“Are you sitting down?” Carla could hear the excitement in Nancy’s voice.
“No, do I need to? What’s up?”
“Guess who was at church today?”
“Marc,” Carla instantly replied.
“You knew he was there?” Nancy asked in disbelief.
“No! I was kidding!” She laughed delightedly. “I don’t believe you.”
“We literally ran into him. We were leaving the drinking fountain area and he comes walking towards us—not seeing us. I didn’t see him until Michael said, ‘Hi, Marc.’”
Carla didn’t try to hide the surprise she felt. “Amazing! I hope the sermon was good.”
“Well, it was.” Nancy’s voice dropped in volume and took on a serious note. “Carla, he went up for the altar call.”
“No way!” Carla exclaimed in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“I really don’t believe you!”
“It’s too good to be true, isn’t it?” Joy permeated Nancy’s voice. “I had to tell you, but I’ve gotta go, Carla. Michael and I are headed out the door. Catch you later.”
“Nancy?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for telling me. I’m… amazed.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Not yet ten minutes had passed before the phone rang again.
“Carla?”
Carla’s heart leaped. It was Marc. “Hi, Marc.”
“Did you play hooky today?”
“Hooky?”
“From church. I went to Rock Church and ran into Nancy and your brother, but where were you?”
“I don’t go to Rock Church Sunday mornings. I drive out to Plainview to attend early service with my mom and sister. I’m glad you went, though. Did you like it?”
“Yes, I did. I wasn’t very talkative when I ran into Nancy and…”
“Mike?”
“Yes.”
“That’s no problem, I’m sure.”
“So you never go Sunday mornings to Rock Church?”
“Not normally.”
“Could you make next Sunday an exception and let me pick you up and take you to lunch afterwards?”
“I’d love that, Marc.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Carla.”
Marc couldn’t see Carla’s lit-up face and happy smile. “Goodbye, Marc. See you tomorrow.”
……….
Throughout the week, Carla floated on cloud nine. By Sunday morning, having tried on numerous outfits, she had settled on what to wear—a simple black skirt and a bluish-green wrap top. She pulled back her hair and twisted it loosely, securing it with a black barrette comb. The last touch was a black beaded bracelet she’d half forgotten about, to wear with the bracelet from Marc.
When Marc arrived, Carla was gratified at his look of approval given unconsciously as she opened the door to greet him. “You look very nice.”
“And so do you.” Carla smiled.
As they drove off, Marc glanced at Carla. “We haven’t had much time to talk lately—about things beyond the office.”
“You’re right.”
“Are you and Nancy still protesting at the abortion clinic?”
“Yes.”
“With any success?”
“Always with success.”
“Really. I thought you said a baby saved was the exception rather than the rule.”
“Oh, it is the exception undoubtedly.”
“So why do you say ‘Always with success.’”
“We’re at the clinic to try our best to change peoples’ minds if possible. But even if we don’t, we’ve been there as a witness.”
“Well, I think I’m ready to join you.”
Carla’s mouth dropped open. “You are?” she asked, her voice reflecting the amazement she felt.
“Yes, I am.”
Carla stared at Marc, her mouth still half open, but widening into a smile. “What’s going on? Tell me!” she demanded.
“Now aren’t we just curious!” he teased, suppressing a grin and shaking his head. “I’ve got to concentrate on driving right now, so we aren’t late.”
Carla looked at him, raising her eyebrows in a mock frown of frustration, but the smile on her face took preeminence. They drove in silence the rest of the way to church and then Marc climbed out of the car and came around to open Carla’s door.
“We’ve got to make tracks across this parking lot to get a spot in the back of the church.” He reached for Carla’s hand and helped pull her out of the car. “And no talking in church.”
Carla laughed, glancing at her watch. She felt Marc’s hand around her shoulders as he gave her a quick little side-squeeze.
“Will you do me a favor? Just for today, would you mind ditching your brother and Nancy? I’d like to have you all to myself while we eat lunch.” He looked down at her walking as fast as she could to keep up with him.
“I think I could arrange that.”
Marc breathed in deeply as if he owned the world. Then he took her hand and led her determinedly to two seats at the end of the last row.
……….
“Can I pick you up at 12:30?” Rita asked Patrice, when she called her at 8:30 Sunday morning.
“Aren’t you having lunch with Jim?”
“There’s a special father-son luncheon today, and I’m not on the kitchen committee. That means you and I can check out that Greek café on the way to our walk.”
“Great! I’ll be ready.”
Later, as they ate their lunch in a corner by themselves in the noisy restaurant, Patrice was more talkative than Rita had ever known her to be. When she had made three comments referencing the time she’d lived with Marc, Rita felt compelled to ask her if she still loved him.
