Donut Days (18 page)

He trailed off, seemingly tangled in his own thoughts. Then, just as quickly, he seemed to find his way again. “I just wanted to let you know I’m proud of you for using your gifts and talents to make your own way. Just like Jesus tells us to.”

His words made my heart fill up in my chest and press against my ribs. Earlier that morning I’d thought that maybe I’d forget about the
Press
article and the contest, considering everything that had happened. But now, with my dad cheering me on, I felt like I could do anything. It didn’t even matter to me that I’d entered it to spite him—at least initially. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He rapped his knuckles on my skull playfully. “Don’t stop using your noggin, kiddo. Yours is a good one. I’d hate to see it go to waste.” Then he surprised me again for about the billionth time that morning by giving me another hug.

 

 

 

The fountain in the church foyer gurgled and tinkled the way it did every Sunday morning. To look at it against the wall as you came into the building, you’d never think anything was different—it cycled the same water it did every Sunday, all of it cascading over the same plaque that always read
Go and Spread the Word of God
.

The purple carpet was still purple; the church’s Thomas Kinkade paintings were still hung everywhere. The doors to the sanctuary were thrown wide, and the praise and worship band was singing “I Just Can’t Stop Praisin’ His Name.” The singers had their hands raised to heaven, just like they did every Sunday, their vocal cords straining to give God every ounce of glory their windpipes could handle.

I gave huge mental props to the worship leader, who didn’t miss a beat when the congregation all but erupted at our presence. It was like an Oscar entrance down the red carpet as my family walked toward our pew in the front. I practically expected people to start taking pictures.

The pastor is here! What will he say? What will happen to the church?

News of the board’s decision had spread like wildfire before we’d even arrived. By the time we got there, half of the three-hundred-member congregation looked elated; the other half, devastated. We made it to the pew and I took my seat on one end, Lizzie beside me, then my mom, then my dad—closest to the aisle and closest to the altar.

The music was in full swing and the whole church was worshipping. I glanced over at Dad, whose eyes were closed tight. He was praying. His brow was wrinkled in concentration, and his skin was shiny with sweat. Mom caught my look and reached over Lizzie’s lap to squeeze my hand. Then she bowed her head, and Lizzie did the same.

I was the only one with my head not bowed. While the music swelled and the holy notes fell onto us, supposedly getting our hearts prepared for worship, I just sat there. What did I do now?

I’d been so mad at God for not showing up to the baptism that I hadn’t talked to Him in months. I’d
expected
Him to be there with me in the water, to flick His wrist and have me start speaking in tongues, but I’d never once wondered what the baptism could give me besides a spiritual gift.

What’s more, I was starting to really see a few of those double standards Nat was talking about. Like, I’d been
so
critical of my parents for not talking to me about what was going on with the board and Mr. O’Connor, but I realized I’d never told them what was going on in my life either. I had never breathed a word to them about what was going on with me and Natalie. I certainly had secrets of my own I was hiding from them—like the fact that I was in love with Jake O’Connor. In my hands I could practically feel the weight of the stones I’d cast at them this whole time. I’d done it without realizing how guilty I was of the same things.

Man, we are all such a mess
, I thought.
All of us are so screwed up.

But then I wondered if maybe that was the point. There was no valor or redemption in perfect people doing perfect things. But when
flawed
people tried to do good things and really practice what Jesus preached? Well, that’s when things got
really
glorious.

I thought then about the Angelfire Witnesses working for a year—a year!—to help Bear get into rehab. They smoked, they swore, and they were imperfect by their own admission—but they were there when Bear needed them. I thought about how my mom had stood up in front of the congregation every Friday night for the past few months and preached her heart out, head high. She was a woman—a huge flaw, according to some people—but she hadn’t let their prejudice stop her.

And me? Well, I was flawed, certainly—but maybe not in the way I thought. When God didn’t just fix all my problems at the baptism, I’d assumed I was a lost cause. But maybe the way I saw the world was a good thing. God gave us brains to think and eyes to see, after all. Even my dad had said he didn’t want me to stop “using my noggin.” So maybe it was time to stop hating God just because he didn’t give me rose-colored glasses through which to see the world. Maybe it was time to start embracing my own point of view and trying to use it as a way to get closer to God, not farther away.

For the first time since the baptism, I bowed my head, closed my eyes, and prayed.
Forgive me,
I prayed.
Forgive me, forgive me, and forgive me again. Forgive us all. Please. And help my dad this morning, and my mom. Give them strength they didn’t know they had. And please help Bear as he goes to rehab
.

Amen.

I opened my eyes and saw my dad already up at the altar.

And Jake O’Connor was sitting next to me.

T
he music was quieting down as praise and worship ended, and Dad was flipping through his Bible, trying to find the right scripture to open the service with.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered to Jake.

“I figured you could use a friend,” he whispered back, threading his hand through mine.

So, it wasn’t exactly the way I wanted my parents to find out I was in love with the son of the man who had tried to ruin them, but the news had to come out sometime, right?

Dad did a double take from the altar, and Mom leaned over and gave me a really long look, but she didn’t glare and she didn’t look pissed—just confused.

“Did you hear?” I asked Jake quickly. “That I didn’t steal Bear’s money? That it was Nat and Molly?”

Jake nodded. “I’m so sorry, Em. I don’t know what to say.”￘￘

“And my parents told me the truth about your dad’s prophecy. You were right. The Owosso land and the prophecy were connected. He wanted to get my mom out of the way so the sale of the polluted land could go forward.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. I know. I confronted my dad with the documents on my phone, and he pretty much came clean. Needless to say, we’re not really talking right now.”

“Cripes,” I said. “Is your family here?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “In the back. Except Molly. She couldn’t make it.”

“Why?”

