Amy didn’t need to tell Sierra she was elated. It showed all over her face. She continued to ramble on with plans for their dinner as they headed for class.
What a contrast this friend of mine can be! Sierra thought. Sometimes Amy carried with her all the maturity and wisdom of the ages, wisdom that she gladly spewed, with or without an invitation to do so. The youngest of three girls, Amy had gathered many insights from her older sisters. Other times, like now, she was every bit the baby of the family, set on getting her way and sweetly finagling the situation to make sure that’s what happened.
The two girls took their seats next to each other in class, and Amy leaned over to give Sierra her opinion. “Why don’t you go to the game with Randy? The four of us could go out afterward. Come on, Sierra!”
Sierra shook her head, her wild curls chasing each other across he shoulders. “I already have a date with my civics book.”
“You do not. You already finished that chapter. You told me so yourself.”
“There’s always the extra-credit questions, you know.”
Amy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You drive me crazy. You know that? You absolutely drive me crazy. Maybe Vicki and Mike will want to go with Drake and me.”
“Probably,” Sierra said.
“Okay, class,” Mr. Rykert called over the rumbling of conversations. “Take out your assignments and pass them forward, please.”
Sierra gave Amy her final thought on Friday night. “I hope you and Drake have the time of your lives!”
Amy flashed an appreciative smile. She looked like a little girl when she smiled like that—timid, yet with a crazy exuberance. Sierra liked that about her. It was part of their common ground.
Handing in her paper, Sierra tried to keep her eyes and her mind from wandering to the back of the classroom where Randy sat behind Vicki Navarone.
Relationships are such illusive things. First Tawni and her lovesick groans over Jeremy. Now Amy and her overly eager attention toward Drake. And what’s my problem? My brain is stuck on Paul. Am I only deluding myself that anything could ever happen there? And why is Amy so convinced that Randy likes me as more than a pal?
She glanced back and noticed Randy and Vicki chatting away like old chums. See? Randy’s friends with a bunch of girls. I’m one of his many buddies, that’s all.
Randy and Vicki had gone out once, but nothing seemed to develop after that—additional evidence that he was pal material and nothing more.
“Okay, class. Let’s open in prayer,” Mr. Rykert said.
In Sierra’s opinion, this had to be one of the advantages of going to a small Christian high school. Even though most teachers prayed only in their first-period classes, Mr. Rykert always led them in prayer in his class. Sierra loved to hear him talk to God. He prayed as if God were standing right there in the room with them.
Sierra silently formed her own prayer that her mind wouldn’t be so full of thoughts about guys. She prayed she would be able to finish the next few weeks of her junior year with the best grades she could get. Her older brother Wes had been pelting her lately with a barrage of information on college scholarships and awards. Sierra had the smarts to qualify for a lot of the programs, but this was the first semester she had thought seriously about college.
“Amen,” Mr. Rykert concluded. Raising his voice, he announced, “This year for your final, I’ve prepared something a little different. You’ll be writing a paper on a personal experience and presenting it to the class during the last week of school.”
Sounds easy, Sierra thought. I’ll write about the outreach trip I took to England last January. Or maybe I’ll write about what it’s like to live with an aging grandmother and how my Granna Mae had surgery a few months ago.
“And,” Mr. Rykert continued, “I’m going to assign each of you a partner.”
Amy and Sierra exchanged glances. Drake wasn’t in this class, so it was likely Amy would want to pair up with Sierra. For a brief moment, Sierra thought it would be fun to partner with Randy.
“I will explain the assignment for your final and then tell you who your partner will be,” Mr. Rykert said. “I have a list of agencies here in Portland that accept volunteer assistance. Each of you, as a team, will select one of the organizations on the list. No duplicates, please. You and your partner will contact your organization and go together to volunteer your assistance for a minimum of four hours. You will then prepare a report and give it in front of the class.”
“Can we choose our own partners?” Amy asked.
