowed him to take control.” Jamie’s mom stared at the couch, as if she were searching for an earring she’d dropped. “And that’s what I’ve decided to do with you.”
“What do you mean?” Jamie said.
“I’ve known you’ve had these dreams. I’ve known what direction you were going. And I’ve tried to encourage you along the way. But last night I saw clearly that God has made you interested in racing for a reason, and though it’s not my plan, I don’t want my plan. I want his. I want to see what he’s going to do with you. Just the fact that you thought about the message this long means God is working on your heart.”
Jamie didn’t speak, afraid her mom might change her mind if she did.
“It’s kind of like being on a crew and standing by the wall, waiting for your chance. At some point, you have to jump in and get to work. And that’s what I’m doing. Going over the wall with you.”
“Have you talked with Dad about this?” Jamie finally said.
She nodded.
“So what does that mean? That I can go to the school?”
Her mom grabbed the Yellow Pages from under the phone. “Yeah, but we’ll need to get something before that.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Do you know where they sell nun’s outfits?”
Jamie laughed out loud. Her mother moved closer and hugged her, and Jamie hugged her back. Just a little. As they embraced, Jamie spoke softly. “That part about Cassie. Isn’t it true that you’d like to see me be interested in missionaries and memorizing verses and serving God and all that?”
Jamie’s mom pulled back and locked eyes with her. “I’ve prayed every day that you would know and experience God’s love. That you’d follow him. But that’s not something I can force on you, and I know if I try, it could actually push you away from him. That’s a decision you’re going to have to make.”
“I’m scared that if I really give my racing to God, he’ll take it away from me.”
“I used to think that way too. That when we came to God, he wanted to punish us for the bad things we’d done. Or that he wanted to hide what was good from us. But you know what I think now? I believe God wires each one of us differently and gives us unique dreams and desires. Until we find that passion and follow it, we just kind of wander around trying to feel better about feeling so bad.
“Maybe your passion and purpose is racing, and you’ll be able to do that and praise God with your driving. Or when you reach my age, your desire might change.”
Jamie listened and thought of the pastor’s words. She’d thought her mom had been thinking of her through the whole sermon, but she’d been thinking about herself. “What’s your passion and purpose?”
“Right now it’s to give as much as I can to you and your brother, to love my husband well, and to be there for Tim. Now when you kids are grown and gone, I might become an astronaut or a pro wrestler. . . .”
“Or adopt a baby from Zimbabwe.”
Jamie’s mom smiled. “Here’s what I know: the best thing you can do with your life is give your heart to God and let him take control. His plan is so much better than anything we can come up with. But that took me a long time to figure out. I want to keep you from pain and wrong decisions, but you’re getting old enough to make those decisions yourself.”
“So I can go to the driving school?”
“You’ve worked really hard to get here, Jamie, and I’m proud of you. I not only want you to go to that school—I want you to come out number one. You understand?”
“Number one in a nun’s habit,” Jamie said.
Chapter 23
Texas Motor Speedway
TIM STOOD BEHIND the pit box and watched the crew pace and try to relax. T.J. was out by the car with Dale, talking and gesturing. When he returned, he gave Tim a set of headphones and a radio. “Dale said he wanted you to be able to hear our chatter. You want to come up top with us?”
Tim shook his head and thanked him for the headphones. The pit box was the place to be during a race, but truth be told, Tim didn’t like heights very much and the box was high. Sure, it had the umbrellas that shielded you from the sun and the computer screens that had all the race info, but just one look down was enough to keep Tim away.
The crew wore their fire suits and gloves and had their shoes laced tightly, checking everything two or three times.
Cal, the jackman, stretched by putting one leg on a stack of tires and leaning forward. He was in a zone, focusing on the task ahead. He might not even touch the car for the first 40 laps, but then the whole process would boil down to 12 to 15 seconds—if everybody got through their jobs clean.
Mac walked up, pulling a cart with two gas cans behind him, stopping and scowling at Tim as he tried to get to the wall. Tim wasn’t really in the way—at least he didn’t think he was—but Mac made him pay. He pointed to the ground and a yellow line that was painted on the concrete. Mac pulled one earphone away from Tim’s ear. “Stay behind that line. You block me when I’m coming toward the car, and I’ll have you kicked out of here.”
Tim nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Mac grabbed the cart and started toward the wall. He turned and scowled again as the two grand marshals—a former football player and a guy from a popular TV show—yelled, “Gentlemen, start your engines!”
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Mac shouted over the thunderous noise. “You don’t want to mess up our pit stops. That’s why I’m telling you to stay back. Understand?”
“Sure do,” Tim said. “I used to go to tracks with my dad.”
Mac stared at him. “I knew your daddy. He was a good man. Now stay back, you hear?”
Tim nodded and looked at his watch. It was 1:22 when the pace car took off and led the cars in the first trip around the track. When the green flag flew, the crowd of more than 200,000 rose and cheered, and Tim could almost hear them over the roar of the engines.
He focused on Dale through the window net and pumped a fist in the air and yelled. Rather than resenting Dale and holding him responsible for his dad’s death, Tim had been won over. He wondered what it would be like to join his family, but he figured if they were half as nice as Dale, things would be okay.
Tim looked back a
t the leader pole and saw Dale had slipped to the #13 position after only five laps. Then he heard Scotty’s voice on the radio.
“Got a spinout behind you in turn four, Dale,” Scotty said. “Yellow flag.”
The car that had trouble didn’t have enough damage to pit, so the race resumed in four laps. Dale had fought his way up to 10th when the second yellow came out at lap 25. This time the #55 car slammed the wall entering turn three and had to take his car behind the wall.
“Well, looks like we can’t do any worse than 42nd place.” Dale chuckled.
“Gonna be a lot higher than that today, Dale,” T.J. said. “You look good out there. Car looks smooth in the turns.”
“Yeah, if I can get out of some of this traffic here, I should be good.”
“Looks like you’re pitting in another lap,” T.J. said. “What do you need?”
Tim glanced at the crew and noticed that as soon as the caution came out, everyone was right in position at the wall.
Dale said, “Getting a little push on the right side. Maybe just change the two right and a splash.”
The crew made a flurry of hand signals as Dale and the other drivers rumbled into the pits. Dale’s spot was close to the front of pit road, and Tim craned his neck to see him. Before Dale had even stopped inside the box, Cal had the jack out. He looked like he was flying through the air as he slid it under the car and pumped twice to lift it. The air wrenches gave short bursts up and down the line.
Tim thought he heard something and looked at the crowd. People were standing, some pointing.
“One one thousand, two one thousand,” Tim counted.
“Got a jam behind you,” Scotty said. “Get out of there fast!”
Ten cars back, the lead racer had made contact with another car coming down pit road. Their cars collided, creating a chain reaction behind them.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Dale yelled.
“. . . eight one thousand, nine one thousand . . .”
The crew finished, and Dale pulled out in front of the cars behind him. “Good job back there, guys.”