As he stood there, the familiar dread that always precipitated the nightmare began to surface.  Chemosh went to the restroom and washed his face to clear his mind, then felt an irresistible urge to walk out of the building and get into his car. He went back to his office and grabbed his jacket.  On impulse he scooped up the picture of his family, along with his framed medical certificates and a small sculpture Sal had given him.  Cramming them all into his briefcase and a small box, he walked  hurriedly out the door.

As soon as they caught sight of him, a couple of protesters called out, “Murderer!  Butcher!”

“I hate you, stupid people!” Chemosh muttered to himself, climbing into his car.

Why?  It was that voice he felt more than heard—the voice so familiar to him from last week.

“Because…” he started to answer involuntarily.

Because they’re speaking the truth?

Gene just sat there.

Gene?  It was so personal, this talk.

“What?”

You know what they’re saying is true.

Gene was filled with a feeling of defiance, and his jaw tightened.  He didn’t like being called a murderer and a butcher.

But what else do you know?

Tears flooded Gene’s eyes instantly, and the answer came just as fast.  “I know You still love me,” he said out loud, convinced but still puzzled.  The words felt so strange.

Yes, I love you. So forget about them and pay attention to me.

“I want to get away from them, though.”

Drive out.

Gene started the car and headed for the gate, but before he reached it, the voice came again.

Lift your hand to acknowledge them.  Don’t look at them.  Just lift your hand.

Gene humbly complied, as there was no contending with this voice, but he was glad as always a moment later to be out of earshot of the ugly accusations.

Are you sure you hate those people?

“Well, I said I did.”

You don’t hate them anymore.

“I do!”

No, you don’t.  They’re not perfect, but they know the truth.  Ten minutes ago, when you looked at those three tiny bodies, you saw them through My eyes, just like they do.  That’s because you now have My spirit of truth. There was a distinct pause.  Welcome to My family.

Gene inhaled a deep breath and held it, overcome with the strangest feeling.  It was like a baptism of love.  “God,” Gene said simply.  “God!” he said again, tears in his eyes.  He turned onto an unfamiliar quiet street and parked. “You’re taking me down a path I don’t know.”  He buried his face in his hand for a moment, unable to understand this feeling of being overwhelmingly loved.

Don’t worry. All you need to know is that I love you and I’ll help you.

Gene Chemosh sat for a moment, trying to process all that had happened in the last few minutes.  He wiped his eyes, clearing his throat while he picked up his phone, and called into his office.  “I left early today,” he said, offering no explanation to the receptionist.  “Eileen will have to finish up.  If she has questions, she can call.”

Chemosh found himself in a dilemma.  He knew he would never again darken the door of the clinic he’d worked in for the past four and a half years, but he couldn’t even informally resign, because he had to tell Sally first before she found out from some busybody.  He knew the word would spread fast.  He had foiled his own plan to find another job first, as Denspot had suggested.

“Ah,” he sighed loudly, as he remembered Denspot’s parting suggestion from last week to check the ten Rules—all of them.  He smiled in spite of himself.  Denspot was right about that first one.  He was no longer exempt.

“I think I can say I love You, now.”  He smiled a slightly sheepish grin, and true as always in this new phenomenon in his life, he felt a smile in return—no words. Just a smile, big, and broad, and so… knowing.  He had never felt so loved, without any reservation whatsoever. 

……….

Chemosh needed some time to chill.  He turned into Covella’s, hoping to think things through as to what to say to Sally.  As he walked up to the bar, he was surprised to see the young man who had so long ago joined him for lunch.

“Well, if it’s not my young friend!”

Marc glanced up.  When he saw it was the man who’d bought his meal a few months earlier, he readily traded in his anticipation of watching a game for a conversation that would undoubtedly prove far more interesting.  Still, his reply was nonchalant.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty fine.  Wanna watch the game?”

“Well, whatever.”  Mark’s downward grin and shrug showed the indifference he now felt about it.

“How about joining me for lunch again?  Pot roast is good here,” Chemosh said, looking keenly at the younger man.

Marc was quick to answer, “I remember.”  He smiled.  “Let’s go.”

Once in the booth, Chemosh wasted no time with small talk.  “Remember your advice to me that last time we talked?”

“Mmm.  Not really.”

“Do you remember I told you I was having nightmares and couldn’t get rid of them, and that my shrink had given me a suggestion I’d not been willing to follow?”

“Yeah!” Marc nodded, his eyes brightening.  “I suggested you try it.”

“And I did!” Chemosh exclaimed.

