her shoulder and a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Michael?"
"I wanted to check on you. You didn't call last night."
She set her coffee on the table so she could pull out a chair, dusting it off with her hand before she sat. Some might have called it stalling. She preferred to think of it as gathering her thoughts. She hadn't called him. Why?
"Maggie?"
"I'm here." She should have said something more than that, but couldn't. Michael had called to check on her. A slender thread tugged on her heart, telling her that he was different. He didn't need to be fixed, like her kids, and he wasn't going to use her.
But then, she had made mistakes in the past. As a child she had even believed her dad would ride in on a white horse to rescue her. When he didn't show up after her mother's death, she put that dream away.
"You're okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Last night. I shouldn't have done that. I put you in a bad position, and I don't want to do that. You're right to keep your distance, and I need to remember that I have issues of my own to work on."
"We're fine, Michael. I think we both know that we have priorities."
"Good, I wanted to make sure. I really appreciated you going with me."
She didn't have an answer, not right away.
Michael laughed. "You don't have to tell me you had a good time."
"It wasn't so bad."
The call ended with him telling her he'd see her at church. She walked back into the kitchen where she met her grandmother's questioning looks. Maggie poured herself another cup of coffee.
"Michael Carson?" Her grandmother pulled the Crock-Pot out of the cabinet as she asked the question.
"Yes."
"How is he doing?" Grandma turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a roast.
Maggie watched, wondering about the roast and the carrots that followed. Her grandmother only thawed out a roast for Sunday lunch if they were expecting company.
"Grandma, why are you making a roast?"
"Because I thought it would be nice if we invited that young man over for lunch."
"Gran, I love you, but please don't do this."
"I just thought it would be good to show him that he has friends, people who are supporting him and believing in him."
"And I'm trying to be one of those people. But I can do that without letting him take over every aspect of my life. He's in my office, working with my kids and going to my church. Isn't that enough?"
Maggie heard a barely audible tsk-tsk from her grandmother. She leaned against the counter, the warmth of the giant mug of coffee seeping into her hands as she lifted it to her lips.
"Maggie, honey, I don't think God ever said, 'Be merciful and compassionate only when and where it makes sense or feels safe.'"
It seemed as if it was a day without easy answers.
"Gran, I love you."
"I love you, too, honey." Her grandmother patted her cheek. "And I'm praying for you, because I know this isn't easy, letting Michael in and allowing him to be such a big part of your life. I know that you have memories…" Grandma looked away, but not before Maggie saw tears. "Memories of your mother. Don't forget, she was my daughter. It hurt me, too. But I think it would be good for us both to realize that sometimes people get help and they recover. Life isn't hopeless, not when God is involved."
Maggie thought back to a lifetime of unanswered prayers. She had prayed, wondering if God was real. And then she had prayed for her mom, and for her dad to come and rescue them. She had watched her mom slip further and further away, until the day she left for good.
Remembering, Maggie heard the whispered pleadings of a child, begging God to help her mom. Asking Him why it had to be the parent who loved her and not the father that hadn't married her mother.
"Maggie, honey?" Grandma's gentle voice broke into the haunting memories of the past, drawing her back to a sunlit kitchen and a new day.
"I'm sorry, Gran, I just got lost in thought." She looked down at the cup she still held between her palms. "Michael Carson is just a man
"Michael?"
"I wanted to check on you. You didn't call last night."
She set her coffee on the table so she could pull out a chair, dusting it off with her hand before she sat. Some might have called it stalling. She preferred to think of it as gathering her thoughts. She hadn't called him. Why?
"Maggie?"
"I'm here." She should have said something more than that, but couldn't. Michael had called to check on her. A slender thread tugged on her heart, telling her that he was different. He didn't need to be fixed, like her kids, and he wasn't going to use her.
But then, she had made mistakes in the past. As a child she had even believed her dad would ride in on a white horse to rescue her. When he didn't show up after her mother's death, she put that dream away.
"You're okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Last night. I shouldn't have done that. I put you in a bad position, and I don't want to do that. You're right to keep your distance, and I need to remember that I have issues of my own to work on."
"We're fine, Michael. I think we both know that we have priorities."
"Good, I wanted to make sure. I really appreciated you going with me."
She didn't have an answer, not right away.
Michael laughed. "You don't have to tell me you had a good time."
"It wasn't so bad."
The call ended with him telling her he'd see her at church. She walked back into the kitchen where she met her grandmother's questioning looks. Maggie poured herself another cup of coffee.
"Michael Carson?" Her grandmother pulled the Crock-Pot out of the cabinet as she asked the question.
"Yes."
"How is he doing?" Grandma turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a roast.
Maggie watched, wondering about the roast and the carrots that followed. Her grandmother only thawed out a roast for Sunday lunch if they were expecting company.
"Grandma, why are you making a roast?"
"Because I thought it would be nice if we invited that young man over for lunch."
"Gran, I love you, but please don't do this."
"I just thought it would be good to show him that he has friends, people who are supporting him and believing in him."
"And I'm trying to be one of those people. But I can do that without letting him take over every aspect of my life. He's in my office, working with my kids and going to my church. Isn't that enough?"
Maggie heard a barely audible tsk-tsk from her grandmother. She leaned against the counter, the warmth of the giant mug of coffee seeping into her hands as she lifted it to her lips.
"Maggie, honey, I don't think God ever said, 'Be merciful and compassionate only when and where it makes sense or feels safe.'"
It seemed as if it was a day without easy answers.
"Gran, I love you."
"I love you, too, honey." Her grandmother patted her cheek. "And I'm praying for you, because I know this isn't easy, letting Michael in and allowing him to be such a big part of your life. I know that you have memories…" Grandma looked away, but not before Maggie saw tears. "Memories of your mother. Don't forget, she was my daughter. It hurt me, too. But I think it would be good for us both to realize that sometimes people get help and they recover. Life isn't hopeless, not when God is involved."
Maggie thought back to a lifetime of unanswered prayers. She had prayed, wondering if God was real. And then she had prayed for her mom, and for her dad to come and rescue them. She had watched her mom slip further and further away, until the day she left for good.
Remembering, Maggie heard the whispered pleadings of a child, begging God to help her mom. Asking Him why it had to be the parent who loved her and not the father that hadn't married her mother.
"Maggie, honey?" Grandma's gentle voice broke into the haunting memories of the past, drawing her back to a sunlit kitchen and a new day.
"I'm sorry, Gran, I just got lost in thought." She looked down at the cup she still held between her palms. "Michael Carson is just a man
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