At five, many of the parents began to arrive to pick up their children. Lovely Abigail with the long red hair went first, followed by Clay Peterson, the class clown.
Soft-spoken Dinah was next. She embraced Shauna tightly. “My teacher, Mama!” she bragged, as the lovely woman scooped her into her arms.
Joey and Jonathan, the Cameron twins, followed Dinah. Their father traipsed out with one wrapped around his waist, another on his shoulders. Shauna couldn’t help but smile.
Mrs. Tarantino came to pick up Marisa, a darling girl who always seemed to have her fingers in her mouth.
She was closely followed by Mr. Chesterfield, a balding man. Shauna had already heard the scuttlebutt about the Chesterfields. Apparently their daughter McKinsey had been a surprise package, delivered when the couple hit their mid- to late-forties. “Bye, Miss Teacher!” she said as she left.
Shauna beamed from ear-to-ear. Why couldn’t they all be like that? She glanced across the near-empty room at Charity, who sat in the far corner, playing with a puzzle. Where were her parents? Why weren’t they here yet?
Danny left, followed by Elizabeth, the little one who never talked. That left only three—Bobby, April, and Charity.
“You can go now, Shauna,” Mrs. Fritz said, entering the room. “These children are usually not picked up until after six, and I always stay with them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“To be honest, I’d really like to have a few words with Charity’s parents,” Shauna explained.
“Well, stay if you’d like, but there’s something you should know,” Mrs. Fritz said, opening her arms wide. Charity ran into her arms, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder.
“How did you do that?” Shauna asked, amazed.
“Do what?”
“How did you—Oh, never mind.” She stopped herself before saying too much. After all, she didn’t want her lack of experience to show. “You said there was something I should know?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Fritz said, running her fingers through Charity’s curls. “This little one doesn’t have a m-o-t-h-e-r.”
“She doesn’t?” That explained so much, but it also raised a host of questions.
“No. So if you need to be speaking to anyone about her, it would be the father or the grandmother. One or the other picks her up—usually the grandmother, Mrs. Dougherty. She runs a bookshop not far from here and is usually one of the last ones to get here each evening.”
Shauna stifled a yawn. “Maybe I’ll connect with them tomorrow. I really need to get home now.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, honey,” the older woman gave her a gentle pat on the back. “You look like you could stand a long, hot bubble bath and a good book.”
“I wish I had that kind of energy,” Shauna said with a yawn. More likely, she would hit the bed as soon as she arrived home.
She made her way out to the parking lot, where she climbed into her car for the short drive up I-45. As soon as the key turned in the ignition, unexpected tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I don’t know anything about children,” she spoke to the empty car. “I’m a total and complete failure.” She pulled the car out of the parking lot, hoping none of the parents had seen her outburst. No one must know how wholly inadequate she felt.
***
“Pastor, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to talk to someone.”
Kent looked up at the young woman in the snug green dress and slick cherry-red nail polish. Oh no. Not Vicky Ebert. Not again.
Mascara cascaded down her flushed cheeks as her words tumbled out with great passion. “I just don’t know where else to turn. But I knew I could count on you. Who else can a girl turn to if not her pastor?” She snatched a tissue from her small black handbag and wiped madly.
“Come on in.” He glanced at his watch. Five forty-five. He needed to get home. He really needed to spend a little time with his daughter before diving into next week’s sermon, and yet. . .here stood a wounded parishioner who obviously needed his help. How could he say no to those tears? “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the large chair directly across from him. “Please.” He left the door ajar, a move he had learned early on when counseling someone of the opposite sex.
“Thank you, Pastor.” She took a seat. “I didn’t know who else to talk to. I’m just so distraught.”
“I can see that. What’s happened?”
“Well, you know Josh, right? My ex?” She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, leaving thick black lines underneath.
“Of course.” Kent remembered him well. Josh had struggled with an alcohol problem for the past two years. But he wasn’t exactly her “ex.” In fact—and Kent knew this firsthand from counseling with Josh—she hadn’t even filed for divorce yet.
“He wants me back,” Vicky said. “But I don’t know what to do. The boys need a father, but not that kind of a father.”
That’s so odd. I thought he was doing better. “Is he still drinking?”
“He says he’s not, but I know he is,” she stammered. “I just don’t know what to do. I tried to tell him we’re not supposed to be together, but he just goes crazy on me.”
“What do you mean ‘goes crazy’?” Kent asked. “Does he hurt you?”
“Oh no.” She blew her nose. “He never hits me.”
“The boys? Does he hurt the boys?”
“Not physically.” She sighed. “It’s not like that. It’s just that he gets so loud and demanding. And I don’t love him anymore.” She dissolved into a puddle of tears. Kent glanced down at his watch once again. Five forty-seven. “That’s a horrible thing to confess, but I feel better now that I’ve said it. How could I love a monster like that?”
“I don’t know, Vicky.” Kent’s heart began to twist inside him. He ached for Vicky’s two little boys. Josh Junior, was just four, and Kevin was barely two. They needed a father, but would a loving God really send back the man who had treated Vicky so bad in the past? According to Vicky’s description, Josh Ebert seemed to be a hopeless case. Was there no answer to this problem?
