me. Now I watched her fidget, and she didn’t look me in the eye.
I left shortly after she presented her case against the parent holidays. On the way home, I started to worry. Had she noticed I never asked about her pain before? Was she sick of listening to me dump my problems on her without giving a second thought let alone a first to hers? Did she ever resent my neglect? I’d treated our friendship like it was all about me. And up to that day, it was.
I knew our relationship had changed. She got real with me and that took courage. She shed some of the “victorious Christian” veneer I’d started to resent. I saw something beyond the anger that shocked me to the core: her wound.
I acknowledged something else. Until that day Jonica had still been on trial with me. When she let loose with the truth, I liked her more. As she poured out her frustrations, I began to respect her on a new level. She said all the right things this time too—she just didn’t know it.
After berating myself for a while longer for not being a better friend, I decided to call her, but she beat me to it. Hearing her voice and her worry over how I’d taken her “outburst” as she called it, reassured me. I could count on my friend to do everything she could to make it right. She tried harder than anyone I knew.
Comforted by her call, I decided to take a risk and be totally open with her too. I told her about my deep sadness and my secret yearning to have a baby.
So in typical Stacie fashion, when my friend was most vulnerable, I put my burden on her. I tested her again, and she passed. I knew I was safe with her—at the very least, her religion demanded it—but it was more than that. Nice was as much a part of her as her DNA.
I was confident in one person I knew she’d been with that awful Mother’s Day. Ben. Those two kept teaching me lessons in real love.
Later, as I considered the high cost of friendship, I realized that even in her hurt and anger, she didn’t blame God. Her religion wasn’t a surface thing. It seemed ocean deep.
I wished I could put her God on the witness stand. I had one question for Him: “Why Jonica?”
Chapter 10
Jonica
Going back to church was easier than I expected. Sort of.
We headed for the pew we often occupied—middle section, middle row. Several people stopped to say hello and that we’d been missed the past few weeks. We smiled and let them know it was good to be back and that we had missed them too. I was comfortable with surface comments and had no desire for anyone to go deeper.
I’d known several of them since Bible camp and youth group. But our lives had changed direction after they started having kids and we didn’t.
The organ music started, and I opened my bulletin. As the swelling music surrounded me, I read the prayer request insert. Descriptions of job losses, cancer, deaths of loved ones, and sick babies filled a page . . . Lord, the needs of our people are so many and so great. Help me to remember to think more of them than about myself.
The pastor stood, greeted the congregation, and made an announcement. “Today our service will be different. We have folks who want to share what the Lord is doing in their lives. Mixed in with the testimonies we will sing praise songs and experience a drama.”
The praise band opened with “How Great is Our God.” We stood to sing, and I listened to the teenage girl who sat beside me—a perfect alto. Behind us Della’s and Bernice’s soft sopranos filled with vibratos floated on the air. A writing idea came to mind, and I grabbed an index card and a pen out of my purse and wrote myself a note: the voices of yesterday and tomorrow blending in perfect harmony—just like the Old and New Testaments.
People shared how obedience to God had changed their lives. Some spoke about mission trips, others about their marriages, and still others about issues of purity. Then one woman stood up and shared how God had used one person’s act
I left shortly after she presented her case against the parent holidays. On the way home, I started to worry. Had she noticed I never asked about her pain before? Was she sick of listening to me dump my problems on her without giving a second thought let alone a first to hers? Did she ever resent my neglect? I’d treated our friendship like it was all about me. And up to that day, it was.
I knew our relationship had changed. She got real with me and that took courage. She shed some of the “victorious Christian” veneer I’d started to resent. I saw something beyond the anger that shocked me to the core: her wound.
I acknowledged something else. Until that day Jonica had still been on trial with me. When she let loose with the truth, I liked her more. As she poured out her frustrations, I began to respect her on a new level. She said all the right things this time too—she just didn’t know it.
After berating myself for a while longer for not being a better friend, I decided to call her, but she beat me to it. Hearing her voice and her worry over how I’d taken her “outburst” as she called it, reassured me. I could count on my friend to do everything she could to make it right. She tried harder than anyone I knew.
Comforted by her call, I decided to take a risk and be totally open with her too. I told her about my deep sadness and my secret yearning to have a baby.
So in typical Stacie fashion, when my friend was most vulnerable, I put my burden on her. I tested her again, and she passed. I knew I was safe with her—at the very least, her religion demanded it—but it was more than that. Nice was as much a part of her as her DNA.
I was confident in one person I knew she’d been with that awful Mother’s Day. Ben. Those two kept teaching me lessons in real love.
Later, as I considered the high cost of friendship, I realized that even in her hurt and anger, she didn’t blame God. Her religion wasn’t a surface thing. It seemed ocean deep.
I wished I could put her God on the witness stand. I had one question for Him: “Why Jonica?”
Chapter 10
Jonica
Going back to church was easier than I expected. Sort of.
We headed for the pew we often occupied—middle section, middle row. Several people stopped to say hello and that we’d been missed the past few weeks. We smiled and let them know it was good to be back and that we had missed them too. I was comfortable with surface comments and had no desire for anyone to go deeper.
I’d known several of them since Bible camp and youth group. But our lives had changed direction after they started having kids and we didn’t.
The organ music started, and I opened my bulletin. As the swelling music surrounded me, I read the prayer request insert. Descriptions of job losses, cancer, deaths of loved ones, and sick babies filled a page . . . Lord, the needs of our people are so many and so great. Help me to remember to think more of them than about myself.
The pastor stood, greeted the congregation, and made an announcement. “Today our service will be different. We have folks who want to share what the Lord is doing in their lives. Mixed in with the testimonies we will sing praise songs and experience a drama.”
The praise band opened with “How Great is Our God.” We stood to sing, and I listened to the teenage girl who sat beside me—a perfect alto. Behind us Della’s and Bernice’s soft sopranos filled with vibratos floated on the air. A writing idea came to mind, and I grabbed an index card and a pen out of my purse and wrote myself a note: the voices of yesterday and tomorrow blending in perfect harmony—just like the Old and New Testaments.
People shared how obedience to God had changed their lives. Some spoke about mission trips, others about their marriages, and still others about issues of purity. Then one woman stood up and shared how God had used one person’s act
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