“Did it help?”  Marc was especially curious now, because the man’s whole being seemed so relaxed—even happy.

“It did!  My life has really changed.  I’m still digging out some rocks in my marriage that have surfaced in the process,” he looked at Marc with a twinkle in his eye, “but no more nightmares.”  Chemosh stopped, confirming Marc’s attentiveness before adding, “And I have another son.”

“What?” Marc exclaimed, looking at the older man inquisitively.

“I said I have another son.”

“Your wife had a baby?”

“No… Well, yes, she did.  Fourteen—no, fifteen years ago now.  We had a baby—that we aborted.”

Gene apologized on seeing the expression of shock on the younger man’s face.  “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.  I’m actually only following through on the treatment plan prescribed by my friend the shrink.”

Marc’s face twisted in bewilderment, and Gene Chemosh calmly went on.  “Probably the only part you’d even care to understand right now is that I find a need at this point in my life to be transparent—especially on this issue. Would you mind my unloading on you?” He waited for an answer.

“No.  Go ahead.”

“OK.  I’m not sure where to start.  I guess I’ll just throw out things as they come to my mind.”  He smiled good-naturedly.  “I’m kinda blunt.”

Marc held up his hands in a time-out gesture. “Maybe we should introduce ourselves.”

“Ah!  We’ve never actually done that, have we?”  He held out his hand across the table.  “Chemosh. Gene Chemosh.”

Marc shook his hand.  “Marc Garman.”

“You see, a big change has taken place in my life. I used to be my own person.  I’m not anymore,” he said, shaking his head slowly. He looked intently at his young companion, and there was just a hint of embarrassment in his voice even though he punctuated every word, while a reverence shown in his eyes:  “I believe in God.”

Marc sat stunned.  These words were incompatible with the first potty-mouthed image he had had of this man who sat across from him now.

“I don’t really expect you to understand,” Chemosh said, with a slight smile on his face, “but maybe you could just indulge me.”  Marc’s expression remained incredulous, and Chemosh smiled, acknowledging his friend’s honest reaction.  “What I’m saying is that God is in my life now.  I belong to Him, and I like it.  I talk to Him, and I’m learning everything I can about Him.  The suggestion of my friend the shrink so many months ago was to obey the Ten Commandments.  You know—the Bible—Moses?  When I started absorbing them, my life changed.  I quit swearing, I quit lying, and I began to see that things were out of whack in almost every area of my life.

“But the real change—‘Marc,’ did you say?—didn’t come so much from adhering to the Thou shalts and Thou shalt nots—the rules. It came from being…tuned in, if you will, to the ‘Rule Maker.’

“A few weeks ago, I was at the hard place of facing the fact that I’d broken Rule Six, which says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’” Chemosh leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper.  “With my own child.”  He took a deep breath and responded to the shocked abhorrence he saw in the younger man across from him.  “Early in our marriage my wife had an abortion, pretty much at my insistence.  Now, you have to understand that I’ve never allowed the abortion of my own child—or any child—to fall into the category of murder.  In fact, after the abortion, I never allowed myself to even think about the whole experience.  I put it out of my mind as completely as I possibly could.  It was there subconsciously, though, like a little box buried under layers and layers of …denial, I suppose, over the years—fourteen to be exact.”

He continued, talking in an animated whisper. “Like I said, when I saw the changes in my life that came from following the Ten Commandments, it was like a breakthrough.  But Rule 6 brought me to a dead end with big flashing yellow lights—end of road!  And there was that little box, totally exposed, just sitting there, the object of those flashing lights.  I suppose acknowledging the worth of the rules had shoveled off most of the layers covering it, and pretty soon even the fine layers of careful justification were gone, and I sat there face to face with all my guilt and remorse which I’d buried inside that box.”

Gene looked across the table at the young man who was looking back at him, seemingly hanging onto every word in sincere attention. “When I came to this impasse, I asked Joe, my shrink, ‘What do I do?’  And he said, ‘Talk to the Rule Maker.’”

Chemosh leaned across the table, whispering, “That is what has changed my life.”  He leaned back.  “I did talk to the Rule Maker.” Chemosh’s eyes were moist with tears, and his chin twitched as he spoke, still in a whisper, with profound gratefulness.  “That little devil of a box is gone.  It is gone.”

Marc took a sip of water and began buttering a roll. The gesture was just enough to cause the older man to perceive that the younger one had been somewhat put off by his discourse.

“You have to understand I only mention the morbid to accentuate the wonderful fact that I feel so free!” He paused, knowing he had trespassed into subjects hardly appropriate for a rendezvous of such slight acquaintance. “I’m sorry.  This is probably a little heavy for you.”