“I was so sure he had made steps in the right direction.” Kent shook his head, unable to think of anything else to say. “I’m sorry you and the boys are going through this.”
“I knew you would be.” She looked up at him with sad eyes. “What I need in my life is a good man.” Her eyes brightened with the idea. “A godly man who will love me and love my little boys like his own.”
For a brief second, Kent nodded in sympathy, until he realized her bright blue eyes had locked firmly into his. There was something in her expression that he could not ignore. “Uh, Vicky,” he stammered as he stood to his feet, “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ve got to get home to my daughter and you. . .”
“And I,” she reached out to take his hand, “can’t thank you enough for being the most awesome pastor a girl could ever have.” As she stood, she gave his hand a squeeze. “We are a blessed church. And I feel so much better after talking to you. I knew I would.”
“Thank you.” Kent pulled his hand away quickly, trying not to hurt her feelings.
“You’re always here when I need you. I can’t say that about just everyone, you know.”
“I have a wonderful idea.” He reached into his desk drawer. “I have a friend from college—a woman—who is a licensed family therapist. I’m sure she would love to see you. I’ll even give her a call if you like.”
“But I want to talk to you,” Vicky said with a pout. “Not some woman I don’t even know. How can she possibly help me? She doesn’t even know Josh and the boys, and she certainly wouldn’t understand my needs. You’ve known me for years, going all the way back to tenth-grade geometry class.” She gave him a sad puppy-dog face.
Kent looked at his watch once again. Six-oh-eight. “Yes, I do know you.” Better than you think. “I’d like you to at least think about my suggestion,” he said. “Promise?”
>
“I promise,” Vicky flashed a weak smile. “If it will make you happy.”
“What makes me happy is irrelevant.”
“You’re such an important part of our lives,” she argued. “And I trust your judgment completely. I really do.” She gazed up at him again, her long lashes blinking away the tears.
“Thank you, Vicky.” Kent moved toward the door. “But it’s the Lord’s judgment you should trust, not mine or anyone else’s. He has an answer for you and the boys.”
“Yes.” She reached out to take his hand. “I believe He does.”
six
Kent sat at his computer, scrolling through E-mails. He noticed a letter from his sister Jessica in Dallas and opened it immediately. As he read the letter, he couldn’t help but whisper a quick, “Praise the Lord.” It looked like Jessica and her husband would be able to visit the Houston area during the winter holidays after all. That meant they could participate in the church’s Christmas Eve candlelight service.
“I know it’s a long time till Christmas,” he had written in his most recent E-mail, “but it just won’t be the same if you’re not here to sing ‘O Holy Night.’ ”
His parishioners would be thrilled and so would his mother. But his daughter, above all, would be filled with joy. She loved her Aunt Jessica and Uncle Colin. And they had played such an important role in her life since Faith’s death. Every person who took the time to invest in his daughter’s life had become a critical part of the equation.
Kent read over the rest of his E-mails, erasing most. Nothing but advertisements and forwards. Nothing life changing. But speaking of life changing, he had a sermon to write. The pressure to come up with something fresh, something from the heart of God, remained a weekly challenge. He loved this part of ministering—listening for the voice of God and acting on what he heard.
But hearing seemed to be a bit more difficult tonight, for some reason. Perhaps this was due to his ongoing lack of sleep. Or maybe it had something to do with his workload, both at the church and home. Somewhere between caring for a congregation, cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry, bathing a toddler, and tucking her into bed at night, he had worn himself out. At times like these, he truly relied on the Lord to get him through. How else could he possibly take on the role of two parents at once?
His heart grew heavy, as it always did when he allowed his thoughts to shift in this direction. How could he manage without Faith? Then again, he had to confess, he had somehow managed to get through the past two years, day-by-day, minute-by-minute. And with the Lord’s help, he would go on. Together, he and his beautiful daughter would get through this season of sadness and emerge with faith and hope intact.
Charity chose that very moment to slip behind his chair and startle him with a passionate, “Boo!”
“Boo who?” he echoed as he scooped her up in his arms. He held her close, tickling her tummy, her damp hair still carrying the fresh scent of shampoo. She laughed until her little face turned pink. Kent gave her a tight hug. “I love you, Charity.”
“Wub u.” She sprang from his lap and raced toward the television. “Movie, Daddy. Movie!” She bounced up and down.
“We can’t watch the same movie every single night,” he argued as he turned back to his computer screen. “Why don’t you be a good girl and play with your toys. It’s almost bedtime, anyway.”
“Movie, Daddy!”
He sighed deeply, and then stood to grab the all-too-familiar movie case from the bookshelf. “You’ve seen this hundreds of times,” he mumbled, pulling the animated feature from its jacket and slipping it into the DVD player. Within minutes Charity lay curled up on the couch.
Kent sat back down at his computer, trying to concentrate, but the magical world of toddlerdom kept him distracted from the business at hand. He whispered his thoughts aloud as a prayer, “If you could just give me some idea what to preach on this Sunday, I’d be so happy, Lord. I need You, Lord—not just to help with a sermon, but also to infuse my life. I need your strength. I need Your. . .”
