Even though it was late when she got to bed, Grace set her alarm for six thirty the next morning—eight thirty Chicago time—and called Michelle Jasper.
Her neighbor was surprised to hear from her. Michelle didn’t even know why Grace was traveling, so Grace briefly filled her in about the concert tour.
“Oh my! I had no idea!”
Grace knew that was more her fault than her neighbor’s. “But the reason I’m calling …” Without going into a lot of detail, Grace told her young people were coming to her concerts who needed services like the ones in the brochures she’d left at Grace’s house—including the postabortion counseling. “But we’re moving from city to city each day, and I don’t know who to refer them to. I thought if I gave them a copy of your brochure, maybe they could call and get a referral.”
“Of course! In fact, I think there’s a directory of crisis pregnancy centers around the US on the Web—I’ll have to look it up, though.” But in the meantime, Michelle promised to overnight a couple hundred brochures to Grace. “Except tomorrow’s Sunday,” she noted. “Where will you be on Monday?”
Monday! That was two days away! “Can you hold on a moment?” Putting the call on hold, Grace ran into the bathroom to consult with Sam who was staring bleary-eyed into the mirror.
Sam shook her head, as if trying to wake up. “Uh … I think USPS Express Mail delivers 365 days a year—including Sunday. Tell her to check it out. Here … I’ll give her the address of our contact people in Portland.”
Grace handed off the phone to Sam, who arranged with Michelle Jasper where to send the brochures. When the call was finally over, the two women looked at each other. “Okay, which is it?” Sam yawned. “Do we go back to bed—or go to the pool and get in some laps?”
They went back to bed. After all, they wouldn’t be able to sleep in tomorrow, because they’d need to check out early and get on the road.
But that night at the theater, another girl—this one looked about fifteen—came to the meet and greet all distraught. Gave her name as Janeece. She’d just taken an at-home pregnancy test and it was positive. She was afraid to tell anyone, even her boyfriend. She knew he’d pressure her to get an abortion.
Grace felt so helpless! She wished she had a copy of the directory Michelle Jasper had mentioned. But she had Sam take Janeece’s phone number and promised they’d have someone contact her who knew where she could get help.
As Grace fell into her bed that night, she prayed for Ashley and Janeece. Why were these girls coming out of the woodwork on this tour? The theme of her previous tours had touched on the culture of premature sex—except her upbeat message had been to save sexual intimacy for marriage. They were “worth the wait.”
But … it didn’t take into account that many young people had already messed up. What then?
The package from Michelle Jasper arrived at the big church in Portland while they were setting up Sunday afternoon for that night’s concert. Sam suggested putting the brochures out on the merch table, along with a little sign that said, “Take one. To find a crisis pregnancy center or postabortion ministry close to you, call this number.”
Grace grimaced. “I hope Michelle knew what she was doing when she gave me permission to give out their number. I think she’s just a volunteer.”
“Why don’t you call her again, see if she found that directory. Maybe we could print it out and make it available … never mind, I’ll do it. Barry’s waving at you. You need to do a sound check with the band.”
How Sam managed it, Grace didn’t know, but her assistant had copies of a CPC directory stacked on the table alongside the brochures before the concert. “Your neighbor said it’s not complete, but she included a Pregnancy Helpline number.”
No one spilled their hearts to Grace after the concert the way Ashley and Janeece had in Seattle, though she noticed that several of the fans who came to the meet and greet afterward to give her hugs and get her autograph were clutching copies of the brochure or the directory—or both. Later, as they were packing up, Sam said at least a quarter of the brochures were already gone, and almost all of the photocopies. “At this rate, our supply isn’t going to last the whole tour.”
Grace tried to think as she followed Sam out to the enormous tour bus idling in the parking lot. No hotel tonight. The trip to Redding, California—her next concert—would take at least seven or eight hours. “Guess we need to call Michelle Jasper again in the morning. We did tell her we’ll reimburse her for the Express Mail postage, didn’t we?”
Barry tried to keep the postconcert wind-down on the bus to a dull roar so Grace could get some sleep in the back bedroom. But it wasn’t the laughter and good-natured fights over the last few pieces of pizza that kept Grace awake till after midnight. Wrapped in the comforter on the big bed that took up nearly the width of the bus, she stared at the tiny blips of light sneaking past the room-darkening shades as the tour bus headed down Interstate 5. She was a singer—not a social worker or a trained counselor. Yes, God had given her a message—a message that was still at work in her own heart. But when it touched the lives of the young people who came to her concerts … what then?
