“How can you make popcorn without a bag?”
“Are you serious?” Amber stared at her supposedly brilliant best friend. “You’ve really never seen popcorn made on a stove in a pot?”
“Nope, I’ve only had the microwave kind—oh, and the kind at the movie theater.”
“What do you think people do with the jars of popcorn kernels they sell at the grocery store?”
Brittany shrugged. “I just assumed they put them in some sort of special bag and popped them in the microwave.”
“Really? I can’t believe it.” Amber turned away briefly to face the stove, then spun back around. “Wait! I have a question. What about before microwaves? Where did popcorn come from then?”
“I guess I never really thought it through. We don’t have popcorn at home very often—it’s not really a Korean delicacy, you know.” Brittany shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, okay then. I guess you get to learn how to make real popcorn now.” Amber reached for a pot from the cabinet under the range. “Trust me, once you taste this stuff, you’ll never want microwave popcorn again.” She poured oil into the bottom of the tall pot on the stove. “The key is to put in enough oil so every kernel is submerged, but not so much they’ll drown in it when they pop.” She poured two pieces into her palm. “Now, the next step is important. You only put two kernels into the pot. Wait until they pop, then add the rest.”
“Why?” Brittany peered through the glass lid.
“That way you know it’s hot enough to pop the rest of the corn.”
“Yeah, but I mean, why only two? Why can’t you put it all in there? The oil would still get hot, right?”
“Um, well, yeah. I guess so.” Amber’s forehead creased as she wondered why. “But anyway, that’s how it’s done.”
“Ha! You don’t know.” Brittany grinned and crossed her arms triumphantly on herchest. “But whatever. We’ll do it your way. Two kernels.”
Pop. Pop.
“Okay, now we’re ready for the rest.” Amber lifted the lid and poured in the popcorn. “And … now we wait.”
Brittany peered through the clear glass lid of the pot.
“A lot of people will tell you to shake it the whole time once it starts popping. But really, the trick is not to. If it’s the right temperature, it will pop fast enough that the popped kernels will rise and the unpopped ones will stay on the bottom.”
They stood at the stove, leaning over to watch the bubbling oil heat the corn kernels inside. A few early responders popped into big, white fluffy clouds while the rest simmered longer.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Brittany hesitated.
“What’s up?”
“My church is having a Christmas concert next Thursday, and I wondered if you’d like to come—”
“Aw, Britt. You know I don’t really like to go to church. Don’t make me … pleeeease?” Amber stuck her bottom lip out in a pretend pout.
“It’s not church, though—it just happens to be at a church.” Brittany stood over the steam coming out of the sides of the pot lid. “What could be wrong with a concert?”
Amber opened her mouth to explain the vast numbers of things that could be wrong with it, but closed it when Brittany held up her hand.
“It’s White Horse.” Brittany’s eyes gleamed.
Ooh. She got me. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I’d love to see them! You should have said: ‘Hey, Amber, let’s go see White Horse!’ It wouldn’t have mattered where they were playing—I’d have agreed to go without all the begging.”
“Oh, I know,” Brittany admitted, her eyes twinkling. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun for me.”
Amber snapped the dish towel at Brittany’s leg. “Oops! We’re about to burn this popcorn.” The lid rose as the popped kernels pushed it up from its secure spot atop the pot and started to spill over. She poured as much as she could fit into the extra-large red plastic bowl Brittany held.
“Um, I think we’re going to need a bucket. That’s a lot of popcorn.” Brittany reached her hand into the bowl.
“Wait! Not yet.” Amber grabbed the salt. “We need to put the finishing touches on it.” She sprinkled the salt over the top and then jiggled the bowl to mix it up, careful not to spill any, and then stuck a kernel in her mouth. She repeated those actions several times until her taste tests confirmed perfection.
“What about butter?”
“Never butter. It’s much better like this. Just the right amount of oil, plenty of salt. You’ll see.” Amber tasted another kernel and grinned. “Go for it.” She held the bowl out.