“Cookie, Daddy,” Charity reappeared, giving his sleeve a sharp tug.
“It’s too late for a cookie, honey,” he said. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“No bed. Movie.”
Kent glanced at his watch. “Ten more minutes. That’s all.”
She scrambled across the room and tossed herself down in front of the large television set. Within moments, she sang along with the familiar animated characters. Kent rubbed his brow and tried to type, but nothing seemed to come.
***
Shauna sat at her computer, rubbing her aching brow. I know you’ve called me to work with children, Lord, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I really didn’t expect it to be like this. I’m losing my voice. My temper is rising. My head is killing me. And, to top it all off, I think I’m coming down with a cold. At that, she abruptly sneezed.
With the left-click of the mouse, Shauna signed online, anxious to check her E-mail. Hopefully, Joey had written today. She needed to hear from him. Somehow his words would calm her. They always seemed to.
She thumbed through her E-mail. Junk. Most of it, anyway. Finally, the name and address she had longed to see. Joey. It’s about time. She anxiously opened the E-mail, taken aback at its brevity.
“Hey, babe,” it read, “just wanted to drop you a line to let you know I’m not going to be able to write much. These professors are killing me, and I spend every free minute studying. Hope you understand. I’ll try to call sometime next week. I do miss you and hope to see you soon. Let’s don’t let the distance keep us apart. Love you, babe. Joey.”
“That’s it? That’s what I’ve been waiting for?”
Her mind reeled as she tried to figure out an appropriate way to respond. Finally, an idea came to her. “I’ll mail the letter I printed the other day.” She had held onto it for days, not wanting to look pushy. But mailing it the old-fashioned way made perfect sense. He probably just didn’t take E-mail seriously enough. A lot of people didn’t. She opened the familiar program and entered her letterhead information. “He’ll take this seriously,” she said. “I hope so, anyway.”
She leaned back in the chair, relaxing. She didn’t want Joey to think she was overly anxious, but if he didn’t take a vested interest in their relationship soon, she would have to have a serious talk with that boy.
As she started to close out the word processor, she stumbled across an unfamiliar file. “What’s this?” Her eyes rested on the words, “Living the Dream.” Living the dream? What in the world. . . ?
She clicked the file open, shocked to see the whole page fill up with sermon notes based on the life of Joseph. “Oh my.” Mr. Twenty-First Century Pastor left this on my computer. I wonder if he needs it. I wonder. . . She looked the page over, surprised to see how well formulated the notes seemed to be. And he thinks he’s not good at putting his thoughts on paper. Looks pretty good to me.
She quickly signed back online and added the name “21stcenturypastor” to her Buddy List. His name immediately popped up. “Good. He’s still online.” Her heart pounded in her ears as she typed. “This is Shauna. We met at the computer store.”
“Hey, there,” appeared in the box. “I looked for you in church last Sunday. You were a no-show.”
“True,” she responded. “Sorry about that.”
“You missed a great sermon.” He followed the comment with a smiley face and Shauna had to chuckle. She could almost see the smile in his eyes.
“I’m sure I did,” she typed in response. “I went to church with my parents. Their call.”
“Understandable,” he responded. “So, what’s up?”
“I. . .” She paused momentarily as she glanced back over his sermon notes. “I found one of your files on my computer and thought you might need it. I think it’s a sermon.”
“Great! Can you cut and paste it into an E-mail and send it to me?” he wrote back.
“Yeah. Hang on just a m
inute.” She went back to the word-processing document, highlighting every word of the sermon, then copied it and pasted it into a new E-mail. She typed the address, “
[email protected].” With the click of a button, it was on its way to him. “Done.” She typed in the Instant Message box.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he wrote back. “I was just sitting here trying to get inspired for next Sunday’s sermon.”
“You have to get inspired?” she wrote back.
“If I’m not,” he responded, “my congregation won’t be either. Chances are they’ll be snoring in the pew. I can’t be responsible for that.”
“Sounds like my home church.” She couldn’t help but smile as she typed the words. “I get a lot of rest on Sundays.”
He sent a bright yellow smiley face in response to that. “Maybe you’re at the wrong church,” he wrote.
“Maybe.”
“Well, the invitation still stands. Come for a visit sometime. We’ve got a lot of programs to offer.”
“Programs?” She couldn’t help but wonder what he meant.
“We’ve got a great singles’ ministry,” he typed back, “and an awesome discipleship program, as well as an inner-city outreach group that helps families in the government housing projects.”
“Wow. You must be really busy.”
“Yes. In fact. . .” At that, he signed off abruptly.
Shauna leaned back in her chair, thinking about the conversation. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
***
Kent stared at the computer monitor as the screen faded to black. “Charity, don’t ever do that again!” he scolded. She had deliberately pushed the button, turning the computer off while he was in mid-sentence.
“Daddy pway wid me!” she coaxed.
“It’s too late to play,” he said, scooping her up in his arms. “Time for Charity to go to bed like a good little girl.”
“No! Pway, Daddy!” Kent tossed her up in the air, and she squealed in delight. “More, Daddy!” He tossed her again and again, until his arms ached.