Grounded (38 page)

She read the next one in Estelle's neat handwriting:
“If by grace, then it is no longer by works; if it were, grace would no longer be
grace” (Romans 11:6)
. Huh.
Works
. That's exactly what she'd been doing these past few years. Trying to make up for her failings. She'd skipped right over grace. No wonder she thought God was punishing her for her past sins, slamming the door of happiness in her face when Roger ended their engagement. She'd still felt condemned. Still believed Satan's lie whispering in her ear: “
You're
not
worth it
.”

A tear slid down her cheek.
Thank you, Estelle … thank you, Jesus …

She started writing in the journal, trying to put into words all that God had been teaching her the past few weeks about mercy and grace. A short while later, the compartment door slid open. “Hey, you're up.” Sam came in, dressed in jeans and a jersey top, carrying her overnight kit. “I showered downstairs—there's a bigger shower and dressing room down there—and then went to the observation car for a while, trying to let you get some beauty sleep. I see it didn't work. You've still got bed head.”

“Ha-ha.” Grace threw a pillow at her assistant. Missed.

“I'm hungry. Want to go to breakfast?”

Grace stowed her journal. “Yes. Just let me get a quick shower.” She peeked into the multi-purpose cubby that held toilet and showerhead. “Hmm. How does this work?”

Sam snickered. “Good luck with that.”

The Empire Builder was only twenty minutes late pulling into King Street Station in Seattle Thursday morning. “Best wishes, Miss Meredith!” Ernie said as he helped Grace and Samantha step off the sleeping car onto the platform. “Wish I could come to your concert tomorrow, but this train heads back to Chicago later this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Ernie. You made the trip really enjoyable.” Grace handed him the tip she and Sam had agreed he definitely deserved. The man had been full of interesting facts about various sights along the way, had stopped by frequently to see if they needed anything, and had even left a gold-wrapped Hershey's Kiss on their pillows when he made up their berths each night. “
Shhh
, don't tell anyone about those Kisses,” he'd winked. “Those are just for my favorite customers.”

Outside the station they caught a Yellow Cab to the Grand Hyatt Hotel in downtown Seattle. “Is the band staying here too?” Grace asked, drinking in the beautiful marbled lobby as Sam checked them in for three nights. Bongo had booked two concerts, Friday night at a popular megachurch and Saturday at one of Seattle's major theaters.

“Yeah. Newman thought we all might as well get a good night's sleep while we're here.” Sam handed Grace her room key and headed for the elevators behind a bellhop with their luggage on a cart.

“I'm glad.” Once they left Seattle, the band would sleep on the tour bus until they hit LA. She and Sam had lucked out—most of the travel down the coast between tour cities took just a morning or
less, so Sam had booked hotel rooms for them most of the way. All except the trip between Portland and Redding—that'd be an overnight for everyone. “Maybe we can meet up for supper tonight.”

The bellhop punched the button for their floor and the doors closed.

Sam shrugged. “Don't know about that. Their plane gets in this afternoon, but they've got a lot of running around to do—outfitting the bus and getting set up at the church. Barry had a long list. We have a practice scheduled for ten tomorrow morning at the church, though.”

Their suite was on the twenty-ninth floor and Grace's eyes popped at the view, which gave them a panorama of Puget Sound. Across the Sound she could see the Olympic Peninsula and ferries crossing both ways. The sky was mostly cloudy, but every now and then sunshine broke through. At least it wasn't raining.

“Grace? Did you see the flowers?” Sam picked a small card out of a gorgeous bouquet of Stargazer lilies and white and pink roses sitting on the desk and handed it to Grace. “If they're from Roger, I may have to upgrade my opinion of the man.”

Grace took the card. Flowers from Roger? That was sweet, though maybe a bit premature. But when she pulled out the card, it read:
“Grace—Praying for the tour. We believe in you!”
It was signed,
“All of us at Bongo Booking.”

Sam peeked over her shoulder. “Aww, look at that. You really lucked out getting such a sweet guy for your agent.”

Grace felt flustered. Flowers from Jeff? Well, from the whole Bongo staff. But still … She turned away from Sam, feeling her face flush. “Yeah, that was thoughtful.” She pulled out her cell phone and sent a text to Jeff:
Flowers are lovely. Means a lot. Thank everybody
. And then, with a twinge of guilt, she also sent a text to Roger:
Arrived safely. Seattle is beautiful! Wish you were here
. She hesitated, and then erased the last sentence before hitting Send.

Sam was already busy hanging up clothes in the spacious closet. Grace busied herself unpacking her toiletries, arranging them on one side of the vanity in the bathroom, and laying neat piles of
underthings and accessories in one of the deep empty drawers of the dresser. Shoes in a row.

Not knowing what else to do, Grace picked up the city guide from the desk and flopped into a padded armchair, mesmerized by the scenic photos and inviting tourist destinations. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” Her assistant still had her head inside the closet.

“We don't have to be anywhere today, right? Why don't we go to Pike Place Market down on the waterfront or up the Space Needle or something?”

Sam poked her head around the closet door. “You sure? Tomorrow's going to be really busy with sound checks and practice, even before the concert. We came a day early so you can be rested.”