But surprisingly, Marc was not put off.  “You feel free?  I guess I can’t identify with that.  Does that mean you felt caged before?”

“No.  I never felt it, but I was, just the same.  Kind of like a wild animal born in a zoo—never knowing true freedom and not missing it.  He’s released into the wild, and then he knows freedom.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.” Something about this candid man attracted Marc.  Just that, perhaps—his raw honesty.  He raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, looking keenly at the man across the table.  “I can identify with more than you might think.”  He swallowed, contemplating whether to go on.  Chemosh remained silent, and after a moment, Marc spoke again, his voice lowered almost to a whisper.  “My child was aborted, too.  But it wasn’t my idea.  In fact, I fought it.  The guilt I have is that I didn’t fight hard enough—hard enough for Trent.”

“‘Trent’?  Did he survive the abortion?”

“Oh, no, he most certainly did not; but I had already named him before he was aborted.”

Chemosh put down his fork and planted his elbows on either side of his plate.  He leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands.  “If the mother was determined to abort your child, there’s nothing you could legally have done to stop it.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.  But do you know that for certain?”

“Yes.”

Marc frowned, silently demanding explanation.

“It was my business to know that.”  He looked down at his napkin.  “I’m an ob-gyn doctor, and I perform abortions.”  He sat pensively for a moment before looking up at Marc.  Then, like a light bulb turning on, an expression slowly but surely came to his face as if he had just come to a conclusion warranting an announcement.  And when he spoke, he seemed to be affirming to himself as much as announcing to Marc, “I quit today.”

Marc was listening intently to Chemosh, although his eyes had been on his plate.  He glanced up sharply in disbelief, just in time to see Chemosh bow down his head and put his forehead on his hands.

“I wish I’d never started.”  Chemosh raised his head, searching for words of apology to offer his guest, but before he could find any, the younger man threw down his napkin and grabbed his jacket and his bill.  In five seconds he was gone, as Gene watched, helpless. He wanted to follow and catch up with him, but he couldn’t make himself do it.  Instead, he pushed his plate to the middle of the table and laid his head on his arms.

“God,” he cried silently, “is everyone going to hate me?  I know my own people won’t like me because I quit.  I never thought about all the people on the other side.  I can never make it up to them.  Never.”

You need My help, don’t you?

“Yes.”

Nothing has changed then.

Gene shook his head, a smile of despair on his face. “Yeah.  You’re right.”

When you’re ready to listen, we’ll talk about it.

“OK.”  Chemosh whispered the word in resignation, sighing as he picked up his own coat and headed towards the cash register.

Once in his car on the way home, Chemosh complained, half to himself.  “I thought I had enough problems, what with Sally and no job.”  It seemed as if he were getting the last word.  After a moment, however, he said out loud, “Did You have something You wanted to say?”

Chemosh listened, and felt in reply a big smile directed at him that seemed to diffuse the heaviness he felt.

I always have something to say.  The question is, do you want to hear it?

“No, I don’t.  I just feel tired right now.”

Go home and take a nap.  We’ll talk later.

Fat chance—take a nap, Chemosh thought to himself.  He knew Saturday afternoon this time of year was always busy at home.  To his surprise, however, he discovered when he walked into the house that Andy had gone to a movie and Sal was lying down.  Gene gently laid a throw on top of her and lay down beside her, feeling as exhausted as he’d ever felt in his entire life.  Within five minutes he was asleep.

“So what are you going to do?” Midge asked Marlene during lunch period almost a week after their visit to Nancy’s house.  “Have you decided?”

“Oh, Midge.  I don’t know.  I still haven’t told my folks, ‘cuz they’re gonna hit the roof.  They’ve been so excited for me to go to college, and I know they’ll pressure me to ‘go get it taken care of.’ That’s just what my dad will say.  And it would be so much easier.  I mean, I’d go in on a Friday for the procedure and stay home sick on Monday if I had to.  Voila!  It’s over.  Back to normal life.”  She smiled wryly.  “Older and wiser.”

“Older and wiser, with a big hole in your heart, Marlene.  If you abort your baby, you’re never going to forget that infamous day. That baby has a mother, and you’re it. Look around us.”  Midge motioned in the direction of the park across the street. “The apple trees are in bloom, and beautiful.  It won’t be just that one infamous day.  Every single year when you see apple tree blossoms you’re going to remember that day you ‘took care of it,’ like your dad puts it, and the beauty of the apple blossoms can’t be quite fully enjoyed because of the shadow that comes with that memory—the shadow of death.”