“No, I will assign them. And no changes, please. What I’m passing out now is a list of organizations, a list of the partners, and a list of information you must include in your report. Any other questions?”
“When is this due?” Amy asked.
“You have two weeks to complete the four hours of service, and the written and oral reports are both due finals week. It’s on the bottom of the page.”
Sierra took the papers from the guy ahead of her and passed the stack to the girl behind her.
A girl in the front let out a mock groan and said, “Not Jonah! Please give me anybody but Jonah.”
“Thanks a lot,” Jonah said. “At least I have a car, and you don’t. If you’re real nice, I might even let you pay for the gas.”
“Byron Davis,” Amy whispered loud enough for only Sierra to hear. Her face lit up as she leaned closer. “Are all my dreams coming true today or what?”
Byron, the strong, silent, studious type, sat two seats up. He was a straight-A student, and being partnered with him almost certainly guaranteed Amy an A on this final. Byron was studying the list of organizations and apparently hadn’t checked to see who his partner was. Or maybe he hadn’t mustered the courage. Byron gave the impression, because he was shy, that he was afraid of girls.
Sierra wouldn’t have minded a bit if Byron had been her assigned partner. They would earn an A for sure. And she wouldn’t be caught in that awkward trap of always feeling like she was the smart one.
Before Sierra could force herself to turn the page, she heard Randy call out, “Hey, Sierra!”
She turned around to see Randy holding up his paper and smiling. “It’s you and me—Jensen and Jenkins. We’re going to ace this final, buddy!”
Sierra gave him a thumbs-up signal and turned back around. Amy caught her eye and gave her a knowing look. With a delicate lift of her dark eyebrow, Amy mouthed the name “Randy” and smiled coyly at Sierra.
SIERRA IGNORED AMY and looked over the papers that had been passed out. The rest of the class time was spent reviewing the chapter in the textbook. When the bell rang, Sierra tossed her papers into her backpack and was about to leave when Mr. Rykert called her and Randy up to the front.
They stood together by his desk as Mr. Rykert waited until the rest of the class cleared out. “You probably noticed,” he began, “that the partners were selected alphabetically. I considered changing it so that you,” he nodded toward Sierra, “would be partnered with Tre.”
She hoped the sudden twitch she felt didn’t show on her face. Tre Nuygen had transferred into the class mid-semester and was either the shyest student in the whole world or didn’t speak English well enough to fit in. Amy said he came from Cambodia and had arrived in the United States only a few months ago. Someone else said he had been kicked out of public high school, and Royal Christian Academy was the only school in Portland that would let him in.
Whatever the case, Tre was not a desirable partner, and Vicki had ended up being matched with him.
“I have a questions for you two,” Mr. Rykert said. “Would you be willing to work as a foursome with Vicki and Tre?”
“Sure,” Randy said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“Sure,” Sierra said after a slight pause. “That would be fine.”
“Mr. Rykert?” a voice called from the back of the classroom. Vicki stood by the open door. Worry ripples creased her forehead and gathered above her clear green eyes
. Vicki had learned to use her good looks and popularity to her advantage.
“Come in, Vicki,” Mr. Rykert said. “We were talking about you. I’d like you and Tre to partner with Sierra and Randy.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, including Randy and Sierra in her gracious, sweeping glance. “I feel much better about that.”
“And may I suggest the location?” Mr. Rykert said. “I’d like the four of you to go to the Highland House. They run several services for the homeless and low-income families. You’ll be volunteering with the after-school Kids Klub. It’s run by the Highland Outreach Ministries. Do you know where it’s located?”
“It’s not far from where I work,” Sierra said. “I’ve seen it, but I didn’t know what it was.”
“The main goal of the Highland House is to get people back on their feet. They run a limited job-referral service and offer some career-training programs. The Kids Klub is for children whose parents are working. These kids would be on the streets otherwise, since many of them literally have no home. Others live in places that would be unsafe for them to go home alone.”