Brittany stuck a few pieces into her mouth and chewed for a moment—her eyes growing wider and wider. She grinned and nodded, reaching for the bowl again. “That’s so much better than at the movie theater or out of a microwave. Wow.” She took a handful. “I could be ruined for the other stuff forever.”
Grinning, Amber reached for a couple of Cokes. Oh, right. Make that generic cola. They headed to the basement where two movie rentals waited.
Amber and Brittany stood side-by-side, swaying in rhythm to the White Horse ballad. The rich harmonies swelled through the auditorium as the instruments trailed off leaving the most beautiful a cappella sound Amber could have imagined. After the first half of the concert had pelted the audience with high-powered rock music, the sweet ballad comforted her ringing eardrums.
As the song came to an end, Pete Starr, the lead singer, stood at the microphone and waited until the room grew silent as the audience took their seats. He kept his eyes closed until the shuffling ceased. His gaze roved the large room, skillfully appearing to look at each of the five thousand people right in the eye. “Many of you are here tonight because you like our music.”
He held his hand up to quell the thunderous applause. When it died down, he continued. “We appreciate that so much. Many of you, though, don’t really know why we do what we do. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to tell you.” He leaned his electric guitar on its stand and picked up his acoustic guitar. Then he reached for a stool that had been placed by his side. “Do you mind if I get comfortable while I tell you a little story?”
The crowd roared its approval as the lights dimmed and the rest of the band sat on thefloor on the darkened stage.
Spotlight shining only on him, Pete Starr sat on the stool and placed his guitar on his lap. He closed his eyes and began to strum a familiar tune.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind but now I see.
He changed keys and continued, blending the tunes into one fluid song.
Jesus loves me this I know,
For the Bible tells me so,
Little ones to Him belong
They are weak but He is strong.
Amber couldn’t take her eyes off the singer. The simple songs and simple messages she’d heard many times before somehow made sense to her for the first time. Maybe the atmosphere and mood of the crowd had softened her, but she’d never felt so connected to God as she did right in that moment. She wanted to—tried to—shake her head to break the pull she felt, but the pounding in her heart remained.
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
She sensed only stillness around her—no movement, no whispering, no one making their way to the restroom. Many people cried real tears as the age-old songs touched them.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
We have already come
‘Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far
And Grace will lead us home.
Pete jumped to his feet, the stage lights came on and the brightest lights drenched the band—light shone right up from the midst of them and down on them from above. The drummer gave a loud crash of the cymbals and the rest of the band joined in to sing:
When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun.
Amber couldn’t look at Brittany. She had too many thoughts running through her mind, and she feared her emotions would show. How had she crept so far away from God that simple old songs could make her feel so lost and needy?
The song ended, and Pete took the microphone from its stand. “I see you all appreciate those songs much like I do. Do you realize, in a few short verses of some old songs, we heard about the grace of God that saves sinners like all of us, the gift of Jesus who came to heal us, forgive us, and love us, the promise that Jesus will be with us through the trials of life, and the blessed assurance of our eternal future with God? It gets to me every time.”
He paused and closed his eyes for a brief moment before he opened them to make piercing eye contact. “We’re going to continue with our concert in a moment, but first I want to give you each an opportunity to respond to the Holy Spirit if He’s knocking on your heart’s door.”
He looked up and down the rows, engaging as many as he could. “Maybe you’re hearing this for the first time and you’d like to know more, or maybe you’ve wandered away from the God you knew in your youth. Whatever your circumstances, if you’re touched by what you’veheard tonight and you’d like to pray about what you’ve heard, stand to your feet and come forward.”
Pete waited. “I want you to come to the front of this stage where you’ll be met by one of our prayer counselors.” Teenagers streamed into the aisles of the dark auditorium.
Amber’s feet rooted her in position. She wanted to respond—needed to respond—but she couldn’t move. She watched as people went forward for prayer. A magnificent sight. She knew they felt changed. She wanted that experience, too, but she stood paralyzed. Praying by herself worked just as well, right? Then why didn’t it feel just as good?
As quickly as the opportunity presented itself, it ended. The concert resumed with an upbeat rock song Amber recognized from the Christian radio station. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and tried to get into the concert again. After the song ended, she finally dared to look at Brittany, who stared back at her, searching with her eyes. How long had she been watching?