“Oh, Midge.  Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m just trying to force you to think about this with your eyes wide open.  You can’t go back to the clinic for a refund and get your baby back.  I don’t want you coming to me and saying, ‘If only I’d known! Why didn’t you tell me?’ But the bottom line is, I just don’t want you to carry that hole in your heart—that big scar—for the rest of your life.  It’s a child you’re thinking about… killing.”

Marlene’s jaw was set in defiance, but she said nothing.

“And what if this is the only child you’ll ever be able to have?  You know that sometimes happens.”

“Well, no one has a guarantee when or if they’ll have children.  You don’t either.”

“No.  But I could handle it better, I think, knowing I didn’t abort my first and only baby.  That would be such a tragic irony.”  She paused. “I don’t think I ever told you and Gerri what Candle Lawson said to me.”

“Candle Lawson?  Huh-uh.  I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”

“We’re not.  That’s why I was so surprised one day a few weeks after Nicky was born.  I was really feeling down that day, and Candle came up beside me in the hall. She locked arms with me on the way to the lunchroom—which really surprised me.  Then she told me she really admired me and wished she’d made the same decision I’d made. Her last words changed my mood in an instant, and I’ll never forget them.  ‘Smile, your baby’s alive,’ she whispered, and then went over to her friends, all upbeat and happy and everything.  Well, you know for her to take the time to tell me she wished she could re-do that decision, must mean that she has moments that aren’t upbeat and happy.”  Midge looked at her friend sitting pensively, but no longer defiant.

“Marlene,” Midge continued, “you’re such a good friend—such a great person.  If that baby’s a little girl, I’ll bet she’s got a personality just as wonderful as yours.  Let her live.”

“Ooh boy!”  Marlene sighed.  “I wish I’d never gotten pregnant.”

“I know.  Those were my thoughts, too.  But you’ll eventually get through it, no matter what your decision.  I just don’t want you scarred for life.  You know God will take care of you, Marlene.  Go His way.  If it lines up with what your parents want, great.  If it doesn’t, it’s still best to go His way.  Nick’s parents were really pushing for me to get an abortion, remember?  But now that the baby’s born, they’d give anything just to see him.  I know; Nick’s so much as told me.  Trust me. Your parents will be glad you bucked them, and they’ll end up supporting your decision and be happy they did.”  

Midge stood up and held out her hand to pull Marlene up off the grassy mound they’d been sitting on.  “My mom told me about a man who said he’d been adamant that his daughter get an abortion, but she ended up keeping the baby, and the man said that little granddaughter is the delight of his life.”

“I’m scared, Midge.”

“Scared?  Of what? Your dad and mom?”

“No.  Just the whole thing.  I’m not ready for this.”

Midge smiled.  “I completely understand.  You know what I did?  I started saying three little words, ‘All is well,’ believing that although I deserved to be in my predicament, God would take care of the whole situation—me, my parents, my education, and especially the baby. Those three words I learned from a lady who really helped my mom and me.  Actually, she’s Carla Chadwell’s mom.  I’ll ask her to call you if you want me to.  Her name’s Bonnie Chadwell.”

Marlene sighed again.  “OK,” she said, almost in a whisper.  Midge wanted to put her arm around Marlene to comfort her, but she could see that her friend was on the verge of tears, and knew only too well how that gesture could precipitate a meltdown for Marlene and disaster for her going into her next class. So instead she said, “OK, Marlene.  Buck up.  Just keep thinking about how much God loves you—and your baby.”  She paused for emphasis.  “And say it, ‘All is well”—all the way into chemistry class.  Got it?”

Marlene smiled in spite of herself.  “Got it,” she whispered. 

“Let me hear it, just once, and then keep saying it under your breath.”

“All is well,” Marlene said, in a stronger voice this time, slapping gingerly at the tears that had already begun to lose their threat.  She turned quickly and gave Midge a brief hug.  “Thanks!” she whispered.

……….

Gene Chemosh sat in Joe Denspot’s office, having explained the predicament he and Sally perceived regarding their son Andy. “So how would you suggest we handle this?”

“I would suggest you acquaint him with the rules that have altered your own perspective on life.  Let him know how important they are to you.  Then share the Good News with him.”

Chemosh smiled, shaking his head.  “You’ve got more up your sleeve?”  His voice took on facetious buoyancy.  “What’s the ‘Good News’?”

