Godless by James Dobson Page A

mom.”
    Julia smiled condescendingly at her friend’s effort to cheer.
    â€œDon’t give me that look,” Angie scolded. “I’m not being nice. I’m being serious. Listen to yourself, Julia. You bought Amanda the shampoo. You cooled yourself down before getting in the car.”
    â€œAnd then I almost made her walk home and almost told her I regret initiating the adoption.”
    â€œExactly. Almost . But you didn’t. You swallowed your anger. You gave up the right to retaliate. You forgave. And as a result, you remained an agent of grace in that girl’s life. You probably even moved her a step closer to feeling the kind of security she’s never known but desperately needs. Secure enough, maybe, to start fighting who knows what emotional demons.”
    â€œI guess,” Julia responded gratefully. It was true, the past year had brought more opportunities to back off, cool down, apologize, sacrifice, and give than she could have imagined. As difficult as the first year of marriage to Troy had been, adjusting to the expectations and needs of a wife, the year with Amanda had been infinitely more stretching. She had often reminded herself of Jesus’s words Pastor Alex had mentioned in a sermon. “Learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart.”
    She had been trying to learn. And perhaps, if she dared believe Angie, getting in slightly better shape.
    â€œI’m very proud of you, girl.”
    The force of the words surprised Julia. Had her friend ever used them with her before? She tried to remember. Angie, like the rest of her friends, had expected Julia to graduate valedictorian from her high school class and then take full advantage of her Ivy League scholarship. They took it in stride when she received a Pulitzer Prize in journalism. No big surprise. Julia couldn’t recall Angie offering the sentiment in response to her most impressive achievements. Why, after everything Julia had accomplished, would this put such admiration in Angie’s eyes?
    â€œAnd I promise you,” her friend continued while a hand squeezed Julia’s arm, “you’re doing the right thing.”
    *  *  *
    Troy and Kevin arrived, finally, with what looked like “enough wood to build a small condominium.”
    Kevin reacted to Angie’s playful wisecrack with a kiss on the forehead while Troy downed a bite of his now-cold hot dog.
    â€œYou might as well finish,” Angie said, slapping her husband’s behind as if punishing his concealed offense.
    â€œFinish what?” he asked innocently, winking toward Troy.
    â€œThe conversation you were having about the Robin Hood tax.”
    â€œRobin Hood tax?” Troy asked inquisitively.
    Angie looked toward Kevin, then Troy, then back to her husband.
    â€œYou mean that’s not what you were talking about?”
    Kevin shook his head. “You told us not to discuss work, remember.” He suddenly looked eager to comply with her earlier, already violated rule.
    â€œWait,” Troy said. “What’s happening with the Robin Hood tax?”
    â€œWhat is the Robin Hood tax?” Julia asked, apparently the only one in the dark.
    â€œIt’s a distortion of an idea we floated a few months back,” said Troy. “One Kevin assured me wouldn’t see the light of day.”
    Kevin appeared sheepish. “I didn’t want to ruin your trip.”
    Angie, apparently realizing her mistake, tried changing the subject. “How about if I warm up that dog?”
    â€œGood idea,” Kevin answered, still trapped in the line of Troy’s threatening glare.
    â€œWhat kind of idea?” Julia pressed.
    Troy turned toward his wife. “I suggested proposing something called a ‘fertility credit’ that would allow seniors to receive a full tax credit when they donate toward conception and childbirth expenses for a married mom and dad.”
    â€œYou