Pastor Andrew greeted her with a welcoming hug. “Miranda told me you’re moving north to Merced.” He recommended an independent Christian church. “An old friend of mine just retired and turned the pulpit over to a millennial on fire to reach his generation. Give it a try.” He had written all the needed information on the back of his card. “And keep in touch.” He gave her a fatherly kiss on the cheek.
There were new faces among the familiar. “The congregation’s growing.”
“Trouble in one of the larger churches,” her aunt told her. “The new pastor swept house over the last two years. Anyone who questioned his authority and message was pushed out the door. They came and settled here. I went once to hear the man preach. Dynamic speaker, a leader of men, but Jesus had left the building. The lady over there, Charlotte, has started a women’s Bible study. And that gentleman over there, Michael, now teaches a couples’ class. Remember how they had to draft you to teach Sunday school? Well, we now have several seasoned teachers who delight in Miranda’s Sunday school program. What that congregation lost, God planted here. He gave us the people we needed.”
This church felt as much like home as the bigger, more charismatic one she’d attended in Los Angeles. She knew God would have a church home for her in Merced. She’d already packed the car, intending to leave early, until Aunt Elizabeth asked her to come to church with her. Grace hadn’t been sure she would be welcome after such a long absence and since her divorce. She should have known better.
“Thank you for making me go,” Grace said on the drive back to the house.
Aunt Elizabeth looked over. “The longer you stay away, the more excuses keep you away. There might be a few people who think they’re holier than thou, but the rest love you and wanted a chance to let you know.”
When Grace pulled in next to the curb and stopped, her aunt opened the door. “Have a safe trip.”
Grace spoke quickly before her aunt could escape. “I love you very much. Thank you for the last few days.”
Her aunt’s shoulders drooped slightly, and she didn’t look at Grace. “Call me when you get settled in your new home.” She got out of the car without a word or look for Samuel. Grace leaned down and watched her aunt walk up the path, open the front door, and close it behind her. She wondered if she’d ever understand Elizabeth Walker.
It was an easy one-hour drive to Merced. The hotel was far less impressive than the one Roman had booked on the trip they took, but it was clean, close to the freeway, and offered a complimentary breakfast. Grace took Samuel for a long ride around town, wasting gas but getting acquainted with the streets, parks, UC campus. She ate at a small café, Samuel in his car seat next to her.
Back at the hotel, she settled Samuel in the playpen while she worked at her computer. Later, she tucked him into bed with her. Facing so many changes in her life, Grace had trouble sleeping. What was Roman doing right now? Working in his upstairs studio? Out at a club? He’d probably hired her replacement within days. She looked at the digital clock. Two in the morning.
Samuel awakened with the dawn and wanted to play. Grace dragged herself out of bed and got ready for the busy day ahead.
The first apartment would have worked perfectly, but the manager said the landlord was unlikely to rent to an unemployed, single mother. He asked if she qualified for welfare. She told him she had an online business. Questions followed, and she answered honestly.
The manager shook his head. “A start-up, you mean, and we all know how few last. Good luck, Ms. Moore. You’re going to need it.”
Grace stopped by the church Pastor Andrew had recommended and talked with the secretary, Marcia Bigelow. She was friendly and encouraging. “We have a Wednesday morning Bible study with childcare. Most are older ladies, but we sure would like to have a younger one join us.” Grace thanked her for the information, doubting she’d have time for the weekly morning class.
The next day was long and without result. Two apartments had already been rented before she arrived for her appointments, and the manager of the third complex looked her over and asked if she had a significant other. She avoided answering, but felt uncomfortable as he showed her the apartment. “You’d be right down the hall from me. Any problems turn up and I’d be at your door in a heartbeat.” She left.
Wednesday morning, Grace scanned the classifieds on the Merced Sun-Star website and jotted down possibilities. She made one more call, and the manager vented about college kids and parties. Yes, he had an apartment available, but he’d already had several calls before hers, and she’d have to wait her turn. Four o’clock was open. “Fill out the application online.”
