| |
Jeanne rubbed away sleep with the heels of her palms, yawned, and stretched. Her bed at home was a lot softer, but she didn’t mind one bit—not today. “Thank You, Lord, for this day and for letting me go with Renee to help the community with their needs. Please show me where I’m most needed. Let others see Your light through me.” She stood and raised both arms toward the ceiling. A few kinks needed a little help, and she was ready to start her morning chores before heading to the church. She stripped the sheets off her bed.
When she arrived in Grove Hill, she and Renee had agreed upon which tasks were hers. Back in Hopewell, Jeanne always rose early to do her household chores and then go to school. Even here, she didn’t deviate from those morning habits. Dressed, she stood and seated her feet in her boots.
Curiosity nipped at Jeanne. Had the snow in the backyard melted? She lifted a slat in the blinds and peeked outside—no new snow, but the yard still lay under plenty to play in later. She could not see the angel she had made yesterday from her window. Joy still trilled within from creating the second snow angel. She giggled to herself at the thought of seeing the art. They say practice makes perfect, and I guess it must be true. The second snow angel I made yesterday is even more beautiful than the first one. I’ll check it when I get to the dining room.
A gentle tap on her door preceded Renee’s whisper. “Are you up, Jeanne?”
“Ready when you are.” She grabbed the bundle of sheets, the borrowed jacket, and the scarf and greeted her sister with a huge smile. “I’ve been up for an hour.”
Renee’s laugh echoed down the hallway, and she quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oops, I don’t want to wake the house. Let’s go. I packed a thermos of coffee to take along. The church’s brew is a little strong for my taste. You can start the laundry when we get back this afternoon.”
“Perfect.” With her free hand, Jeanne eased the bedroom door shut.
Even though the family were deep sleepers, the women moved quietly and quickly down the hallway.
Jeanne’s boot toe banged against a table leg in the kitchen while trying to get a glance out the window to the backyard. “Oh, dear.” She halted, tilted her head, and listened. Silence filled the house. Glad her snow angel was still intact. “Are Winston and the kids joining us today?”
Renee packed cups, snacks, and a thermos in a large sunflower tote. Jeanne suspected her sister had sewn the bag. Growing up, she’d always helped their mother make clothes for the family. Mom called her eldest daughter a “born seamstress.” She boasted that from the time Renee had turned seven, her sewing gift flourished—with or without a pattern handy.
“They will join us later at the center where we’ll feed the homeless.” Renee smiled. “Would you like to drive?” She dangled a set of keys on one finger.
Jeanne had hoped she’d have time to practice her driving skills during her visit. “Really? I sure do.”
“The roads are a little slippery, so take it easy. Has Dad let you get a car?”
“Thanks, sis. No, I’ll tell you all about that argument shortly.”
The women carried the bags and other provisions to the car and packed them into the trunk. Settled behind the wheel, Jeanne started the engine, pulled out of the driveway, and maneuvered through the streets as Renee directed her to the center.
Jeanne considered the task a new adventure, a burst of love and joy in the new day. Was this what she sought? Was that nudge in her spirit leading her to this district and church? Her morning prayer had included a promise that she'd accept whatever was gifted to her on this day with gratitude—whether physical or spiritual.
She gripped the wheel tighter. “Dad won’t let me drive much at home, and I can’t talk him into buying me a car.” A disconcerted breath puffed from her lips. “He keeps saying my husband will buy me a vehicle when I marry.” She glanced at her passenger. “Yesterday, you said this church doesn’t believe in marrying strictly inside the congregation?” Within her community, the pressure grew greater each season. And she planned on not helping it to evolve further.
“We welcome all non-members through our doors. If a couple is similarly matched, we embrace the relationship. The pastor requires them to go through counseling before the ceremony. Marriage is, after all, a lifetime commitment.” Renee smiled. “The union will be blessed who understands and keeps His covenant.”
Jeanne’s gaze remained on the road. “I like your church more and more. Sunday can’t get here fast enough so I can hear the message.” She angled the car into a snow-covered parking spot. At least, she hoped she wasn’t mistaken about the slot. The women retrieved the bags and stepped onto the hazardous walkway.