“No,” she answered emphatically. “Well, let me qualify that. I did love him, but I was never in love with him. We were on the same page in many ways, but our relationship on the whole wasn’t very deep.”
“Why do you say that, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“No, I don’t mind. I think it was because we never talked about things that we may have disagreed about.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Patrice shrugged. “For me, I guess I really never felt a strong permanency in our relationship: there was always the possibility—the probability—that it would end. So, if a subject came up that I felt we might disagree on, I figured, why take a chance on arguing and disrupting the status quo? Our life together was so convenient. As for Marc, I can’t speak for him. I always felt like he expected more out of our relationship than I did.” She raised her eyebrows thoughtfully and shrugged again. “But he certainly chose the baby over me.”
Rita looked dubiously at Patrice across the table. “I wouldn’t be so hasty to say that.”
“Well, you weren’t there, Rita.” Patrice proceeded to give Rita a more detailed version of her breakup with Marc, including the incident at the Blue Spruce cafe. “That’s when I met Danielle,” she concluded.
“Ah,” Rita commented, nodding.
“The funny thing is that I appreciate Marc’s viewpoint now, more and more, as I watch little Austin. Remember I told you that Marc named our baby?”
“I remember.”
“Trent. He named him ‘Trent.’ And I think Marc appreciated—‘Trent’—before he was born, like I appreciate cute little Austin now. You know how I love to hold that little guy whenever I get the chance?” Patrice’s mien suddenly changed, as if she were trying but unable to hold back regretful tears. She pursed her mouth tightly. “Well, I think that’s how Marc saw our—the baby, and he couldn’t even imagine how I…”
Rita reached across the table for Patrice’s hand, but the younger woman pulled it away.
“Don’t try to comfort me, Rita,” she said defensively. “You don’t understand.”
“But I do understand. I did what you did—twice.”
“No you didn’t. Your abortions were both during the first trimester, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Trent was fully developed—ready to be born.” Her voice was a whisper so as to keep from tearful blurting, and she waited for Rita to react. When Rita said nothing, Patrice leaned forward, a desperate look on her face. “His due date was two weeks away!”
Rita stood up. “Are you ready to go, Patrice?” she asked with quiet authority. “Please go out to the car while I pay.” Patrice started to object. “Go, Patrice! I’ll be out in a minute.”
When Rita stepped outside, she quickly caught up with Patrice, taking her arm as they walked the rest of the way to the car. “I can see how sorry you are. Anyone could. But let me tell you something…”
Rita opened the passenger door for Patrice and waited as the younger woman settled into the seat. Then she closed the door and walked quickly to the driver’s side, saying as she sat down in the car, “…And this is what I want to say. My babies from the first trimester were just as precious as your Trent. Tiny as they were, they were full of potential. They already had tiny limbs, tiny fingers. I’ve looked at the pictures of children not even twelve weeks old—pre-born children, although I used to call them fetuses and chose to think of them as…tissue. Well, my tiny babies were just as precious as Trent—just as precious as Austin.”
It was clear to Rita that Patrice wanted to drop the subject, but she also perceived that Patrice was grieving and guilt-ridden, and that talking it out would be beneficial. She drove for a few moments in silence and then picked up the subject right where she’d left off.
“It’s not because they would eventually have developed into a baby the size of Trent in a few more months, or because they might have ended up as cute as Austin. No, Patrice!” Rita pulled off the road into their usual parking area and turned off the car. Making full eye contact with her friend, she stated emphatically, “They were precious because they were custom-made by God into the image of Himself. What Jim said the other night is true! My two babies and your Trent were in God’s book before they were even conceived—three unique blueprints of specific talents, specific body shapes and faces, specific personalities, specific gifts. Three specific human beings.”
Patrice looked intently at Rita, searching her eyes as if she wanted to believe her friend but yet not daring to.
Rita sighed. “I always thought the wrong done—the sin committed, was the taking of that physical life. Well, that’s a huge part of it, but now I know that we denied them, more importantly, the chance to have human fellowship with their Creator.”
Patrice shut her eyes momentarily and then shook her head. “I’ve never believed in a ‘Creator,’ Rita.”
Rita smiled. “It’s time you did, my dear friend,” she replied, her eyes shining with compassion. “My ideas have changed—I’ve changed—so much I’ve changed in the past few weeks. I’ve always believed in evolution, just like you, Patrice. But it’s just a theory. And the bottom line is that evolution doesn’t offer much—except hopelessness.”
“Rita,” Patrice replied, and her tone fully embraced the appreciation and goodwill she had for her friend, despite a hint of condescension, “you can’t throw out all the science that’s brought so much advancement in medicine… transportation… communication, and on and on. And science is built on the theory of evolution.”
