Tom did his best to focus on the music, the songs, and worshipping his Lord, but felt the pressure of his inaugural Sunday morning. Along with the humiliation of bad press.
Alisha, God love her, curled her lip at the article. “Who cares? Is it true? No. Let God defend you, Tom.”
Her confidence stirred his.
Now, as Alisha brought worship to an end, Tom prepared to take the pulpit. He’d not looked over his shoulder for the entire worship set so he had no idea if one or a hundred people filled the old, wooden pews.
In truth, he wanted to see one face. Well, two. Pop’s and Ginger’s. Mostly Ginger’s. He needed to know she was okay. That the article hadn’t stirred up bad memories.
The last note rang out from the keyboard and Alisha nodded to Tom. Go time. Up the platform steps, he faced the sanctuary and his heart soared.
The place was full. To the brim. Standing room only.
“Good morning. Welcome to Encounter—”
“Is it true?” A woman in the second row rose to her feet. “Your father nearly had an affair?”
Tom recognized her from the old days. Shutting off his iPad, he came around the pulpit, his eyes drifting over the people. “Is that why you all are here?”
Heads bobbed. Voices assented.
The heat of confrontation beaded along his brow. “Then let’s just get it all out on the table. Some of the article is true. Dad had an inappropriate amount of affection for Shana Winters.” In the back, the sanctuary doors opened and Tom halted, a cold dread slipping down his back as Ginger eased inside.
No, no, not today. But it was too late to reverse rudder and preach his prepared message. To pretend the article never appeared.
He caught her gaze and she smiled, offering a small wave before accepting a seat in the last row from an older gentleman.
She looked . . . different. Radiant.
“Riley Conrad,” he said, “gave us her opinion about me and my family. She also dragged out the names of fellow, private citizens. I won’t speak for them but I can promise you my devotion to Jesus is greater than my devotion to any of you. Than to this ministry. If the Lord said, ‘Shut it down tomorrow,’ I’d do it. I’ve already been a rebel, the resentful, bitter son of a preacher and by the grace of God, I don’t care to go back. Come to Encounter Church if you want to encounter God’s love for you. If you want to love others. If you want to share life and the Gospel with the Rosebud community. Don’t come here if you’re looking to gain something for yourself. If you have any sort of agenda. Come here if you love or want to love Jesus.”
Tom shot a glance toward Ginger, who was on her feet, moving forward. “Can I say something?” Her voice carrying through the crowded sanctuary. Heads turned. Voices murmured.
“Are you sure?” Tom said. He could see her trembling.
“Hey, some of you know me. But for those who don’t, I’m Ginger Winters.” She held up a copy of the Gazette. “My mama and Tom’s dad had a friendship that went too far in my mama’s heart. It caused some problems for Reverend Wells, and he chose to leave. He has his reasons, and if you want to know, ask him.”
Tom watched, surprised, astounded. Something had happened to Ginger Winters.
“But don’t hold what our parents did against Tom here. When we were in high school, and no one wanted to talk to the freaky burned girl, me, he did. This past weekend at a wedding, he treated me like I mattered when others didn’t. He made me see that I expected them to treat me that way because that’s how I see myself.” She smiled up at him. “I guess I was listening.”
“Amazing,” he said, moving toward her. “Considering I talked way too much.”
Ginger faced the congregation again. “He challenged me to believe the truth. That I was, am, beautiful. Scars and all. He told me Jesus loved me and while I’m not sure what all that means, I’m starting to wonder if this Gospel business isn’t exactly what I need. I’ve never trusted any man with my heart. Shoot, I barely trusted anyone. But I’d trust Tom Wells. With every part of my being.” Her voice wavered and watered. “He challenged me to tell myself I was beautiful and this morning, for the first time, I looked into the mirror, saw my hated scars, and told myself I was beautiful. Out loud.” Her smile rivaled the sun peeking through the windows. “And for the first time,” a bubbly laugh overflowed from within her, “I believe it.”