Renee clasped Jeanne’s hand. “Be careful, sis. It’s a little slippery. Looks like the men haven’t had time to shovel a path to the door.”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about—oh!” Her right foot slid as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and her hand tightened on her sister’s. “Catch me!”
Renee let the sunflower tote drop to the walkway. She reached for Jeanne’s other hand...or any body part she could grasp to prevent a disaster. Suddenly, both women lay sprawled on their backs on the snow-covered grass, laughing.
A short young man appeared in front of the ladies. Renee’s face paled. She covered her mouth to smother the giggles. “Morning, Pastor Eli.”
“Are you ladies all right? Let me help you up, Sister Renee.” He grabbed her hand, gave it a firm pull, and she landed on her feet. “You too, Ms.”
“Pastor, do you remember my little sister, Jeanne Adams? She’s visiting for a few weeks. Jeanne has shown interest in helping us today on our community project and even serving the meal.”
“We can always use more helping hands. Good to meet you again, Sister Jeanne. Take hold, and we’ll get you out of the snow.”
Renee grabbed her sister’s arm. “Sis, your arm is bleeding.”
A red stain soaked through the sleeve of Jeanne’s blue jacket. She glanced around the area and pointed out the guilty culprit to the pastor. A broken bottle poked its long neck through the snow.
“I’ll have someone take care of that. Let’s get you inside and check out the damage.”
After Renee cleansed and bandaged the minor cut on Jeanne’s forearm, the women began sorting blankets of all sizes, colors, and patterns. Lining the wall, large bins of coats and sweaters waited to be organized and hung on hangers so folks could select according to size what they needed.
Lots of women and men showed up to help with the tasks. Renee waved over a lady walking through the door. A blonde a few years younger than Jeanne approached them. “Jeanne, this is Madison Vanguard. She lives out in the country. Madison, this is my little sister, Jeanne Adams. She’s visiting from Hopewell.”
The women shook hands. Jeanne admired the woman’s blonde hair gracefully dripping over her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes seemed to smile to be here. “Good to meet you. Do you also go to my sister’s church?”
Madison shook her head. “I’m happy to meet you. No. I attend a different church not far from my house. You’re welcome to join me and my family for services anytime.”
Renee stretched her sight toward the door and touched Madison’s arm. “Is Jimmy John and Mariah with you today?”
“Jimmy John had to work, and Mariah is sick with a stomach bug. But they promised they’ll be here next time. Jeanne, I’ve known both of my friends since the fourth grade. We kinda hang out together doing things like this. I hope you meet them and join us for lunch or some of our social adventures before your visit ends.”
“Sure. I’d like that very much. Just say when.”
Renee touched Madison’s arm. “How are you doing after...well, that bad experience?”
Madison heaved a sigh. “Fine, I guess. My heart is a little shattered after someone I thought was a friend, but her only motive was to trick Joseph into getting back with his ex-girlfriend. Hannah has never apologized for the mess she created. She said some awful things that weren’t true. But I forgave them both and went on with my life.” Madison looked at Jeanne. “I have very few friends—it’s hard to trust now. Jeanne, I sense your heart.” Her face lit up, and her smile returned.
Renee touched Madison’s arm. “I’m sorry about such a thing happening to you, but yes, you can trust my sister. Thanks for sharing. I know how hard it is when someone deceives you. I’m glad you forgave them.”
“I won’t be friends with them—can’t give them the chance to hurt me again. Thanks, Renee, and you too, Jeanne, for listening. We better get to work, so these folks can stay warm.”
Someone called Madison’s name from across the room. “See you guys later. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Jeanne.” She waved, spun on her heels, and headed toward the man who beckoned her.
“Ree, I thought this was just for your church parishioners to work?”
“We welcome all to help. There are no denominations in the Lord’s eyes. Mankind put that separation of God’s children in place, and we ignore that everyone has a right to worship Him. We are all His children but don’t act like it.”
Jeanne blinked. “You’re right. I hadn’t seen it like that before. I’m glad Madison hasn’t harbored bitterness against those who sought to use her.”
“Me too. She has a good heart. Like yours, sis.”
As planned, the volunteers finished before the doors opened to the public. Anyone could take whatever they required. Amazed, Jeanne’s gaze took in the extensive line of people outside the entrance.