“There are kids like that in our city?” Randy said.
“More than you would guess,” Mr. Rykert replied.
“This ought to be an education,” Sierra said.
“That’s what I’m counting on. So,” Mr. Rykert said, rubbing his hands together and giving the three of them a warm look of assurance, “you’re all set. Randy, you tell Tre what’s going on, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let me know if you have any questions.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rykert,” Vicki said. She turned to Randy and gave him a puppy-dog look loaded with appreciation. “I feel so much better about this.”
Something began to simmer inside of Sierra. Why was she feeling this way? Hadn’t she prayed about her feelings toward Randy less than an hour ago? Why was it that one hint of flirtation from Vicki made Sierra feel she needed to protect Randy? Or flirt back with him or something?
She hurried to her next class, asking God why things like this were beginning to bother her so much. It made her feel so immature. The teasing from Amy and the twinges of jealousy over Vicki were experiences Sierra wasn’t used to. Why was God opening the floodgate of testing situations? Was He trying to see if she really meant what she prayed?
Slipping into her seat in her next class, Sierra thought about Vicki and tried to be fair. Sierra knew if she had been matched with Tre, she would have wanted Mr. Rykert to do exactly what he did.
Besides, she chided herself, this isn’t about relationships. This is about school It’s about getting an A on the final. That’s all. That’s the most important thing for me right now. And if this check on my emotions is some kind of final from You, God, I want to get an A on that, too.
That evening, as Sierra was leaving her job at the bakery, she decided to take a little detour and drive past the Highland House to see what it was like. Sierra counted the blocks as she headed toward the Willamette River.
Eleven blocks down, she spotted the old manor, now changed by the brightly painted mural across the north wall. Tall cedars circled the front of the huge house, protecting it from the busy street. A dozen yelling kids ran after a soccer ball in the front yard, and on the wide porch two girls played jump rope. An oval sign at the front gate proclaimed, “The Highland House.” Smaller letters underneath read, “A safe place for a fresh start.”
Sierra pulled into an open parking spot alongside the house and noticed a third person on the porch, turning the jump rope. The director, perhaps. He leaned against one of the pillars, and Sierra could hear him counting in deep, resonant voice as the young girl jumped.
I wonder what they’ll want the four of us to do to help out here? I could turn the jump rope and count like that guy is. Or maybe they’ll want us to help the kids with their homework This will be a snap.
Part of her wanted to hop out of her car, march in, and volunteer to help right then, especially because it appeared only one adult was present with the dozen or so kids. But it was Tuesday night, and she had a ton of homework. Her mom would most likely have dinner on the table, and her parents would be concerned if she didn’t arrive home at her usual time after work.
Taking one last look at the cheerful house, Sierra whispered, “I’ll be back!”
Then, by the side of the house, she noticed a long line of homeless people waiting to get into the Highland Kitchen, where they served soup each night at six-thirty. A raggedly dressed old man with a bedroll slung over his shoulder shuffled past her, checking a can of soda resting on the low cement wall. The can apparently was empty. He stopped under the streetlight several yards from the soup kitchen line, and a look of hopelessness crossed his bearded face.
Sierra’s heart went out to him. Before she thought about what she was doing, she grabbed the bag of leftover Mama Bear’s cinnamon rolls from the seat next to her, got out of the car, and called to the stranger: “Do you like cinnamon rolls?”
Startled by her question, he eyed the bag curiously.
“Made fresh today,” she explained, holding out her gift. “I thought you might like them.”
Sierra had never offered food to a homeless person before. In the past, the homeless had seemed far removed from her world. Tonight, she felt differently for some reason. She felt responsible to do what she could. The sweet stillness of the late spring evening, along with the anticipation of helping out at the Highland House, bolstered her courage. She felt safe because the guy on the porch wasn’t far away. If she needed to cry out for help, he was there.