Sitting on the hotel room carpet, Grace prayed while playing with her son. She felt the nudge to attend the morning Bible study and glanced at the clock. She’d be late, but better to slip in quietly than sit here and obsess about things over which she had no control.
A circle of twelve women sat on folding chairs. The instructor smiled when Grace walked through the door. “Hello! Are you Grace Moore? Marcia said you might stop by. Welcome.”
Several women turned simultaneously, and one stood, practically glowing with pleasure. “A baby!” The others laughed as the dark-haired lady led Grace to a clean, well-equipped preschool classroom. “I’m Lucy Yeong, and this is . . . ?” Grace introduced Samuel, who barely looked at Lucy and squirmed to be put down among the colorful shoe box–size blocks. “He’ll be fine,” Lucy assured Grace. “I’ve raised four of my own and have ten grandchildren.”
Grace joined the other ladies. Anna Janssen, the instructor, introduced herself and had the ladies each do likewise. “We’d just started, Grace. Ephesians, chapter 5. Would you like to read the first two verses?”
It didn’t take long to find out these older women knew a lot more about God’s Word than Grace did and had been putting it into practice for decades. The discussion was lively, sometimes serious, other times filled with laughter. Anna reminded Grace of Miranda Spenser. Age didn’t matter; Grace felt right at home with these women. When it came time to end in prayer, Anna asked if there were any specific needs. Grace said she was looking for an affordable apartment.
Dorothy Gerling asked to talk with her after class ended.
“What about a house? We have a two-bedroom bungalow for rent. Our daughter was living in it before she enlisted in the Air Force. George and I have been debating whether to rent or sell.” Grace told her how much she could afford to pay. “That sounds fine to me, but let me check with George.”
Grace went to reclaim Samuel from Lucy Yeong, who looked as infatuated as Aunt Elizabeth had. “He’s adorable. I hope you’re coming back on Sunday. I’m in charge of the nursery.”
Dorothy peered in. “George says yes. Would you like to take a look right now? I have time, if you do.”
Post–World War II bungalows lined the street, some overgrown, some neat and simple. Dorothy met her on the sidewalk. “There’s been a real turnover in this neighborhood over the last five years. Elderly owners are dying or selling to the younger generation. Lots of diversity here.”
It was affordable housing in a far-from-affordable world.
The Gerlings’ bungalow sat on a corner lot. The lawn was recently mowed, and neatly trimmed shrubs wrapped around the front. Dorothy said they had hired a gardening service to maintain the place, so Grace wouldn’t have to worry about yard work. Dorothy unlocked the front door. Grace followed her into a cozy, furnished living room. Both bedrooms were also furnished. “We remodeled the bathroom last year.” A new sink, cabinets, shower, and tub. The kitchen was small but functional with a table against the windows looking out onto a huge backyard.
“You and Samuel would be perfectly safe here. Just keep the doors and windows locked and get to know your neighbors.”
Grace had already noticed the Neighborhood Watch sign on the other corner. Her years in Los Angeles County had taught her to be careful.
“This used to be the garage.” Dorothy went through a side do
or from the kitchen and two steps down. The room would make a good office. A door opened into a single-car garage that would easily accommodate her Civic.
“No air-conditioning, unfortunately. It would cost too much to put it in, but they built these houses so people could open their windows in the morning and evening and let in the cool, fresh air. And there’s a nice covered patio out here.” Dorothy opened the French door to the outside. “It’s lovely in spring and summer. Alison loved to sit and read in that swing.”
Grace gasped as she got a good look at the fenced and hedged backyard. In Los Angeles, builders would have put up another bungalow. A lawn covered the first two-thirds of the backyard. The back had empty vegetable boxes and a small garden shed. The white picket fence behind that separated the property from a single-lane road.
