I knelt in front of the church, broken and lost.
Empty.
My wife was dead, my children were hurting, and my congregation was drifting away. Fewer and fewer numbers showed up each week. In essence, my faith was shot.
On my knees, I poured out my heart in prayer, seeking guidance and help. I’d started out in ministry with enthusiasm and high expectations. My goal was to make a difference in people’s lives, to write books based on Scripture that would reach others in their faith journey.
The problem, as best as I could describe it, was this: I couldn’t give away what I didn’t have to give. I felt bereft, hurting and uncertain. Katie’s death had taken a toll on me and the children—that was understood. My congregation had been patient with me. More than patient, but it was three years now and it was no better.
The intense grief had passed, but I realized things were different. Something had changed.
I wasn’t the same man any longer.
I didn’t have what it took to stand in front of the church each week and speak to the needs of the people. I couldn’t help anyone when I seemed incapable of helping myself. I’d stumbled in my own walk, lacking faith, lacking trust.
Simply lacking.
Some might suggest I’d burned out, but the fact was that I hadn’t been able to start a fire. There’d been nothing to put out, especially in the last three years. I hung my head, disappointed in myself, pleading with God to guide me, show me what He would have me do.
I was half inclined to submit my resignation to the elders. That was an option, of course, but the ramifications to myself and the children would be substantial. Mark and Sarah had been through enough, dealing with the death of their mother. The last thing they needed at this point was to be uprooted from the only home they’d ever known. Plus, in my current state of mind, I couldn’t be assured another church would be willing to accept me as their pastor or that I should even continue in ministry. Maybe it would be best all around if I sought out another career entirely.
I’d talked with Linda Kincaid, one of the women in the congregation, who worked as a tireless volunteer. She had retired from teaching and played a major role in the life of the church. She’d become my right hand, along with my assistant, Mary Lou. Between the two of them, they’d kept me afloat this long.
Linda was a trusted friend and a good sounding board. I don’t know what I would have done without her. It was her hard work that kept the volunteer programs running smoothly. As I prayed, I thanked God for her and her willingness to step in and help. She’d suggested I stick it out, give myself time. She’d once told me that if I’d felt God was far away, then I was the one who’d moved.
Talk about hitting the nail on the head. What I needed now was to find a way back.
As I continued to pray I heard a noise in the back of the church. I wasn’t aware anyone else was in the sanctuary. When I got up from my knees I saw a woman standing at a back pew. Even from this distance I noticed she had the look of a deer caught in the headlights. Her wide-eyed expression made me think she was up to no good.
I started toward her with the elders’ warnings ringing in my ears, reminding me of the risk I took leaving the church unlocked during the day. They felt it was an open invitation to vagrants and vandals. I’d won the argument, but now I wondered if I’d made the right decision.
As I drew close I saw it was a young woman. Her gaze skirted mine, which made me suspicious.
“Can I help you?” I asked. “I’m Drew Douglas, the pastor here.”
“Pastor?” she repeated as if the word felt awkward on her tongue.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, doing my best to disguise my reservations. The small suitcase by her side was curious. She didn’t look like a tourist, and the church, while one of the older ones in town, wasn’t exactly a Seattle attraction.
The woman swallowed hard and offered me the weakest of smiles. “I was just leaving. Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair.”
She seemed to muster up her courage, and her eyes snapped defiantly.
“I’m not here to ask you to leave.”
Her steady look challenged me. She seemed to be saying she didn’t believe I’d welcome her in the church.
“Do you need help?”
She blinked hard, as though surprised by the question. “No…I don’t need anything.”
Again, she spoke with a razor-sharp edge, her voice cutting, her shoulders stiff. She might claim otherwise, but I knew she was lying. She struggled to look indifferent, but I read the desperation in her eyes. This woman needed help, but pride prevented her from asking for it.
“Can you tell me why you’re here?”
“Ah…no, well, yes.” She fumbled with her words and didn’t seem to know where to start. “The bus let me off in front of the church.”
“The bus,” I repeated, unable to follow her line of thought.
She lifted her head and looked me square in the eyes. “I was released from prison this morning.” As if anticipating me tossing her out, she reached for her suitcase and started for the door.
