Sway (33 page)
I remember the words she spoke on Christmas Eve
: My mother told me to come here tonight…my father will come around eventually
.
Kate told me the story of her mother; privately, the woman has already accepted me. It’s only a matter of time before she comes back to her Creator, too.
Things have been harder with her father, but lately…lately, I’m starting to think things might be on the edge of change. Maybe one day soon—with lots and lots of prayer—he’ll be swayed to this side of the fence.
Maybe.
He’s delivering his closing lines when his wife spots me. Even though fifty feet of Baptist church property separates us, I know the moment her eyes land on mine, because she touches her husband’s arm. She touches his arm, and he glances at her. One second later, he’s looking at me and falters on the word
demand
. He gives the word another try, but again he doesn’t quite get the word out. His standard catchphrase is
We demand some action
—against nativity scenes, against government funding, or in this case, against a church that erected a marble cross exactly three inches beyond their own property and onto the property of a public park—a mistake that will cost the church approximately one-hundred thousand dollars to move if they’re forced to.
We demand some action
…he mumbles again. But right now, at this moment, Kate’s father can’t seem to make even the smallest plea for it.
So he stares straight at me. While I stare back at him. I see the discomfort that forms on Mrs. Hawkins’ features…the questioning look she throws her husband’s way. But before she can question him, I produce the envelope from my back pocket and hold it up. Without hesitating, he does the one thing I came to see. The one thing that confirms it. The one thing I’ve suspected for a few weeks now, even though I thought for sure I was crazy for thinking it in the first place.
He nods.
Presses his lips together.
And then looks away.
At that moment, all the air I’ve been holding in my lungs escapes, and I shake my head and smile. That smile stays on my face as he tugs on his tie, clears his throat, and resumes his speech. I turn to head back to the car.
When I reach the door handle, out of everyone’s sight except my own, I withdraw the check from the envelope.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. The third one—in the same handwriting sent from a local bank in a name I don’t recognize—I’ve received since Christmas. Signed simply:
For you, for taking your own action.
Public funding might be gone, but at this rate, the foster center will be in business indefinitely.
Feeling the weight of worry lift off me and drift heavenward, I glance up.
“I get it, God. Mysterious ways…”
And with that, I hop in the car and close the door.
Though I know this bit of information needs to stay secret for now, and though I’m not dumb enough to think much will change in the days ahead—Mr. Hawkins has his convictions, and I have mine—it still gives me hope. The man is reaching out. The man is accepting me. The man just wants his daughter to be happy.
So do I. Suddenly, I’m hit with the familiar, overwhelming desire to see her.
So with the sun in front of me, I point my car west and drive toward Kate.
The End
“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”
—Isaiah 40:31
Thank you so much for reading
Sway
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