She couldn’t figure out why she felt so exhilarated about offering food to a homeless person. Perhaps it reminded her of when she was in Great Britain and the way she and her friends had boldly told strangers about a relationship with Christ. Maybe it was the delicate coolness of the evening breeze that reminded her of the description in Genesis of how God walked with Adam and Eve in the garden in the cool of the evening. Whatever it was, right now God felt close…touchable…involved in the ways of humankind.
The scruffy-looking man slowly reached for the bag. “Thanks,” he mumbled, turning his back so the others in line down the street wouldn’t see what she had given him.
“You’re welcome,” Sierra said. “God bless you.”
He didn’t answer but dug his dirty hand into the bag.
She turned and headed back to her car. Glancing at the porch, she noticed the girls had stopped jumping rope. The guy was standing in the shadows, apparently watching her. She felt good and unsettled at the same time: good because she had done something that felt so right in reaching out to someone in need, unsettled because she had done so little to really help him. Where would he sleep? What would he eat for breakfast?
Driving home, she thought how she would be greeted by her wonderful family, a bountiful dinner, and a warm bed. None of those things were available to that man. A strength and determination began to grow inside Sierra.
I want to do more, I want to learn to live boldly and bravely for You, Lord, to reach out and really make a difference in this world You made.
Unfortunately, Sierra’s parents had a different view of her experience.
“I REALIZE YOU FELT SAFE,” her father said, passing a bowl of peas at the dinner table, “but that’s a rough area of town, Sierra. You don’t know what could have happened.”
“Yeah,” her eight-year-old brother, Dillon, said. “He could have had a knife.”
“Yeah,” six-year-old Gavin chimed in, “or a machine gun.”
“He didn’t have a machine gun,” Sierra said, scooping some brown rice onto her plate.
“You don’t know,” Dillon said. “It could have been in his bedroll.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said, “or up his pant leg. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, Sierra. Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Sharon Jensen gave Gavin the kind of tender smile a mother reserves for her youngest of six children. Turning to Sierra, her youngest
daughter, she issued the same smile, adding a tightening of the space between her eyebrows, which was a sign of worry. “We would feel better if you didn’t approach someone like that again unless another person is with you. We applaud your zeal, honey. We always have. Now season it with some common sense, and well all feel a lot better.”
“I sent for them yesterday,” Granna Mae suddenly chirped from her end of the table.
Sierra dearly loved her grandmother, as all of them did. Some days her mind was as clear as still water in a reflecting pool. Other times, like now, she would speak nonsense, and an invisible blanket of concern would fall on the family. Sometimes they would try to enter Granna Mae’s world by responding to her random statements. Other times they would let them go.
Tonight no one seemed sure what to do. Their eyes checked the other family members’ faces for subtle signals. Granna Mae looked coherent as could be. Sierra wondered, as she had so many times, how a person’s mind could betray her and go AWOL like that.
Granna Mae looked at them, startled by the sudden silence.
“I hear what you’re saying, Mom.” Sierra picked up the dropped conversation. “But here we sit, with all this food and in this great big house. A lot of people out there need help. I don’t want to pretend they’re not there. And if I can help, I want to help.”
“We’re all for that,” Dad said sternly. “All we ask is that you always have someone with you. Understand?”
Sierra nodded.
“Isn’t that how Christ sent out the disciples? In twos?” Sierra’s mom said. “It’s the wise thing to do, Sierra.”
Sierra nodded again. “You’re right. I agree. I’ll do that.”
“How did I get the signals so messed up?” Sierra wrote in her journal later that night. “Here I think I’m doing something wonderful, giving food to that guy, and yet I upset my parents. How can something be so right and so wrong at the same time? Is it that I’m too impulsive?”
She was about to launch into a new topic, exploring the crazy avenues of how she felt about her dream of seeing Paul again and how immature she felt at the same time for feeding her crush. Just then Tawni entered their bedroom and slung her purse over the back of the desk chair.
Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 2 Page 2