“That’s a nectarine tree over there,” Dorothy pointed out. “I still do canning. I’ll come over when the fruit is ripe. You can keep as much as you want, of course.”
“It’s so beautiful, Dorothy. Are you sure you want to rent it for so little?”
“I’m delighted, Grace. An unoccupied house can be a problem for the neighborhood. And there are young families moving in now. I’m sure when you take Samuel out in the stroller, you’ll meet other mothers your age.” She looked around. “Besides, I’m not ready to sell this place. Alison might change her mind in a few years and decide to come back to Merced. George says I’m dreaming, but I guess I’m just not ready to let go yet.”
“Do you want me to sign a rental agreement?”
“I suppose they do that sort of thing these days, but I think I can trust you. How many girls with a baby show up at a Bible study a couple days after they move to a new town? A check for half a month’s rent now, since we’re already two weeks into August. Then the full month’s rent will be due on the first each month. How’s that?”
“An answer to prayer.” Grace put Samuel down and let him explore the living room while she took her checkbook from her shoulder bag.
Dorothy chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with a baby. Alison is our only child. She was engaged last year, but they broke it off. Alison has always had a mind of her own, and a lot of men are put off by that.” She took out a notepad and began writing.
“Thank you so much, Dorothy.” Father, forgive me for having any doubts about Your provision. “God is good.”
Dorothy glanced at her with a wide smile. “All the time.” She tucked Grace’s check carelessly into her purse, tore off the notepaper, and handed it over. “Our address and phone number, in case you have any problems with plumbing or the stove or gophers in the back lawn. Whatever. Just give us a call and George will be over like a flash. He loves to fix things.”
“If it’s all right, I’d like to stay for a little while.”
“Of course.” Dorothy handed her the key. “The house is yours now.”
Grace saw her out the front door, thanking her again, before closing it. She covered her face, overwhelmed with what had just happened. “Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, thank You!” Laughing, she scooped up Samuel and kissed his chubby cheeks. “What do you think of your new home, Rapscal? Isn’t God good to us?”
Setting Samuel down again, she called Aunt Elizabeth. “Guess what? Samuel and I have a two-bedroom house! Would you like to come up this weekend and see it?”
Aunt Elizabeth didn’t speak for a moment, and then answered in a husky voice. “Yes. I’d like that very much. All I need is an address.”
“East Twenty-Second Street.” Grace laughed. “Hold on. I have to go outside to tell you the number. I forgot to look.”
ROMAN SAW NO POINT in keeping a big house on a mountaintop when he was spending so much time at a church in the valley. He decided to clean out the detritus of his life and put the place on the market. He filled plastic bags with spray cans and tubes of old paint and had the pile taken to a toxic waste company.
It took three days to whitewash his studio walls, obliterating all signs of his work. A flooring company refinished the hardwood. A two-bedroom apartment was available in the complex where Brian lived. Roman applied online and got it.
He left most of his furniture in the Topanga Canyon house. The real estate agent, who specialized in selling luxury homes, had said the house was perfectly staged. Modern. Minimalist. “The furniture might just sweeten the deal. If not, we’ll sell it for you.”
He had his books, clothing, the bedroom furniture Grace had picked, and a fresh start ahead.
“Must be nice to have freedom enough to do whatever you want.” The real estate agent had looked envious.
Free? This was just the first step out of the cage he’d built around himself. Right now, he wanted to get as far away as possible from the life he’d created and live the one God had planned for him. And that seemed to be enlisting a group of ex-gangbangers into helping him paint graffiti on a church wall. Settled in his apartment with one bedroom dedicated to drafting table, art supplies, and books, Roman set to work on the drawings for the church mural. The project kept his mind off Grace. He’d handed over the landscape to Talia, giving her permission to sell it. When she asked what he planned to do next, he said it wouldn’t be anything she could put on a gallery wall.
