The song blasted through the car and made her feel like a teenager again. She sometimes liked to do this when she was driving by herself. When she didn’t have to use the time to connect with Matthew. When she didn’t have to hear the same songs over again on Christian radio. When she didn’t have to hear a story about someone at church. She liked not having to hear any of it.
Sometimes, like now, she just wanted to imagine. To hear the words about some silly, sophomoric love story. Once upon a time, Grace found herself in that story. But the songs always hinted at the happily-ever-after. They always left something in your imagination.
Grace no longer used her imagination. It was a dangerous thing to do.
The receipt she had found on their dresser earlier this morning had prompted her to do something. To get into her car and start it up and turn up the radio while she drove down the street. Maybe she was just trying to get into the right frame of mind. Teens—some of the students who went to their church—but she still didn’t know what it was like to be a teen these days. Such a dark, scary world with so many potential pitfalls. Grace was reminded that she was grateful to have grown up in a better time. Still ripe for failing, but not as dangerous as these days.
The motel wasn’t far away. Grace thought of this young girl staying there alone. A young pregnant girl all alone in some kind of solitary prison. She knew Matthew had done the right thing, but it was also such a guy thing to do.
Uh here let me get you a motel room.
She didn’t blame her husband, however. She blamed herself. He had asked and she had refused. He had made the offer and she had taken it back. Yes, it had been late and she hated being woken up, and yes, Matthew did have a lot on his plate these days. Grace had just assumed that he would find a good place to bring her and be done with it.
Done with it.
Those three words filled her with shame. It was as if they were painted on a billboard she passed.
What if God did the same thing to you?
Another voice inside her wanted to sneak out a whisper that God had indeed done the same thing with her. With them. And that she had been wondering why for quite some time.
Don’t go there, Grace.
She had spent too many hours in counseling and too many moments with friends to go back to that place of grief and anger. Sometimes God didn’t answer prayers and we would never know the reason why. Period. Grace had accepted this even though there were days where the questions rolled in like some kind of thunderstorm. As always, she would have to wait out the weather.
The Starlite Motel sat there like some kind of dirty child on the side of the road waiting for his mother. There had been several times when her husband had helped someone out and gotten them to stay at this place. Yet those other times it had always been adults. A man who had been kicked out of his house for his addiction to porn. A woman running away from her abusive husband and not sure where to go. Even the janitor in the church, a wonderful man named Joe, who had just been let out of prison and needed somewhere temporary to stay.
Matthew and she had talked about the church someday building or buying a house where people like this could come. A recovery home. They had a growing ministry called Celebrate Recovery that was already thriving within their small body. Maybe, possibly, the recovery home could be something done with this ministry.
For now, it seemed like the Starlite Motel was their go-to place of refuge for the broken and needy.
The woman behind the desk recognized her even though they didn’t know each other’s names. The woman was maybe fifteen years older than Grace but had a hard look stamped over her face. The serious look wasn’t unfriendly. It was probably just that the muscles for smiling hadn’t been used much over the years.
“My husband brought a young girl here the other night,” Grace said. “A teenager. She’s been here a couple of nights.”
The woman didn’t have to question whether it was okay to tell Grace which room she was in. This lady understood things. She knew Matthew and Grace were only there to help people out.
“Room 124,” the raspy voice told Grace.
She thanked the woman and headed toward the girl. She knocked. When the door opened, the sound of the television blared behind the petite figure in the doorway.
“I’m Grace, Matthew’s wife. The pastor’s wife.”
Right away she wanted to let this girl know who she was and why she was there.
“It’s not right for you to have to stay here alone,” she continued. “I’m the one who turned you away the other night. Please forgive me.”
Wide eyes full of curiosity and surprise and even a hint of humor just stared at Grace.
“Okay . . .” The young voice trailed off.
Before she could say anything more, the door next to them opened. A tall African American in his twenties stepped out and walked past them, a friendly smile on his face. Grace first saw the duffel bag over his shoulder, but then saw the Bible in his hand. Even in his leather coat and with the stubble on his chin, he looked like a good guy. The eyes told the story. They were a window into a safe place.
Once he was past, Grace asked the first and most important question.
“What is your name?”
“Maggie.”
The name seemed to fit this girl like some kind of handmade sweater. Grace gave her a nod and a smile.
“Maggie, I want you to come with me, okay? Our home is your home. Until we figure out a better place for you to be.”
Her innocent face looked uncertain, as if Maggie was trying to figure out some way to say no. Her small figure seemed even more tiny because of the round belly that she held with one hand.
“I allowed myself to say no the other night. I apologize for that. So I’m not taking a no from you.”
Maggie gave her a silent nod. It was a start.
They would figure things out together. In a much better and safer place.
“Let me help you with your stuff,” Grace said.
“It’s okay. I only have one bag.”
• • •
THE LIGHT FELT like it had been red for about ten minutes. Grace watched and waited while the girl next to her did the same. For the first few moments in the car, they had driven in silence. No radio drowning the voices inside this time. Soon the car started to move again and Grace knew she had to ask.
“Have you had any prenatal care?”
The girl only shook her head and remained silent.
Grace was concerned about Maggie but even more concerned about the baby inside her. A teen living on the streets . . . Had she gotten any kind of treatment, any sort of professional care and advice?
She was walking around with a precious gift and she didn’t even care about it. She had no idea how valuable that gift was.
Grace searched for the right question to ask next, or perhaps the right thing to say. There was nothing worse than saying some kind of trite thing, making some kind of glib response. She had genuine concern. And this girl was just a teenager. But she still deserved respect and care. Grace needed to be sensitive.
Just as she started to talk again, Maggie surprised her and began talking.
In a way, it seemed like she’d wanted to talk to someone for some time.
“My stepmom took me to what I thought was my first appointment. I didn’t realize until I got there that they were looking to get rid of the baby.”
Maggie wasn’t even looking at Grace, but instead glancing out her window. Grace knew that some memories had to be buried just in order to keep on walking and breathing and living.
“I felt the baby kick for the first time on the way into the clinic, and I couldn’t get the feeling out of my head. It was like the baby was telling me not to let them do it. Before that I’d felt these little movements, but this was totally different. This was a real kick. I realized everything they were telling me was wrong. And I just—I had to get out of there.”
She glanced over to see the look on Grace’s face. To see her reaction.
“It’s why I ran away,” Maggie told her as if she was still trying to defend herself.
The anger Grace had felt suddenly evaporated. She had judged the girl all wrong.
Maggie glanced back out the window, toward the city sidewalks they passed. She continued talking in a soft, faraway voice.
“When I’m alone . . . it’s like there’s this little voice inside of me that keeps whispering, keeps telling me the same thing. ‘You can have your life back. There’s still time. All you have to do is get rid of it. And that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not even a person anyway.’ I hear these whispers but I know they’re a lie.”
Maggie’s head shifted down and her hands covered her face. Even her cry was soft and understated, a slow and deep whimper. Grace put a hand on the back of her curly hair.
“It’s my baby,” Maggie said.
Grace could feel the tears in her own eyes now. Not just because of the pain and the confusion filling this young girl’s soul.
No.
She realized that Maggie knew full and well the gift she had been given. She had run away in order to protect that precious gift.
Maggie wasn’t there because of some mistake or misfortune or foolish decision. She was trying to protect a life. She simply didn’t know how to do it. Grace realized now that Matthew didn’t randomly stumble upon her. God had brought Maggie to them.
Grace believed this. She also believed—she absolutely knew—that Maggie was in safe hands.