Years ago I’d been involved in prison ministry, but my work had always been with men.
“Please don’t go,” I said and gestured toward the pew. “You clearly came into the church for a reason. Let’s talk.”
She hesitated, as if that was the last thing she expected me to say. “This going to take long?” she asked, with the same brash, uncertain edge.
“Not long at all.”
She shrugged as if she was doing me a favor, sitting down in the pew next to me. Unsure where to start, I waited for her to speak. I was patient, knowing if I waited long enough she’d explain her circumstances.
“You should know I’m a convicted felon.”
I shrugged. “Don’t suppose they tossed you in the clink for jaywalking,” I said, dismissing her words. In an effort to encourage her, I smiled. “Do you have somewhere to live?”
She stiffened and shook her head. “Not yet.”
“How about a job?”
It took her longer to answer this time. “No.” Her shoulders slumped forward before she quickly straightened again.
It would be easy enough to wish her the best and let her go. She wasn’t expecting any help and appeared to resent answering my questions. Another lost soul who drifted through the church doors. I couldn’t do much for her; we didn’t run a shelter and my resources were limited. It would be best to offer to pray with her and let her go. I opened my mouth to do exactly that and found I couldn’t. Even knowing the elders were likely to disapprove, I didn’t feel I could ignore her need. “Come with me.”
Her head snapped up as if she suspected I had some nefarious intention. “Where are you taking me?”
“I have a few contacts who might be able to help you.”
She stood, blinked a couple times, and then quickly sat back down. Placing her hand over her heart, she exhaled and went pale.
“Miss?”
“Sorry, I had a dizzy spell. I’m fine.”
Dizzy spell? “When was the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday.”
“They didn’t feed you in prison?” Silly question, because I knew they did.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
A more honest answer would have been that she was too anxious about being released to eat.
“No wonder you’re light-headed.” We had a small kitchen in the church office, but we didn’t keep much in the way of food there, other than a few snack items. “There are sandwiches in the office kitchen.” I didn’t mention that she’d be eating my lunch.
“I don’t need anything.”
This woman was too proud for her own good.
“Please, I hate to hurt Mary Lou’s feelings.” When she gave me a confused look, I clarified. “She’s the one who brings in the sandwiches. She makes my lunch and then adds extra.”
“She your wife or something?”
“No, my assistant. My wife died a few years back. Making my lunch is Mary Lou’s way of being sure I pause long enough to eat. You’d be doing us both a favor.”
“Yeah, right.”
She thought about my offer cautiously. I doubted anyone was going to pull anything over on her.
I started up the aisle, expecting her to follow, taking her through the side door that led to my office.
Mary Lou looked up from the computer screen and her eyes automatically went to the young woman who accompanied me.
“Mary Lou, I’d like you to meet…” I hesitated when I realized I hadn’t asked for the woman’s name.
“Shay,” she supplied. “Shay Benson.”
“Hello, Shay,” Mary Lou said, without missing a beat.
“I met up with Shay in the church. Would you show her into the kitchen while I make a few phone calls?” I asked.
“Of course.”
Mary Lou stood from behind her desk and led the way down the narrow hallway while I headed into my office.
“Oh, and Mary Lou,” I called out, “would you bring out the sandwiches? Shay will be joining me for lunch.”
Without a pause, Mary Lou agreed. She looked at Shay. “If you’ll come this way.”
The woman was a rare jewel. Her easy acceptance of me giving up my lunch made me appreciate her all the more.
Stepping into my office, I closed the door, sat down at my desk, and reached for my phone. The one place I felt would help Shay most was Hope Center, which was run by one of the gospel mission agencies in town. They had high standards, which meant Shay would need to pass a rigorous examination and drug testing.
The ladies’ group at the church provided dinner for the residents once a month, and I’d known Kevin Forester, the director, for several years. We hadn’t talked in longer than I could remember. It was time to correct that. Like so much else in my life, I’d let friendships slide since I’d lost Katie.
Within a matter of minutes I connected with Kevin. “Kevin,” I greeted, “Drew Douglas here.”
“Drew,” Kevin sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. “How are you, man?”
“Better,” I said, exaggerating the truth. “I need a favor.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I found a lost soul in my church this morning.” I went on to explain what I’d learned from Shay.