“What? It certainly is not. Our advances in science have nothing whatsoever to do with evolution—nothing!” She looked almost pleadingly at Patrice. “Hopelessness does, though. You can choose to believe that Trent never mattered anyway, and go on with life until you die, hoping you made an impact while you were alive, because, baby, it’s over when it’s over. That’s evolution.
“Or you can choose to believe, as myriads of people have since the beginning, in the ultimate Designer of all that we know and far beyond. And the ultimate design of that ultimate designer is the human being. Trent was made in God’s image—completely unique, with a body, a soul, and a spirit. God made his spirit to live forever. God is merciful, and I know He’s made provision for him, because Trent didn’t have a chance to make any choices, and neither did my first two children.
“You and I are also made in God’s image, Patrice. That means our spirits will live forever, too. An eternity wholly engulfed in the amazing, creative love of God sounds pretty wonderful to me. On the other hand, eternity spent totally apart from God does not. God’s provided a way for you and me to live eternally with him—through Jesus. In fact, Jesus said to his friends, ‘I go to prepare a place for you; if it were not so, I would have told you.’ Life, as we know it, Patrice, isn’t over when it’s over.”
At this point, Rita stopped talking. Patrice cocked her head, curious, but said nothing. Presently, in the quiet, Rita smiled, her eyebrows raised and with a look on her face that said, “So…what do you choose?”
Patrice turned her head away, and the two sat in silence for a long time. Finally, the younger woman spoke, her face still turned away from Rita towards the side window. “Tell me…about…Jesus,” she whispered finally.
“All right.” Rita shifted in her seat, confident that in the preceding silence, God had heard her prayer that she would say to her friend only what God impressed upon her to say. “Well, the Bible says that in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made by him, and without him nothing was made. And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”
Patrice now turned to look at Rita.
“Jesus was that Word, Patrice. He was perfect—sheer love and sheer goodness, as only God is. In God’s amazing plan, Jesus came to show us what God was like, and He also came to die as a sacrifice to cover the sins of every single person who trusts in Him to have done that. So He came, showed us what God was like, and He died—a horrible crucifixion death. But He also came back to life to show us that just as He was resurrected from death ‘by the glory of the Father,’ we also, who believe that his blood was shed to cover our sins—we also would be raised up after we die.
“So death is not a final event, but a beginning event for us. According to the Bible, everyone of us who accepts that amazing plan and gift of God will come back to life and live forever with God and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” Rita paused a moment before continuing emphatically, “He was killed on the cross. But He came back to life, Rita. He conquered death and came back to life! And through His death all our sins—yours and mine—are washed away with the blood that He shed. It’s all true, Patrice. All we need to say is ‘Thank you, Jesus. I don’t deserve it, but thank you.’ That’s how He becomes our savior. And when we live for Him, in the ways He tells us in the Bible, He becomes our lord. And as He becomes lord in our life, we find ourselves putting others first.”
Patrice still said nothing. Slowly but surely the expression on her face changed, reflecting both hope and desperation. Tears filled her eyes.
Rita spoke softly. “You’re sorry about Trent, I can tell. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I am!” Patrice nodded, blurting, “So sorry.” Now the tears ran down her cheeks.
“Well, if you want to see him again in heaven, you must trust that our Creator has provided forgiveness through Jesus and believe that His blood washes you clean—that you are totally forgiven. And when you die, you’ll go to heaven.”
Patrice listened earnestly to her friend.
“Cancer has made me bold, Patrice. May I pray with you?”
The younger woman didn’t try to speak, humbly succumbing to her tears; but she nodded. Rita took Patrice’s hands in both her own, and bowed her head.
“Our Father, thank You for sending your son Jesus to die so that the wrongs that Patrice and I have committed—every one of them—are wiped out forever. Thank You that Jesus rose again to prove that there is life beyond death. Thank You for loving and accepting Trent and my two babies, and for loving and forgiving Patrice and me. I state this day that Jesus is our Savior, and that Patrice and I desire You to be our Lord. Thank you, Father, in Jesus’ name.”
“Yes, thank you,” Patrice’s voice echoed in a whisper. Her eyes were closed and her head bowed, and there were tears running down her cheeks as she repeated again, louder this time, “Thank you, Jesus.” She turned to Rita before she got out of the car, smiling uncertainly and placing her hand on Rita’s arm. “Thanks for being such a good friend.”
Rita smiled and sighed happily, shrugging her shoulders. “Life just gets better and better for me. I’m convinced it’s all about walking with God.”
“It’s a … a totally… different… way of …” Patrice paused, sucking in her breath in staccato fashion in the aftermath of tears while she searched for words. “…of looking at things … isn’t it?”
Rita’s face glowed, and with a wide smile she replied, “Mm-hmm,” nodding emphatically.