“The Good News.”  Denspot stood up and walked over by Chemosh’s chair, leaning against the side table there.  He crossed one foot in front of the other and looked thoughtfully at his friend. “These rules you’ve been following. They’ve made your life better, would you say?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s what they’re for, I believe—to give life a quality it wouldn’t have otherwise.  A major aspect of that quality is learning about God—what pleases Him. We please Him by putting Him first in everything we do, by honoring and revering His name, by resting one day out of seven, by honoring our parents, etc.  We learn not to lie, steal, kill, commit adultery or even harbor jealousy.  It does make for a better life for us.”

“I agree,” Chemosh willingly acknowledged, and nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“But it doesn’t do so much for God.  This life is just our proving ground in His eyes. He’s looking for close fellowship, like you have with Andy, but fellowship that lasts way past this short lifetime—like forever. But because He’s pure and holy and we’re not, we just don’t make the cut—even the most saintly of us, like you, Gene.”  

Gene looked up and rolled his eyes at Denspot’s tongue-in-cheek humor.

“So here comes the Good News.  Being God, He’s made sure He gets what He wants—for us to be close to Him–His children forever, but it only happens supernaturally and by great sacrifice on His part.”  Denspot smiled at his friend.  “And this is how He did it, according to the Bible: He sent His dearest possession—His own son Jesus, his only son, to live with us and die for us, to be the sacrifice that would enable fellowship between Him, Holy God and us, sinful man.”  Denspot smiled and shook his head, as if trying in vain himself to understand the incredible.  “God’s love can never be comprehended by mankind.”

“That reminds me of the account of Abraham with his son,” Chemosh said, raising his eyebrows.  He shook his head.  “That’s a hard one for me.”

“Well, just remember that God didn’t let Abraham actually experience that pain.  God ended up providing the sacrifice—the ram caught in the thicket.  But He did allow Himself to go through the pain, and Jesus willingly signed up for it—to be the Christ.  “Probably the most famous verse in that Bible you’ve been reading…” Denspot peered over his glasses at Gene.  “You are still reading it?”

“I am!” Chemosh’s reply was enthusiastic, to Denspot’s satisfaction.

“It’s in the book of John, chapter 3, verse 16.” Chemosh scrambled for a small notepad from his coat pocket and the older man waited a moment. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.  For God sent not His son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’ Jesus Christ was unique—supernaturally conceived, and sent from God.  He was God’s perfect son, come to His creation miraculously through the physical body of a young virgin girl named Mary.  

“God sent Jesus for the purpose of saving the world and to demonstrate to His creation the true character of Himself.”

“How could Jesus save the world?”

“Coming from God, Jesus was without sin, but He was willing to offer Himself as the perfect ‘lamb’ who would take on all the sins of the world.  His excruciating death on the cross was the sacrifice that God ordained to cover everyone’s sin.”

“Everyone’s?”

“Everyone who believes in Him.”

“Believes?”

Denspot cocked his head as he thought for a moment before answering. “Every single person who loves and reverences God. Every single person who cares enough about what God thinks to study His word to find out, and then lives by it. Every single person who willingly turns away from his sin—and his own idea of righteousness, and acknowledges by his own mouth that his forgiveness and righteousness is only through the blood of Jesus Christ.”

“Hmm.  I thought God loves everybody no matter what.”

“He does love everyone.  As the Scripture says, He desires that no man miss out on living beyond death—eternally—with Him.  But whereas God loves everyone, He doesn’t reward everyone—only those who love Him and know Him well enough to trust Him.  The Bible says He sends rain on the just and the unjust, exactly because He loves the entire world.  But the key issue with Jesus and God’s plan with His Son is, like I said before, having fellowship with them—that’s the reward, both now and forever. Jesus made it clear that the road is wide and easy that leads to destruction, but the path is narrow and difficult that leads to eternal life—and few follow that path.  Many people flippantly say, ‘Jesus loves me.’ And He does.  But what Jesus requires is following Him—that’s what brings His reward of eternal life.”  Joe crossed his arms and looked at Gene.  “Do you have a red-letter version of the Bible?”

“Yes, but I’m not there yet.”

“Yes, of course; you’re not in the New Testament yet.  Well, the red letters, as I’m sure you know, are Jesus’ words.  You’ll be more challenged than you’ve ever been when you get to the red-letter books. Jesus had no easy path, and he advises anyone who would be His follower to count the cost first.   It’s not easy to give up the mindset you’re used to in order to follow God’s ways and pursue His heart.  The good news is that God is good.  Jesus called himself the Good Shepherd and promised us, ‘My sheep hear My voice.’”

Chemosh connected with these last words and smiled, as he nodded. 

