earing the North Kansas City Ray of Hope Women and Children’s shelter, the houses and buildings grew increasingly run-down. A vacant lot bordered a dilapidated liquor shop and a shotgun house with boarded windows. Across the street, a kid in a gray sweatshirt glided by on skateboard.
“You know these kids don’t stand a chance.” Richard leaned back and looked out the window.
Ainsley glared at him. “How can you, a mental health professional, say such a thing?” And in front of impressionable teenagers, no less. “Of course they have a chance. Jesus can transform even the worst of lives, even the most hopeless of situations. You know that.”
“In theory, perhaps, but research suggests a child’s self--esteem is developed by the time they are five. Their overall belief system is established by age twelve.” He motioned toward a two-story brick apartment complex with barred windows. “Most of these parents—and I use the term quite loosely—are too busy smoking crack, among other things I am sure, to care where their children are.”
The girls exchanged glances, their eyes growing wide.
Their mother visibly tensed, her brow plummeting. “You don’t know that. There are countless reasons why families end up in poverty from job loss to illness and disability to single parenting.” A plastic bag whipped through the air, bouncing off her windshield. “Which is why we’re doing this. Right, girls?” She shot her daughters a grin through the rearview mirror. “Making no assumptions and coming with the grace of our Savior, we’re going to show these women and children that there is indeed hope in Christ.”
Richard muttered something under his breath but Ainsley ignored him. She wasn’t interested in continuing this conversation with such a hard-hearted man. In fact, he shouldn’t even be here. Acts of goodwill her foot!
Lord, please never let my heart grow hard. Fill me each day anew with Your love for Your prodigal sons and daughters, and let us be instruments of Your grace tonight.
They turned left, the brick building of the shelter coming into view. Ivy climbed up its walls, making the old, gothic building look foreboding. Women with children of all ages crowded the sidewalk, waiting for the doors to open. The shelter had limited beds, offered on a first-come, first-served basis. How many families would be turned away tonight?
Norma pulled into a fenced lot sandwiched between the shelter and a dark stone building. Two flickering street lights manned each corner and a single bulb hung above a metal door cut into the wall. Windblown plastic bags and bits of newspaper dangled from the thick strands of barbed wire lining the chain-link fence.
Richard craned his neck, looking around. “Do you really think it’s wise to leave your vehicle here?”
As Norma cut the engine, Ainsley scooted to the edge of her seat, ready to be out of the car and away from Richard and his negativity. “It’ll be fine.”
Everyone piled out, gathering around the trunk.
Richard stepped too close for Ainsley’s comfort. “You’re beautiful when you worry. Do you know that?” He raised his hand to her cheek.
She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t. If you want to help serve, fine.” Heat flooded her face when she realized everyone else, now silent, was watching her. Even so, it needed to be said, so, lowering her voice, she continued. “But if you came to try to weasel your way back into my life, you may as well leave.”
Awkward silence continued, making Ainsley regret her words. Or more accurately, allowing Richard to come in the first place. Norma’s cheerful voice broke the tension. “Fellas, do you want to grab the slow cookers? They’re pretty heavy.” She unlocked the trunk with a beep.
“But be careful. They’re hot.” Ainsley moved aside to let the guys through. “At least, I hope they’re still hot.”
Chris peered over a steaming slow cooker, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Hot enough to take the bite off the cold.”
Richard grabbed a second slow cooker; the women carried the rest. From the looks of it, they had enough to feed an army, and yet, Ainsley still worried. This was the last place she wanted to come up short. For some of these families, this could be their first and last meal of the day. But they’d done their best with what they had, and like Amanda had said earlier, the rest was up to God.
After offering up a quick prayer, Ainsley stacked two large containers of salad on top of one another then carried them across the lot where the others stood gathered around a metal door. She pressed a broken doorbell and waited, shivering in the cold, salad containers shoved under her chin.
“Does the doorbell work?” Gina scrunched her neck in her jacket, teeth chattering.
“I don’t know.” Ainsley tried again.
“Excuse me.” Richard nudged her aside and kicked the door three times, waited, then kicked again.
A moment later a woman with braided hair streaked with gray appeared. “Who are you with?”
“Northside Youth Group, without the youth.” Ainsley offered a nervous laugh. How in the world would they pull this one off, considering none of them—not one—had ever done anything remotely like this before? Although they’d already done the hard part—cooking. But the real test would come when everyone tasted the concoction.
The woman’s face softened and she opened the door wider. “I’m Rose.” She held out a wind-chaffed hand and closed icy fingers around Ainsley’s. Her smile revealed a mouth full of crooked teeth. “Do y’all need help?”
Within seconds, women emerged from numerous directions, hoisting containers from their arms and disappearing with them down the hall. Ainsley and her crew followed to a large room filled with rectangular tables.