O God, I’m still working on understanding your grace myself! What do I have to offer these kids?
She hadn’t even had a chance to talk to her folks yet … or her fiancé. Or ex-fiancé. Whatever Roger was at this point.
Or her agent. Didn’t Jeff Newman deserve to know the story behind her new theme?
But as the noises quieted on the bus, Grace seemed to hear a Voice in her spirit. “Just do what you’ve been given to do, Grace. Sing about my grace. Love on the hurting fans who turn to you. Tell them you understand. Point them to people who can help. And point them to me.”
Redding … Oakland … San Francisco … Fresno …
The concerts seemed to be going well. Michelle had sent more brochures. But even with hotel nights on the shorter runs, Grace was tiring fast. So was everyone else. Barry always took time before a show to get Grace and Sam and the band together to pray, and that helped to ease the familiar frustrations and irritations that arose from having to deal with a new venue each night.
Grace was no longer surprised when one or two or three young people would hang back at the meet and greet, and then share a sadly similar story. Pressure to have sex. Or they’d bought into the “no big deal” myth themselves. But afterward, struggling with guilt. For some, an unplanned pregnancy. Feeling scared. Alone. Overwhelmed. An abortion. Secrets. Depression. Even thoughts of suicide. One girl had cut herself and had scars on her arms to prove it.
Grace had told Sam about the inner Voice that told her to “just do what you’ve been given to do,” and they’d prayed about that together at least once a day.
But there was one other thing that worried them both: Grace’s voice was starting to weaken and she often woke up with a sore throat. By the time the bus drove into the parking lot of the Embassy Suites Hotel in Los Angeles at noon on Friday, where they would all stay for two nights, Grace was drinking hot honey-lemon tea and sucking Slippery Elm Lozenges nonstop.
Sam made Grace crawl into the hotel bed as soon as they got checked in while she unpacked and sent some of Grace’s clothes out to be cleaned, pressed, and back by four o’clock. Grace didn’t protest. The comfy bed and pillows felt sooo good. At least the tour was almost over. Bongo Booking had scheduled her at Azusa Pacific University that night … a large church on Saturday night … and a reprise of one of her songs at the worship service—same church—Sunday morning.
And then … home. The Southwest Chief left Sunday evening from downtown LA, and they’d be home by Tuesday afternoon.
Though at this point, Grace almost wished she could fly home.
No. She still had a lot of thinking and praying to do. The train ride would give her time to unwind.
Grace dozed on and off all afternoon, skipping the usual afternoon sound check, which Barry agreed to as long as she got there an hour before the show. Eating a light supper at four, she felt good, ready to go when she and Sam showed up at the auditorium at six. And Barry’s prayers for her voice and her general health when they did their preconcert prayer circle strengthened her spirit too.
The concert went well. Her voice held out—though Sam nearly drowned her with hot tea during the break. “You’re gonna make me have to pee during the last set,” Grace complained—which set them both off laughing.
Yeah, they were tired, even when they didn’t feel tired.
But Grace was somewhat taken aback when two college-age guys came to the meet and greet after the concert and asked if they could talk. One senior admitted he’d slept with his girlfriend in spite of the university’s expectations that students would abide by biblical standards of sexual behavior. But since she hadn’t gotten pregnant, he hadn’t worried too much about it—until tonight. Another had done the same thing, but his girl had broken up with him and later left school. He didn’t know if he’d gotten her pregnant, or if she had a baby, or had gotten an abortion, because she’d cut off all contact. But he was living with a lot of guilt, even felt like he didn’t deserve to graduate.
Grace’s heart ached. Behind every young woman who’d talked to her, there was also a guy—maybe like one of these young men. She sent Sam to ask Barry and Petey if they’d talk with them—guy to guy—and when she’d finished meeting the last of her fans, the guys were still praying together in a corner of the room.
“I’ve never been on a tour like this,” Grace confessed as she and Sam got ready for bed a while later in their hotel suite. “I mean, all I keep thinking about as I’m singing is, who out there in the audience is hurting right now? I imagine her in my mind—someone like Ashley or Janeece—and I find myself singing to that person.”