“So back to Andy.  Be honest with him.  Let him know you’re going to teach him about God’s love and His ways as you yourself learn. I’m sure you’ll find him an apt learner. As you’ll read in the book of Proverbs, it is the fear of the Lord that is the beginning of wisdom.”

Joe looked at Gene and smiled, reaching out his hand as his friend stood up.  “Your Andy will grow up wise, and there aren’t too many things you could wish more for your child.”

Chemosh shook Joe’s hand heartily.  When Joe would have taken back his hand, Gene held on to it tightly.

“Joe, I want to thank you for recommending me to the Briarwood group.”  He nodded his head as he continued squeezing Joe’s hand.  “I’m really enjoying the new job, and I know I would never have it except for your referral.”

“You’re welcome.  Is Sally pleased?”

“She’s pleased because I’m pleased.”

“Are you and she headed towards the same page?”

Gene smiled.  “I think we’ll get there.  She’s a tremendous gift to me.”

“She is; I can see that.  Tell her hello.  The four of us will have to get together down the pike.”

“How’re things at the office?” she asked.

“Pretty good,” Carla replied.  “We’re keeping busy, that’s for sure.  We miss you!  How are you doing, Rita?”

“Actually, great, considering.  Are you and Nancy still wanting to do the supper club?”

“Yes,” Carla replied enthusiastically, “That is, if you still want to.”

“I do.”

“Nancy said yesterday she was going to call you and Patrice.”

“Good.  Say, how about our little friend?  What decision did she make?”

Carla sent up a quick prayer asking for words of grace.  “Well, Midge and Marlene went over the… the pros and cons we sent home with them, after they’d each made up their own list, and I understand Marlene’s keeping the baby.”

“Really!  Well, you know how I feel about kids having kids.”

“Midge and Marlene have been really good friends for several years, so I’m sure Midge had a big influence on Marlene.”

“She’s a kid herself—the same age as Kara.  I don’t think she understands what she’s doing to her friend.  While she’s living a normal young single girl’s life, heading off for college soon, Marlene will be missing out, wearing maternity clothes and dealing with all kinds of problems she shouldn’t have to deal with.”

Carla rolled her eyes in apprehension and sent up another silent prayer.  “Give me Your love, Lord.  That’s all I ask.”  Then she said softly, “Rita, Midge’s visit was so—last minute that night. Remember?  It took me totally by surprise and Nancy, too.  I completely forgot to tell you and Patrice that Midge has had a baby.”

“Midge has had a baby?”  Rita’s exclaimed.

“Yeah.  At least a year ago—maybe a year and a half.  I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you.  In fact, I didn’t even realize we hadn’t talked about that until just this very minute, honestly.”

“How old is Midge?  She is sixteen, right?”

“I think so—maybe seventeen now.  But she got pregnant when she was a sophomore—fifteen.”

“Are her parents taking care of the baby for her?”

“No,” Carla answered.  “She chose adoption.”

“Hmm.  Is it working out OK—the adoption?”

“I think ‘so far, so good.’  The couple is really, really happy, or so I understand.  My mom’s seen a picture of the baby, and she says he’s a cutie.  Midge gets to see him from time to time.”

“Well,” Rita conceded, “I guess those circumstances would factor in rather heavily.”

“Yes, I think so.  Midge’s pregnancy experience has been pretty positive.  I hope everything works out just as well for Marlene and her baby.”

“Is she choosing adoption, then?”

“I haven’t heard, but I’ll let you know,” Carla promised.

“Well, there you have it,” Rita announced, matter-of-factly, but graciously enough.

“Mmhmm.  So—back to supper club.  What shall we have?”

“Hmm.  Uhm… Whatever is fine.”

“Well, I’d better get going.  Nancy will be calling you,” Carla said.  “You take good care of yourself, now.  Don’t be working hard.  Just get well.  Oh!” she added, suddenly.  “In fact, by the way, I picked up the ingredients for a casserole to fix for you.”  She laughed.  “I almost forgot.  When’s a good night to bring it over?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know; I want to, Rita,” Carla retorted, smiling.

“Well, that’s nice of you.  Jim will appreciate it.  He’s been missing normal meals lately.  Uh… how about next Tuesday?”

“Next Tuesday it will be!  Thanks for calling, Rita.” Carla’s voice was sincere.  “We all miss you a lot.  I’ll tell Mr. Garman ‘hi’ from you.”

Carla hung up the phone and then whispered under her breath, “Thank you, God, in Jesus’ name.”

“So how’s Rita?”

Carla started at the sound of Mr. Garman’s voice as he sauntered out of his office.  “I thought you were at the meeting with Corporate.”