As ideas took form on paper, his focus and excitement for the work grew. He’d be doing this piece in the open with a crew to help, but the rush he’d always felt doing graffiti was returning, keeping him going. He worked until his shoulders and back ached. He stood and stretched, pacing until the pain diminished, then went back to work. He didn’t feel driven; he felt inspired. This was something new.
Brian came by to see the progress. “I saw your other work at the gallery show, but this is something else!”
“Yeah,” Roman agreed without arrogance. He studied the painting. It looked like someone else’s work, not his own. God was in this, and Roman felt exhilarated, excited, alive. Art had always been his means of expression, a way to pour out his wrath and frustration, but this work had a whole new dimension. He knew the One who had inspired him and why. This universal Christ triumphant hadn’t come out of his mind, but had been planted by the Lord.
Praise God, all you people of the earth. Praise the Lord!
How many years had he been searching for something to fill the void in his life? He’d tried everything—wandering, work, women. He’d fallen in love with Grace, but now he wondered what would have happened if they had gotten together. He’d still have been hungry for more.
Grace knew the Lord and loved Him. She had tried to take Roman by the hand and bring him to the altar, but he’d resisted, even after his near-death experience in hell. Why had he been so stubborn?
Maybe Grace had to be out of his life in order for him to get right with God. As long as she’d been around, his thoughts focused on her. His desire had clouded his thinking, distracted him from heeding the call of God. She had already fully committed herself to living for the Lord. He hadn’t yet made that life- and soul-altering decision. Now, he understood.
I still love her, Lord. You know how much. You hear my prayers in the middle of the night. But, oh, God, as much as I love Grace, it doesn’t compare to what I feel in Your presence. I sense You all around me and inside me. You are enough. More than enough.
Roman knew only too well that God had the power to stop and start a heart. The life of any man or woman rested in the palm of His scarred hand. It took a trip to hell to teach him Jesus was the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Prayer had become a constant, mindful conversation for Roman. Mostly one-sided. After so many years of silence, Roman couldn’t stop talking inaudibly to the One who truly listened, the One who heard beyond the words to the motivations deeper than Roman himself could analyze.
Change me, Lord. Put a new heart in me. Make me the man You intend me to be.
Roman had stopped praying Grace would call or write or pass along a message through one of her friends, and begun praying God would watch over her an
d Samuel, provide for their needs, protect her, guide her, bless her. Oh, God, please keep her away from guys like me. She deserves so much better.
Brian put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? You seem a little out of it today.”
“I’m more in it than I’ve ever been.”
He tacked the drawings up on the wall and studied them. He wasn’t using transfers this time. He’d use narrow-stream, gray spray paint for the outlines and assign areas for his crew to fill in. No ropes and harnesses, either. He’d keep everyone safe on two rented, rolling mechanical lifts.
Brian looked worried. “How much will that cost?”
“It’s on me. So are all the materials. Just got the call this afternoon that my house sold.”
He’d come alongside Brian with the youth group. They were a tough, motley crew, eager to get started, especially the ones who’d repented of tagging buildings. They were itching to get their hands on cans of spray paint and not have to worry about being busted by the cops. Roman didn’t miss the irony of his situation: the loner organizing a youth group project, the reformed-and-redeemed graffiti artist doing his work in the daylight for anyone to see, and on a church, of all places. God sure had a sense of humor.
Roman power-washed the wall and let the kids prep it with white paint. It was a daylong job with two lifts, gallons of white paint, and sprayers. The next Saturday, Roman got there early, intending to have all the sections drawn before the crew of teenagers arrived, but fifteen showed up hours before they were scheduled. Parents came and others he hadn’t seen in church.
“You couldn’t have picked a better day.” Brian lifted his chin at the clear, cool fall morning. The mechanical lifts were in place, along with the paint supplies.
Roman had a bad case of nerves. “Everyone’s early. I didn’t expect a crowd.”
“Yeah, well, nothing we can do about that. Everyone wants to see how you do what you do. Where are your drawings?”