“I
am
rested.” Grace grinned. “The train was great! Well … okay, not exactly the best sleep I've ever had, but still. It's only noonish. We could sightsee around the city for a few hours and still get back in time for an early night. What do you say?”

In spite of good-natured grumbling from the band that Grace and Sam had “played” all Thursday afternoon while they had to do setup, the rehearsal had gone well Friday morning, and everyone from Samantha to Barry to the guys in the band seemed psyched about that night's concert. But Grace still felt nervous as she waited in the side room she was using as a dressing room while the local band that was headlining for her played their set.

She absently smoothed the soft folds of the rich rose-colored dress that set off her long brunette hair so well, and retouched her lipstick. This was the first concert with her new theme …
grace
. She'd done the other theme for so long, her folksy comments between songs had become familiar and routine. But tonight? She'd tried to think of things she wanted to say, but wasn't sure how personal to get. She'd promised Roger she wouldn't be talking about him or their relationship publicly anymore. But it wasn't just Roger. Only a few people knew her real story—Estelle, Samantha, and her
brother Mark and his wife. Going public about her teenage pregnancy and abortion before she'd told her parents … no, no, that'd be totally unfair.

She felt relieved to have good reasons for not getting too personal. Except … how could she fully communicate God's grace and mercy to fans at these concerts—young men and women who might be hurting from hidden secrets, just like she'd been—without sharing the healing God was doing in her own life?

“Grace?” Sam broke into her thoughts. “Can the band come in? Barry is suggesting we all pray before you're up. We have about five minutes.”

Yes, yes, she desperately needed prayer—they all did. Barry and the guys in the band filed into the side room and perched wherever they could. As the band manager led out with a prayer for this first concert on the tour, Grace's eyes swept over the bowed heads around the circle. Barry's salt-and-pepper hair and beard … Alex's red hair … Nigel's ponytail … Zach's African knots … Petey's glistening shaved head … Reno's unruly black thatch. What a bunch of great guys. And Sam, her head full of tiny twists framing her smooth caramel skin, eyes closed, face peaceful and lifted.

She couldn't do this without any of them.

“… and help us to remember this concert isn't about us,” Barry was praying. “It's not about Grace, it's not about the band, it's not even about this concert or this tour. It's about you, Jesus. We just want to be instruments you can use to encourage somebody out there in the audience tonight. Each one of us has experienced your grace in amazing ways, and we want to share the good news with someone who needs that same grace and mercy. To God be all the glory …” The guys responded with a resounding “Amen!”

Relief flooded through Grace's spirit as she hugged the band members and Sam, accepting their murmurs of encouragement. This wasn't about her. She could give it all to God, ask him to not only give her the voice to sing, but the words to say.

A sound guy poked his head into the room. “Grace, you're on in two.”

Grace couldn't believe it. She hadn't written out what she wanted to say. Hadn't practiced in front of a mirror. But somehow the songs she'd chosen flowed, one into the other, not really needing comments between most of them. After singing, “… they will dance with joy” from “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” she twirled with sheer joy herself even as fans were on their feet, dancing in the aisles.

But before singing the quiet hymn “He Giveth More Grace” just before intermission, she'd felt an inner prompting. Looking out over the packed auditorium of young faces, she took a deep breath. “Listen carefully to the words of this next hymn. God's love has no limit! We can't measure his grace! If you're like me, you may feel you don't deserve his grace—and that's true. We don't deserve it! But no matter how much you've messed up, God wants to pour out his grace and mercy and forgiveness into your life. Like the chorus says, ‘He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!'” Then she nodded at the band, and Nigel clicked his drumsticks together.
One, two, three, four
…

As she came off stage, Sam gave her a quick squeeze. “Oh, Grace!” she whispered. “That was perfect.”

Grace didn't know about perfect. She was overwhelmed herself by the experience of feeling the nudging of the Holy Spirit, giving her words to say.

It happened again in the second set.

As she sang the words to “Your Grace and Mercy,” the lights dimmed, the spotlight shining on the silvery chiffon dress she'd changed into. For a moment, Grace wished the house lights had stayed up so she could look into the faces in the rows in front of her. But as she sang in the darkened room, she realized afresh that the song was a prayer: “I'm living this moment because of you …” Closing her own eyes, she sang, not to the audience but to Jesus. And as the notes died away, she murmured into the mike, “Yes,
thank you, Jesus! I
am
living this moment because of you! It's your grace and mercy that has brought me through. In spite of my own failures, you continue to pour out blessing upon blessing. And so I dedicate this next song to you as my prayer of thanks.”

Petey's sax moved right into the new song as Grace lifted her voice …

For blessing upon blessing
For every gift you've given
From the fullness of your grace
For all you have forgiven
I thank you, oh! I thank you …

She sang the simple prayer song through once, twice, then let it go. The auditorium was absolutely still. And then she heard the sound of muffled sobs here … and there … and there around the big room. She waited a long moment before giving the band the signal to begin the last hymn: “Marvelous grace … God's grace … grace that is greater than all our sin.”