Avis and Peter rode home in silence, and they might as well have had a bundling board between them in bed that night. She wet her pillow with silent tears in the darkness, knowing the evening had not ended with the hoped-for tenderness and sexual joy of other anniversaries.
Avis slipped out of bed early the next morning, while the sun seemed to be making up its mind whether to come up or not. Stuffing her feet into a pair of cozy slippers and wrapping an afghan around her shoulders, she curled up in a corner of their soft leather couch with her Bible. She needed some quiet time with God—desperately needed some time alone with God!—because she was scheduled to be the worship leader at SouledOut Community Church that morning, and she was no more prepared in her spirit to lead worship than to hand in her resignation at Bethune Elementary Monday morning.
Oh God! she cried out from her heart. I really bungled our anniversary this time—
Avis stopped. What was she doing? Jumping right into her problems, crying on God’s shoulder without even acknowledging His presence. Who was she to barge right into the throne room of God and demand that He fix the mess she’d made of things last night?
Oh God! she started again. But the praise that usually began her prayers just wasn’t there.
She stared at the well-worn Bible in her lap. If Nonyameko were in her shoes—and hadn’t her friend been in shoes much more painful than Avis’s right now?—she’d turn to the Psalms and let the psalmist’s words be her prayer.
Avis opened her Bible to the Psalms. Many verses were already underlined, words of praise or comfort that had spoken to her spirit in times past. She turned to Psalm 8, a favorite, and began to whisper the words aloud, making them personal as Nony so often had done . . .
“ ‘O Lord, my Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!’ ” Yes, yes, this is what I need to do. Turn my eyes on almighty God to put my worries in perspective. “ ‘You have set your glory above the heavens. From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger!’ ”
That verse was already underlined in heavy red. Avis remembered the first time those words had spoken to her, when her first husband had died of cancer, leaving her a widow too soon. If the simple praises of little children could silence the enemy, then her praises were that powerful too. Take that, Satan! No way could the Prince of Darkness—the evil one who wanted to steal her joy, her peace, even her anniversary—do his nasty work in an atmosphere of praise to the Lord God of heaven.
She prayed the rest of the psalm and continued right on into Psalm 9, no longer whispering. “ ‘I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart. I will tell of all your wonders. I will be glad and rejoice in you. I will sing praise to your name, O Most High!’ ”
Tears of joy spilled down her cheeks as morning sunlight finally peeked into the windows of their third-floor apartment. This was what she needed to do when they gathered for worship at SouledOut that morning—to praise the Lord with all her heart, to simply rejoice in God. Yes, she could lead worship this morning, because it was about God, not about her. Maybe others were walking in similar shoes, coming to church after a ragged week, things undone, wrongful things said, worries clogging their hearts . . . but the praises of little children—and us big babies too—could silence the lies of the enemy.
Avis was about to close her Bible when her eyes fell on Psalm 5. “ ‘Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my sighing . . .’ ” Hm. Not exactly a psalm of praise. But it seemed like an invitation to open her heart. Praying again with the psalmist, she murmured the words aloud: “ ‘Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray. In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice. In the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation . . .’ ”
She closed the Bible and held it tight to her chest, as if pressing the words into her heart. “Thank You, Lord!” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I needed this reassurance that I can lay my worries in Your lap—even a silly thing like my lost earrings—and I can wait in expectation, because I know You are working all things together for our good . . .” For the next few minutes she poured out her pain over the situation with Rochelle and Conny, regret over the way their anniversary had ended the night before, and not knowing what to do about Nony’s outrageous request to come to South Africa for an “extended visit.”
“You on the phone, Avis?” Peter’s sleepy voice startled her eyes open as he shuffled into the living room in his robe and slippers. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you were praying. Just heard you talking.” He turned to leave.
“Don’t go. It’s all right.” Avis patted the couch beside her. “Come sit down?”
Peter hesitated and then sank onto the other end of the couch. “Coffee ready by any chance?”
“No. Sorry. I needed some time to pray, wasn’t thinking about coffee. But . . .” She reached out a slim brown hand and touched his. “I want to say I’m really sorry about last night.”
Peter frowned slightly. “Yeah, kind of a bum end to our evening. But . . . guess I overreacted, and I’m sorry about that.”
A strange peace settled into Avis’s spirit, and suddenly she knew what she needed to do. “Peter, I don’t want to throw cold water on your idea of looking forward, of maybe doing something new with our time—whether it’s this invitation from Nony or something else. It took me off guard, I guess. So I’m willing to talk about it and pray about it together. We can trust God to show us what He wants us to do, can’t we?”
She felt his fingers gently close around hers. She went on. “I’ll send an e-mail to Nony, let her know we got their beautiful anniversary card and the amazing invitation, but we need some time to think and pray about all the implications. At the same time, I do have a request.”
Peter scooted over on the couch and put his arm around her, pulling her close. “What’s that, baby?” he murmured into her hair.
She relaxed into his side, tucking her feet up on the couch. “I’m really concerned about Rochelle and Conny. I don’t want it to be ‘either-or.’ I need to find out where she is, if she’s okay, how Conny is doing, resume some regular contact. Then . . . well, then it’ll be easier to think about other things.” She twisted in his embrace so she could see his face. “Will you help me?”
Peter was quiet a long moment, then he stifled a yawn. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want . . . especially if I can get some coffee in the next ten minutes. I’m still asleep.”
“Oh, you!” Avis reared back and punched him in the shoulder. “If you’re sleep-talking, maybe I should ask for a new car or that trip to Hawaii before you wake up!”