Jake grinned. “Mom was so irritated at Molly for stealing that ten thousand dollars, she left her at the police station.”

I snorted loudly just as the music ended. The whole congregation turned to look over at me.

Dad cleared his throat. “Let’s rise, join together, and give glory and thanks to the Lord,” he said. We all stood up, joined hands, and bowed our heads.

Jake’s hand was sweaty again. I didn’t mind. He squeezed tight and I appreciated that.

“God, we thank you for this day,” my dad said, raising both hands above his head, extending them toward heaven. “Every day is a blessing from you. Though we go through trials and fire and tribulations, we will not fear. Because you are bigger than us, and you are bigger than any obstacle in our way.”

A few amens rose up from the congregation.

“Our God is an awesome God and what God has put forth, let no man put asunder!” he said, hitting his stride.

More amens.

“No matter what, Lord, we praise you and thank you! We give you glory for being triumphant! We give you thanks for being great! We praise you in the house you have built! Bless us and help us, dear Lord. This day and always. Amen and amen.”

“Amen,” said the congregation.

“Now,” said my dad with a strained smile, “let’s turn around and greet our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.”

Come on, Dad
, I thought.
Not this morning.
But no, he was determined that this Sunday would be like any other Sunday.

I turned around and faced Mr. and Mrs. Patterson in the pew behind us. They smiled and reached out and said, “Bless you.” They were in the “women should preach” camp. I thought I even remembered them bringing us a fruitcake a while back, to show their solidarity. “Ministry by food,” as Nat had called it.

And speaking of, behind the Pattersons were the Fors dykes and beyond them were the Greenes. With Natalie. Natalie was here.

I grabbed Jake’s arm, tearing him away from Mr. Patterson, who was complimenting Jake on his shirt.

“Natalie’s here,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I saw her when I walked in.”

Over the congregation’s heads, I caught Natalie’s eye. She had showered but still looked wilted and tired. Our gazes locked, and I thought for a second that the sad, green depths of her eyes were speaking a silent apology. But I couldn’t be sure, because the sermon was starting and I had to look away.

“Please take your seats,” my dad said. “Let us begin.”

The congregation quieted, and my dad took a deep breath.
The calm before the storm,
I thought.

“As many of you know, these last few months have been challenging in many ways,” he began. “Last night, the board members of this church agreed that women should no longer preach, which means that my lovely wife, who has been teaching us and standing with me at the altar since the church began, will be removed from authority.”

Here, Dad looked pointedly at Mom, who was sitting still and trying to keep her composure. She had a tissue in her lap but hadn’t used it. Yet.

“My wife and I disagree wholeheartedly with the motivations behind this decision. Unfortunately, this decision has revealed to us that sometimes, even in God’s house, power and money win out against righteousness.”

A few hisses and a few amens emitted simultaneously from the congregation. Ignoring them, he pressed on. “Despite everything, my wife and I have learned something very valuable in all this—something very positive.” He paused and took a deep breath.

“The Bible says a lot of things—a
lot
of things—and it’s up to us to figure out how to apply those things in our lives. That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life, but it wasn’t until this recent situation that I realized just how difficult a task that
really
is.

“Some in this church would have women not preach because of some scriptures by Paul and Timothy. They would then ignore the scriptures in the Old Testament where Esther and Deborah led thousands to righteousness. Which has made me realize, in a way I never have before, how much room the Bible gives us for interpretation when it comes to deciphering its truths.”

Here, my dad’s gaze shifted to me. “In that respect, I have been wrong about some things,” he said. “I was so fixed on letting my wife preach that I never thought about what that meant for the other women in my life. If I wanted one of them to be empowered, why not the others?”

He paused. The congregation was silent, trying to follow along. I sat in my pew, unmoving, scared to death about where the sermon was headed.

“Jesus came so we could be free, not so we could kowtow to the bondage that others place us in. After this experience with the board, I have come to a place in my life where I admire anyone who can stand up to such bondage, such rigidity, and do what it is that burns inside their hearts.

“I know that many of you think my older daughter, Emma, has been a somewhat . . . challenging member of this church since she was little. I’ve thought the same thing, to be honest. But now I know that’s not the case. She has followed the path the Lord has set before her—as a journalist, as a freethinker, as a determined young woman.

“My wife and I have always wanted Emma to go to college, and we saved as much as we could to help her along the way. We most certainly had expectations that Emma would attend a
Christian
college. But when she rejected that idea and told us she wanted to pursue a secular education, I can tell you that I wasn’t pleased. Not at all. So her mother and I put restrictions on her college fund. We said she could use it only if she went to a college we approved of.”

My dad placed his hands on both sides of the pulpit and leaned forward. His body was tense, like his nerves were suddenly composed of electrical cord. “Let me tell you all something right now. That is
not
how God operates. He gives us choice and freedom to make decisions. God says, ‘
Choose
you this day whom you will serve,’ and he doesn’t try to control things so the outcome is to His benefit. And if, by chance, we screw up and make the wrong choice, all God wants is for us to ask forgiveness in the name of His son, Jesus.”

His voice was starting to get shaky. “To underscore my belief in God’s desire for us all to have the freedom to make decisions, I have decided that Emma can go to whatever college she wants. She is an individual, she is a woman of faith, and that’s all I need to know to be proud of her and let her choose her own path.”

My dad was suddenly out of focus.

“Here,” Jake whispered, handing me a Kleenex from one of the boxes they always have on the pews for crying congregants.

“When I realized I needed to accept Emma’s decision, I also realized I must accept the board’s recent actions. All told, I think they ’ve set this church on a disastrous path. But it was their decision to make. As hard as it is for me to say that, and as unjust as it seems, it’s true. My earnest prayer is that when it’s all over, they ’ll realize the error of their ways and ask for forgiveness.