“I’m headed over there shortly.  They postponed it an hour.”  He had a teasing grin on his face, and Carla knew he was holding back a comment about the color she knew had flooded her face.  “That means we won’t get out of there until at least five.”

“Mmm.  I’m sorry.”

“So… how’s Rita?”

“Fine,” Carla said, but before she could expound, Marc interjected.

“How about this: If you haven’t made plans for supper, I could use some company at Gaucho’s tonight.”  He raised his eyebrows in a persuasive expression. “They have a good fajita dinner for two. And you could fill me in on Rita’s situation.”

“Oh.  Sure.” Carla smiled.  “That sounds good.  What time?”
“Could you meet me there at 5:30?”

Carla nodded.  “I think so.  Although my Chinese leftovers will turn three days old.  But…”

“But you’re willing to do a good friend a favor.” Marc finished her sentence.

“That I am!” Carla smiled, as she looked up at Marc. His smiled widened.

“Well, I’m out of here.  I’ll see you later.”

……….

When Carla arrived at Gaucho’s it was 5:25, and there was no sign of Marc’s car.  But just before she reached the entrance, she felt a hand on the back of her waist, and Marc appeared seemingly out of nowhere, opening the door for her with his other hand.

“Hi.  Thanks for coming.”

Carla smiled.  “You’re welcome.”

They were shortly escorted to a table so privately situated that Carla asked Marc, “Did you ask for this table?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.  It’s very… “

“Secluded,” Carla interjected, a mischievous look of suspicion on her face.

“Yes, ‘secluded.’  I figured I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on us.”

“Does that mean we are or are not allowing shop talk tonight?”

“You’re my guest.  What’ll it be?”

“And I’m open to anything, so whatever you say.”

The waitress came, and Marc ordered the fajita combo dinner.  “No shop talk,” he continued.  “Except for the update on Rita.  Have you seen her lately?”

“Two weeks ago she and Patrice and I all went over to Nancy’s for dinner.  Remember I told you we have a little supper club going?”

“Mmhmm.”  Marc smiled encouragingly.

“So Rita’s doing pretty well.  She and Patrice drove together, and they opted to stay late when some friends of mine popped in on us.  Patrice asked Rita if she wanted to go home, but Rita didn’t. We all didn’t leave until almost midnight.”

“Do you mind my asking who were the friends?”

“Not at all.  Two high school girls that go to school with my sister.”  Carla smiled apologetically, adding, “They have a dubious experience in common—high school pregnancy.”

“Really,” Marc commented, listening intently.  “Go on.”

“You asked who the friends were.”  Carla shrugged her shoulders.  “That’s who,” she said with finality in her voice.  She sat coy and silent, knowing Marc wanted to hear more.

“OK, Carla.  Confession time.  I overheard your talking with Rita on the phone today.  I was nosy then, and I’m being nosy now.  But just to help you understand where I’m coming from, I’ll tell you I’m curious about a couple of things.”

Carla’s eyebrows arched in a silent “What?”

“First of all, I’m impressed that you and Nancy and Rita—and Patrice—are friends.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, seeing how Nancy took Patrice under her wing, so to speak.”

Carla hastened to say, “I think Patrice is doing very well on her own now.  I know she’s persisting in moving on with her career and her life in general.”

“She’s a survivor,” Marc said in a flat tone. Then he added with a twisted smile on his face, “Too bad our son didn’t pick up that trait.”

“What?”

“When she went in for her… procedure, she survived; our child didn’t.”

“I see,” Carla said softly, not knowing what else to say.  She could sense bitterness in Marc’s tone as he went on.

“Which brings me to my question:  I’m wondering if Patrice feels any shred of remorse.  I think I told you that after our baby died, I really let her have it.  She was really upset—cried, but I think it was because she was angry with me for venting my fury, as well as angry that I was giving up on our relationship.  I’ve thought many times about whether she would do the very same thing if she had it to do over again.  So… I’m curious about her take on the subject now, since I gather that you all talked about abortion at your supper meeting.”

“Well, not exactly.”  Carla then told Marc what had transpired that evening, from start to finish, as much as she remembered.  “So,” she concluded, “Nancy and I were composing our pros to choose birth, while Rita and Patrice made up their list of reasons to choose abortion.”

“And you two won.”  Marc smiled in approval, and Carla felt a wave of relief flood her being.

“We didn’t really have an open, verbal discussion,” she went on, “and actually, I’m sure it was Midge who ultimately convinced Marlene not to abort the baby.”   Carla looked at Marc.  “Did you hear that part of our conversation?”