Amber just smiled. What else could she do?
Brittany returned the smile, but she couldn’t mask the hint of disappointment in her expression.
She’ll see. I’ll find my way back on my own. She’ll see.
Sandpaper in her throat, a hammer pounding on her head, Amber drew the covers tight around her shivering body. Was there a window open? The room felt like a freezer. She tried to roll over, but every muscle in her body ached. Even her toes screamed their soreness. She opened one eye to peer at the clock. Five minutes until the alarm went off. She pulled the covers over her head and willed herself to feel better.
For every second of those five minutes, she didn’t move a muscle, but then the alarm went off and she had to reach out from the covers to hit the snooze button. That tiny movement exposed her body to the cool air and sent her into another fit of trembling. Her shoulder ached from the reach, and her fingertips tingled when she touched the clock. She needed medicine, but it was so far away.
Amber stumbled to the bathroom and fumbled through the cabinet. Feeling weak, she leaned against the counter and reached for the Tylenol, knocking over a few other bottles. Just then, Mom came around the corner and saw her.
“What on earth is wrong with you? You look horrible!” She hurried to Amber’s side and felt her forehead. “Sweetie, you’re burning up. Go on. Climb in bed, and I’ll bring you some water.”
“No way, Mom. I have to go to school.” She stood up straighter, preparing herself for battle.
Understanding dawned on her mom’s face. “Oh no. You’re not going to school like this. You need to be in bed—maybe even at the doctor’s office. You’re sick, honey.”
“Yes. I’ve been sick before, and I’ll be sick again. Mom, you can’t make me give up this contest. Not now. Not after how hard I’ve worked.” Amber sat on the edge of the bathtub, tears burning her feverish eyes. “Besides, Mom, it’s Friday. If I can get through today, then I can sleep all weekend.”
Mom sighed. “Okay. Make sure you use lots of sanitizer and wash your hands often. You don’t want to start an epidemic. And you have to promise if you get any worse, you’ll call me to come get you. Oh, but your dad will have the car. He has an interview.” She left the bathroom shaking her head and muttering. “I don’t like this one bit.”
Amber reached for the shower knob and then decided soaking in a hot tub would feel much better on her freezing skin. While the tub filled, she brushed her teeth. The thought of the long day looming ahead of her made her shiver again. Her skin tingled and her stomach churned as she climbed into the water. Thankfully, the Tylenol had started to take the edge off the headache, but the flames in her throat just burned hotter.
She sank lower into the bath and closed her eyes. A few minutes passed and she sat up, startled—she must have drifted off to sleep. Hurrying out of the tub as fast as her sick body would allow, she checked the time. Only fifteen minutes left until she had to leave for school or risk being late. Looking pretty didn’t matter, but late was not an option. Amber threw on a sweat suit and went to the kitchen at the speed of a dying turtle, the best she could do.
Mom had some dry toast and juice ready. The toast looked good but her throat refused it. She’d have to do without. Just make it through the day. One day.
“Come on. I’ll drive you.” Mom bit her lip and shook her head.
Amber eyed her mom on the drive to school. I hope she doesn’t decide to make me stay home. I need to win this car. We need it. Trying to save her strength, she put her head back on the headrest and dozed until they pulled into the carpool lane at school.
“Baby, I’m going to be praying for you today.” Mom patted her arm.
Amber climbed from the car and winced at the weight of her book-bag strap on her shoulder. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to need it.” She trudged up the stairs to the school entrance and made her way to class, bones aching and creaking with every step.
The bell rang for first period. Second period. Third period. The day passed in a fog. Amber navigated the halls and attended each class, but she remembered none of it as thoughts of her bed danced in her head.
The school day finally over, Amber lumbered into her house and poured herself into bed. Mom popped her head in and asked her a few questions … she thought. Amber mumbled her answers … she hoped. But she could concentrate on nothing but her pillow. She laid her head on its cool surface, her feverish skin tingling at the brush of her long eyelashes on her cheek. She fell asleep instantly and dreamed of nothing as her body healed.