Her emotions spun in all directions. Joy and gladness that she could help, but also intense sadness at the sheer number of downtrodden people needing assistance. And these were residents. Were there this many in Hopewell who could use the same kind of aid? Why hadn’t she noticed this before now? Had she been brought here for this very thing—to open her eyes—show her the circumstances, and strengthen her faith? Whatever the reason Jeanne felt the urging to hop a bus to Grove Hill, He was in control, and she would let Him lead.
A tired-eyed woman stood in line with three small children. Jeanne surmised that the youngsters were three to six years old. The two boys kept the mother on her toes. They’d punch each other’s arms, burst into gales of laughter, and run in circles around their mother. More than once, she grabbed the little rapscallions by their shirt collars and whispered something in their ears. They’d settle for a minute but not for long. Occasionally, disaster was narrowly diverted when their rowdiness nearly knocked down other folks in line. Finally, the frustrated mom led the little girl to a row of chairs against the wall and ordered the child to sit there until her return.
Jeanne’s heart pinched when tears spilled down the little blond-haired girl’s cheeks—she had done nothing to warrant being disciplined. Perhaps the mother saw that her daughter might get injured by the brothers rowdiness. Dare she interfere with the parent’s instructions or even offer a kind word to the girl, who was obviously hurt by her mother’s words? Jeanne dropped the blanket onto a folded pile and strolled across the room. She sat beside the child and smiled. “Hi, my name is Jeanne. What’s yours?”
The child sniffed loudly and wiped her hand across her nose. “Angel.”
“My goodness, just like the angels in the Bible. How special to be named after one of God’s creations. They watch over us, you know.”
The child’s eyes brightened, and a smile lifted on her lips. “Really?”
Jeanne focused her utter attention on the little one, letting the rest of the room’s activities fall to the wayside. “Really. The Lord has special assignments for His angels. He has a mighty warrior archangel called Michael and a messenger angel called Gabriel. They do all kinds of things for God. So, what do you think?”
Angel’s eyes had rounded on every word Jeanne spoke about angels. “Oh, my goodness.” Tiny hands cupped her rosy cheeks.
Three pairs of feet stepped in front of Jeanne and Angel, ranging in size from kids to an adult. Angel’s mother and brothers stood with their arms full of blankets and winter attire. The mother stared at Jeanne, then her gaze went to the child. “Time to go, Angel.”
The little girl leaped off the chair. As one of her brothers led the child, she smiled broadly and waved at Jeanne.
Thank You, Jesus, for letting me give a moment of joy to one of Your children. Is this the reason I’m here today?
About an hour before midday, Renee rolled down her sleeves and smiled at her sister. “Grab your coat, sis, and we’ll head to the shelter’s kitchen to feed these folks a hot meal.”
Aiding the locals made her feel useful and filled her soul with more love than she thought possible. Jeanne smiled when a verse from Matthew came to mind. “For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger, and you invited me in.”
When the women walked next door to the homeless shelter to feed men and women, Jeanne didn’t think the day could get any better. But it did.
Roland Bryson wrestled with the decision to accept the pastor’s offer and stay the night at Grove Hill’s shelter. But with very few choices available to him, he must. His best-laid plan to arrive in his hometown before the first winter snowfall fell apart when overnight temperatures dipped below freezing and snow blanketed the region. With his aching body spent from an arduous trip, he longed for quiet, undisturbed, refreshing sleep that would clear away the fogginess in his head. In a shelter, none of those conditions were likely.
He stopped at the entrance and stomped off snow from his boots, not wanting to track inside. The room’s capacity threshold must be pushing the limit. A crowd of men milled around as they claimed their cots. He sighed. It’s better than leaning against a dirty wall in the wet and freezing snow. This long, grueling trip home provided him ample, though not always comfortable, time to reflect on his future and to pour his heart out to the Lord. The fellowship he had as a youth wasn’t the same. Had he matured to a new level in their relationship?
Settled on a cot, Roland closed his eyes for the first time in days. Then, as he’d predicted, heavy snoring filled the combination shelter and food serving line room. To drown out the incisive noise, he smothered his head with the pillow but remained awake. The only bright spot left in his heart was anticipation—he couldn’t wait to see his family—well, what remained of it after cancer took his dad five years ago, and then heart disease claimed his mother just last month, according to the message from his brother. He attended neither funeral.