“Kitchen’s this way.” Rose led them to an industrial-sized kitchen. A partial loaf of bread sat next to a tub of butter. On another counter freezer bags full of leftovers lay next to a tub of powdered drink mix. She gathered them up. “Guess we don’t need these. We’ll save them for Sunday.”
What did they do for food when the leftovers ran out and volunteers failed to come?
She turned to Chris and Richard who stood just inside the door, still holding their slow cookers. “Why don’t you plug those in, on low. That way food won’t get cold.” She glanced at the clock. “What time do we start serving?”
“We open the doors at 6:30 for worship and the message.” Rose looked from one face to the next. “So who’s preaching?”
Richard frowned. “What message?”
Ainsley offered a sheepish smile. “I suppose I forgot to mention that. I thought one of the youth boys would take care of it.”
“Doesn’t have to be fancy or nothing.” Rose grinned. “Just read one of the Psalms. Like Psalm 121 or something. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” (v. 2 KJV; paraphrase).
“I know that’s right!” A woman with stringy black hair hanging over bony shoulders entered the kitchen carrying a ten-quart juice container. “My help cometh from the Lord, the maker of the heavens and the earth” (v. 2 KJV; paraphrase).
The two women burst out in song, “We’ll be standing on the mountaintop, looking out upon the valley. You carried me. Father, You carried me.”
Ainsley giggled and turned to Gina. “Would you mind stirring the meat a bit while it reheats? I’m going to get my guitar.”
Chris rushed to her side. “And I’ll get mine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You play?” She’d seen a second guitar in the van but assumed it belonged to one of Norma’s girls.
“When did you . . .”
“Gina said you’d be playing. I told her I did too. She said you might feel more comfortable if one of us went up with you, so I grabbed my guitar back at your house when all you females were taking turns with your bathroom.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Right.” They walked side-by-side to the van.
“So, how long have you been playing?”
She retrieved her instrument from the trunk of Norma’s van. “Since I was twelve. At one time I thought I wanted to be the next Amy Grant.”
“There’s always time.” He grabbed his case and slung it over his shoulder. “Guess tonight will be our first duet, huh?”
Ainsley smiled, her heart giving a little jump. When they reached the shelter entrance, he opened the door and held it for her. “If you’re ever interested, I’d love to have you come play at the café sometime.”
“I didn’t know you had live music.”
“We don’t, yet, but it’s on my list.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”
They returned to the kitchen to find Richard leaning against a counter, scowling. Gina hovered over three slow cookers, vigorously stirring the bubbling meat. The compact kitchen smelled of garlic, tangy beef, and fresh brewed coffee. It set Ainsley’s mouth watering, reminding her it’d been a while since her last meal.
She propped her guitar against the wall and crossed the kitchen, breathing deeply of the spicy, sweet aroma.
Voices floated in from the other room. Ainsley peered into the cafeteria. Women and children milled around tables, gathering in packs of fours and fives. Her breath caught, and, palms pressed together, she brought the tips of her fingers to her mouth. Was that . . . ?
Yes! Sitting near a far table with her shoulder’s hunched, head drooped forward, sat Wanda, the battered woman from the apartment. Her son sat beside her with the same down- trodden posture. He wore a pale green sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head. Every once in a while, he’d glance up, scan his surroundings, then stare at his hands again. Poor kid. But at least he and his mom had found a safe place. For tonight.
“Showtime, folks.” Grinning, Rose poked her head through the doorway. “Y’all ready?”
Ainsley nodded, swallowing hard. She glanced at Gina who shot her a wink.
Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. “Surely you’re not nervous, my princess.”
Ainsley turned to Chris. “Shall we?”
He nodded and followed her down the center aisle toward a small, black podium in front of the cafeteria. Three wooden stools of alternate height lined the far wall. She pulled one forward. It wobbled on uneven legs. She returned it and tried the second one. Chris followed suit and settled on a stool beside her.
He held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes sending a flutter through her heart and heat to her cheeks. She quickly glanced away, scanning the crowd for Wanda and her son. Upon making eye contact, she smiled. Would she get a chance to talk with them later? What would she say? That she thought about them constantly, prayed for them daily?
Richard sat at the far end of the room at an empty table, back rod straight, arms crossed. Gina sat beside him. She smiled and gave Ainsley a thumbs-up sign.
Ainsley cleared her throat. Lord, this one’s for You. Please, overcome my insecurities, for their sake. Love these women through me today.
She turned to Chris. “‘You’ll never leave Me’? In G?”
He nodded then awaited her lead.
Ainsley strummed her guitar and let the softly played chords envelope her. Wanda watched her intently, her fingers twined and pressed to her mouth. Tears shone in her eyes. She reached for her son’s fisted hand, placed hers upon it. He visibly relaxed and leaned into her. Lifting his head, he centered his gaze on Ainsley.
Her voice cracked as intense emotion swept through her, nearly stealing her breath. It was as if God was loving them through her. And in that moment, she felt more alive than she had in some time, if ever.