Kevin listened intently and then asked, “Do you know if she has a history of drug use?”
I hadn’t done street ministry in years but was fairly sure I’d recognize the signs. “Looking at her, I’d say no, but I can’t be sure.”
“Alcohol?”
“She actually looks pretty good. Again, it’s difficult to tell, but like I said, she looks clean.”
He hesitated. “She mentioned a felony charge?”
“Yes. I didn’t ask her what it was about and she didn’t offer.”
“I can find out easily enough. It’s all a matter of public record.”
I was curious myself but would wait for her to volunteer the information.
“Did you tell her it’s a yearlong program?” Kevin asked me, breaking into my thoughts.
“No. I didn’t want to get her hopes up until I learned if you had a free bed.”
Kevin exhaled. “If you’d called thirty minutes ago, I would have had to turn you away. We have a no-tolerance drug policy here and we found meth in one of the residents’ rooms.”
The timing impressed me. An opening right when one was needed. “Can I bring her by for an interview?”
“No guarantees.”
That went without saying.
“Got you. I don’t have any skin in this.” It was important that Kevin understand I wouldn’t take a refusal personally. Shay’s acceptance was up to her and her willingness to work 24/7 in a life-skills program. “If she’s approved, great. If not, then I did what I could.”
“Right,” Kevin said. “Bring her by this afternoon and I’ll have my staff do an evaluation. It’ll be a few days before we’ll be ready to accept her, if we do.”
I wasn’t sure Shay had anyplace to sleep and said as much. I hated the thought of her spending the night on the street.
“I’ll get her into one of the shelters until we get the test results back,” Kevin said.
“I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”
Kevin hesitated. “It’s been awhile.”
“It has,” I agreed.
“How are you, man?”
“Good.”
“Drew,” he said, unwilling to let it drop. “How. Are. You?”
I hesitated. There’d been a time when Kevin and I were close. We’d attended seminary together, played basketball, and were ushers in each other’s weddings. I’d lost track of the last time we’d talked.
“Empty,” I admitted, feeling like a failure. “I feel empty.”
“You personally bringing this woman by this afternoon?”
“Yeah.”
“Block out the rest of your day.”
“Can’t,” I argued. “I’ve got meetings set up. There’s an electrician coming by to…”
“Cancel it. No excuses.”
“Kevin…”
“Cancel those appointments.”
Groaning, I wanted to argue with him. I’d waited a week for this electrician and didn’t know how long it would take for him to manage to return. Furthermore, this other meeting was important. It was with Alex Turnbull, one of the elders, who wanted to rehash the budget numbers. With attendance down, giving had dropped substantially. Adjustments had to be made.
It wasn’t like I was looking forward to cutting programs. We’d already done away with the monthly newsletter we mailed out. A good portion of the congregation was older and not many were computer savvy, so when the newsletter was delivered via email it had created a problem. We’d cut back on the janitorial services and lowered the heat in the church. My mind raced with the difficult decisions facing me.
Truthfully, I’d like nothing more than to avoid seeing Alex and dealing with the church’s finances. The thing was, I had responsibilities, ones that weighed heavily on my shoulders.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked before I stated my argument.
“Basketball,” Kevin said.
The word hung in the air between us. He must be joking. It was a good thing Kevin couldn’t see me roll my eyes. “I can’t cancel these appointments so we can run around a basketball court.”
“Yes, you can. There’s a thing called self-maintenance. Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, you need this. I’m not going to listen to excuses. Either you show or I’m going to come collect you myself.”
“It’s been years since I played basketball.” Before Katie’s cancer. Before that even. Years. I was rusty and out of shape. Kevin was sure to run circles around me. My entire life revolved around the church and my family. What Kevin called self-maintenance hadn’t been on my to-do list for longer than I could remember.
“You hear me?” Kevin demanded. “I said I’m not listening to any arguments.”
I sighed, accepting defeat. I recognized that tone of voice and wouldn’t put it past him to come to the office and collect me like an errant teen.
My call had been on behalf of Shay, hoping Kevin would be able to help her. I hadn’t expected more than a quick phone conversation. Now this.
For all I knew, Kevin was the answer to Shay’s prayers.
And to mine as well.