Sam nodded soberly. “The other tours were great, Grace—really. But this one feels especially anointed. God is really using you.” She handed Grace a steaming cup of honey-lemon tea. “But I’m gonna be honest with you. Your voice did not sound as strong tonight, and we still have two—well, one and a half—concerts to go. You still need to take care of your throat.”
“Yes, Mama Sam.” Grace obediently drank her tea … but woke up Saturday morning with a flaming sore throat. She’d hoped they could get to the beach—after all, it was the first day of May! In California!—and soak up a few rays before practice that afternoon, but Sam talked her into soaking up those rays by the hotel pool instead. Grace needed to take it easy if she wanted to make it through the concert tonight.
Sam even intercepted her phone calls—including one from Jeff, who’d called to wish Grace the best on her last night. “Sorry, she can’t talk right now. Actually, Jeff, you might want to get the Bongo staff together and pray. She’s got a really sore throat and we’ve still got tonight’s concert.”
Grace rolled her eyes. She wished Sam wouldn’t be so dramatic. Her assistant listened, nodded, said “Uh-huh” and “Uh-uh” a few times, then clicked the phone off. “Your agent—” She overemphasized the word with a little smile. “—is really concerned. Asked if you’d seen a doctor. Asked if there was anything he could do. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up tonight.”
Grace managed a snort. “Yeah, and if he did he’d wonder what all the fuss was about if the concert goes off without a hitch.” But she couldn’t help grinning. It was just the kind of thing Jeff would do.
Thanks to Sam’s nursing, Grace was feeling much better by the time she walked onstage that night. She’d chosen a simple black crepe V-neck dress that skimmed her knees, her long hair falling softly in layered strands around her shoulders, and she knew she looked good in spite of the slight scratchiness in her throat.
The church was packed. To keep each evening fresh, she and the band sometimes rearranged the order of the songs, and she continued to depend on that nudge from the Holy Spirit for what to say. The first set seemed to go well, and at the break, she obediently drank lots of water and sucked on her lozenges. One more set tonight … and just a short set in the morning. I can do this. “Be strong,” Sam whispered as the emcee brought down the lights after the break and boomed into the mike, “Once again, we bring you Just Grace!”
Waves of loud applause greeted her as she moved into the spotlight wearing the silver chiffon dress—her favorite. Just Grace. Her heart was full as she nodded to the band and they swung into Todd Agnew’s “Grace Like Rain.” The song was slow and easy, in a comfortable range, and she sang it confidently. “Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me …”
But she had a little trouble on the next song—failing to hit one of the high notes, but recovering and coming in again on the next phrase. Giving herself a little break, she talked to the audience with words of encouragement, sharing one of the truths God was teaching her: “You feel as if you don’t deserve God’s grace? Well, you’re right! You don’t. Neither do I. But that’s what grace is all about—God longs to pour out his love and mercy, no matter what mistakes we’ve made, even though we don’t deserve it. And that’s what brings us through …”
With those key words, the band moved into the song made popular by the Mississippi Mass Choir: “Your grace and mercy brought me through …”
Grace made it through the first chorus, but realized she was struggling with the first verse. The volume wasn’t there, and her voice sounded ragged, even to her. Pulling the mike aside while she cleared her throat, she brought it back again but hummed through the rest of the verse—hoping it might seem something planned—and then came back in on the chorus.
But it wasn’t happening. She couldn’t hit the notes. A small bubble of panic started to rise in her chest—but just at that moment Sam appeared at her side with a handheld mike in her hand, smiling at Grace, mouthing, “Sing alto” …
It only took a nanosecond for Grace to realize what was happening. Sam was going to make this a duet!—letting her drop her voice into the alto range while Sam picked up the soprano. Grace smiled back … and opened her mouth to sing again. Together they finished the chorus and moved on to the second verse.
Their voices blended beautifully, and together they sang the final chorus through to the last line: “Your grace and mercy … brought me through!”
As the last notes died away, Grace slipped an arm around Sam’s waist and held her close as she raised her other arm high. The audience was on its feet, hooting and hollering, clapping and clapping.
They’d loved it.
Sam started to slip away, but Grace grabbed her hand and held her there. Trying to find a break in the applause, Grace spoke into the mike. “As you can see, it wasn’t ‘Just Grace’ tonight”—
Laughter swept the room.
—“it was God’s grace, all the way.”