Roland slept only a few hours between his roiling thoughts, the snoring, and dawn. He rolled up to a seated position, stretched, and glanced beneath the cot. His pack still lay where he had left it last night. After folding the blanket, he grabbed the pillow and placed both in a bin that held all the bedding for the cots.
Back at his designated space, he pulled his backpack from underneath the narrow cot and made sure his few belongings weren’t disturbed. The zipper snarled on an envelope—and of course, the contents came to mind. His brother’s written words sent a skittle along his spine. They were the reason no rush existed in getting to Grove Hill. By the time the mail had caught up with him, his mother’s burial lay three weeks in the past. Would his family forgive him for running away years earlier? Would the daily guilt that besieged him ever go away?
Regardless of what happened, he’d promised himself never to leave the family or community again and prayed Winston’s sincere letter was from love. His actions before and after his military career had to be faced, along with the shame—he saw them all every day when he looked at his own face in a mirror. His life needed prioritization, with the first to be God, his family, and a job. But how was he to conduct this latter feat? At his military sentencing trial, the judge told him that his army service record would follow him whenever and wherever he tried to seek employment. He ran his fingers through long, dirty, matted dark hair and planted his worn ball cap on top.
A firm hand latched onto his shoulder, and Roland spun on his heels. In a ready stance, his military training and a keen awareness of street living took over.
Pastor Eli stepped back and stared wide-eyed. “Sorry. I thought you heard me approach.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he stuffed his fists into his jeans pockets. “Think nothing of it.”
“The kitchen needs a headcount for lunch. Can you stay? We’ll be happy if you will.”
How could he not remain? “Um.” A hot meal wouldn’t hurt. “Sure. I’ll stay.”
“Afterward, a man is coming to offer haircuts and shaves at no charge.” Pastor Eli cocked his head, and his eyes narrowed. “Son, do I know you? Are you from around here?”
Roland dipped his chin and looked away. “Too many years ago. I just got into town last night. My timing is a little off with the bad weather, but that’s how it goes.”
“Well, you’re welcome to eat, get a haircut, and shave if you like.” The pastor sighed. “We’re not supposed to ask names, but have you ever visited Grace Chapel Church—”
“Pastor.” A man cried out from across the room.
Pastor Eli gestured to the man. “Sorry, gotta go. We’ll talk later.”
Yep, pastor, you know me. You were several years ahead of me in school. I have all these doubts rambling around in my head. But I want my identity concealed for now. I’ll depend on my military training until I’m accepted back into the community and my family. If Winston and Renee won’t...Jesus, You’re in charge, and whatever the outcome, I’m staying.
He busied himself helping the volunteers put up cots and setting out tables for the luncheon. He glanced in the pastor’s direction occasionally and caught him studying him, but he kept his ball cap pulled down enough to hide his eyes—they had always given him away. No one in this community had blue-violet-colored eyes like his. Thanks to his eyes, the girls at school had flocked around him, but now they were a recognizable feature he could only hide for moments at a time.
After setting out the last table, he spotted a corner away from others where he could watch the front door. Living on the streets, he had learned never to trust anyone and to always keep his back against the wall. Experiences called for such actions on his part. On his first night on the streets, a man attacked him and stole his coat. Since then, he’d seen so many people with problems—drug addicts, victims of rape, and abused as the devil’s hand definitely played against the destitute, most of whom had no means of defense, either spiritual or physical.
The aroma of food wafted into the room, and Roland pushed his cap up. His rumbling stomach made it clear he needed a meal.
Two young women entered and strolled across the room toward the kitchen. Were his eyes deceiving him? Is that Renee and Jeanne? Oh...can I clean up enough to be accepted back? Please, don’t let them recognize me...not right now, not looking like this.
Blending in with the other folks outside was easy, but Roland’s efforts were for naught in the center. A guilty twinge rippled through his gut. He slid the tattered bill of his cap further over his eyes and shifted his chair away from the others.
He glanced at his backpack. Stitched across the flap, “Bryson” flashed like a neon sign. Surely that’ll give me away. He pivoted the bland-green pack, tucked it beneath the table, and settled a leg atop. He didn’t want any family to come over, so he kept one eye on his sister-in-law and her sister and one on the door.