“I did.  But my guess would be that it helped her to have a rational discussion—on paper—between representatives of both sides.  ‘Marlene,’ did you say?”

“Yes.”

“The paper debate probably gave her more confidence in her decision making.  That way she could present both sides of the argument to her parents and even show them the papers.”

“I never thought about that.  You’re probably right,” Carla agreed, a smile of delight on her face as she nodded.  “Thanks.”

“So I have to assume Patrice’s feelings on abortion haven’t changed.”

“I doubt it.  I think she works for an abortionist.”

“Yeah,” he grunted.  After a moment, he spoke again.  “So how in the world can the four of you be friends?  You’re miles apart on an issue that seems to matter a lot to both you and Nancy.  That’s what I thought, anyway.  And to Patrice and Rita as well.”

“You’re right.  We are miles apart.  For right now, Nancy and I are just praying and trusting God to do what He wants… when He wants.”

“Hmm.” Marc looked thoughtful.  “So what exactly are you praying?”  He paused a long moment, studying Carla’s face.  “And how do you do that?  Do you get together during lunch and pray?  Like what do you say?”

“Occasionally we pray together.  But mostly by ourselves.”  Carla hesitated.

“And…” Marc prompted.

“And what do we say?”  Carla waited a moment before continuing.  “Well, people pray in different ways.  I think how you pray and how often you pray reflects how close you feel to God.  When I was at Moose Lodge I was desperate, and I just cried out—in my mind—to God, asking Him to help me.  I somehow knew He would.”  Carla leaned her head to one side, thoughtfully, staring in the distance. “Now, when I think about it, I know why I had that confidence.”  She looked at Marc.  “I grew up hearing about men and women who cried out to God when they needed help, and He always helped them.”  She looked at Marc directly.  “Men and women—real-life people—who made history—in the Bible.  I knew if God heard them, talked to them, directed them, rescued them, he could rescue me, too.”  She shrugged her right shoulder, smiling. “And He did!

“So I learned by doing,” Carla continued.  “It was a crash course in praying.  I just talked to God as though He were right there with me.”  She caught Marc’s eye and held his gaze. “Jesus said, ‘I will never leave you, nor forsake you.’  That’s a promise I’d heard and knew I could count on.”

“So…how do you pray for Rita and Patrice?”

Carla took a deep breath.  “Well, I’ve kind of told you:  I just talk to God—as a friend—the ultimate friend, a better friend than any human being could ever be.  What I pray specifically I don’t really feel open to share.  What I can tell you is that I pray by the Golden Rule:  I mean, I pray for another person like I’d like to be prayed for—that I would be able to see life clearly, with eternity in mind.  I don’t want to live for just here and now.”  She smiled, adding, “Of course, here and now is wonderful, too.  That’s why I’m pro-life—the here and now is a tremendous gift from God that every unborn baby deserves.

“So I pray for Rita and Patrice that God will allow them—and me—to see life from His perspective.  I ask Him to change those things in us which He sees need changing, even when—especially when—we don’t think they do.”

“Hmm.”

Carla leaned across the table and spoke sincerely. “If you really, really, really want to know how I pray for them, just join me sometime.”

Marc’s surprise was evident in his face and his faltering response.  “Well, I… uh…”

Carla smiled at his discomfiture.  “That’s all right.  But the invitation’s always open.”

They ate in silence for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.  Nor was the small talk that ensued.  Finally, Marc rose and Carla followed suit.

“Thank you for dinner, Marc,” Carla said simply, as they headed toward the door.  The air was crisp and cold in the parking lot as they walked to Carla’s car.

“Thanks for joining me for dinner, my good friend. I think I learned a lot.”

Carla looked puzzled as she crawled into the driver’s seat and looked up at him.  “What do you mean by that?”

“There’s a lot to digest.”  Then he grinned in his singularly disarming way.  “And I don’t mean the fajitas.”

“Yes, there’s a lot to digest.  As they say, ‘There’s a lot more to life than meets the eye.’”

Marc shut the car door, motioning for Carla to roll down the window.  She obliged. He leaned down and rested his arms on the open window frame, his face so close that Carla instinctively drew back her head to put more distance between them.

“Carla, do you pray for me?

She took a deep breath.  “Yes,” she admitted, breaking the momentary silence.

“Mmm,” was all he replied, but a smile slowly spread across his face, and he nodded ever so slightly.  He stood up.  “See you tomorrow.”

Carla didn’t answer, rolling up the window as she drove away.  Her heart was beating so loudly he must have heard it.  She hoped not.