I became Mrs. Ivy Bishop exactly one week after I announced our engagement at the fair. I moved in with Michael, and in the weeks since we got married, I had made a cozy little nest out of the apartment that was attached to the back of the shop.
Jacob helped me build a couple of planter boxes out back so I would have a vegetable garden come spring. I did things like that (and other small projects) while Michael was working, and he always looked forward to seeing what had changed when he finished.
We had been married for two months now, and we both loved how the place was looking. It was the middle of fall, and cool weather was officially upon us. The floors of the shop were concrete, and the same was true for the apartment, only when Michael moved in, he had them polished and stained to a rust color. I thought the floors were really nice, and I didn't want to install wall-to-wall carpet, but my latest project was to make a few braided rugs out of scraps of fabric in my mom's attic for the sake of keeping my feet warm. I wasn't great at making rugs, but I enjoyed the process, and my third one was better than my first.
I liked my side projects, but music was still my priority. My parents bought us an upright piano as a wedding gift, and I played it for Michael all the time. He was sad about missing my gospel debut at the fair, but he got to hear me all the time now. I played soul renditions of hymns for him any chance I had.
When I wasn't playing music at home, I was doing it in Nashville. I had been back and forth to Nashville way too many times since I moved back home, but I would soon be on a schedule where I was able get by with only going up there one or two times a month. I still wanted to stay active in the music scene, but not nearly as much as I did when I lived there, or even as much as I'd been doing in recent weeks.
I had to go to Nashville literally every weekend lately. In fact, I hadn't been to church at my dad's at all since Michael and I got married. This would be my first weekend at home, and today my first time back playing the piano for the service.
My dad heard about the rendition Amazing Grace that I did at the fair, but he hadn't heard me sing it. He told me just before the service started that a hundred people had requested it in recent weeks, and that many of them would be at the service today in hopes of seeing me sing. He said word had gotten around that it was my first time playing since I moved back. My dad also made a point of saying he would like to hear me do it, which made me even more nervous than the hundred other people.
I was so uncertain that I didn't commit to doing it. I told Dad we'd do Amazing Grace either way, but that I would decide how it would go once the service started. I knew from the moment I walked out that I would do it.
I came out of the backstage area and saw right away that the sanctuary was packed. There was not an empty seat in the house, and there were even a few standing in the back. There were familiar faces and some who were unfamiliar. It was a mixed group, and I smiled as I looked out at them. I realized I saw some faces from Jim-bo's and Michael's shop, and other equally unlikely places, and it made my heart feel happy.
I knew I had to use the voice God gave me.
There was a microphone next to the piano just in case I decided to sing, and I turned it on the instant I sat down. Mr. Dixon glanced at me in surprise because the plan was that I might sing Amazing Grace, and that was the last song. I winked at him and began playing according to plan. He was the stuck in his ways sort, but he was also a professional, so he rolled with it, continuing with the service.
I sang along to all the songs, but I did it very softly with the microphone pushed away from my face. I mostly blended in with the choir until it came time for the last song. At that point, I gave Mr. Dixon the nod that I would take over from there.
I prayed one simple prayer before I sang.
In those few seconds while the others were leaving the stage, I prayed that God be glorified by what I did. It was my true prayer for that to happen, therefore I sang only to and for Him. I sang with all my heart, thanking God for His truly amazing grace. I glanced at the crowd some, but I wasn't focused on them—I was only focused on singing the song.
My dad wept.
I caught sight of him when I was almost done with the song. His face was in his hands and he was really weeping. I had to look away to keep from crying myself. The reason it touched me so much was because I could tell my dad wasn't touched because he was proud of me, or because of the Church was packed. He was crying because he was in just as desperate need of God's grace as I was.
I kept my head down for the rest of the song. Seeing my dad nearly moved me to tears, and I decided for the rest of the song to just sing and pretend nobody was even there.
I finished the song and made a small bow to a round of applause. I headed into the rows of pews where I found Michael and sat right next to him. He told me how beautiful and special I was before we focused on my dad who had gone up there to preach the sermon.
He was all torn up at the beginning, and he wiped his eyes and said how thankful he was for me sharing the song and especially for God's grace. I knew that's what he had been thinking, and it was still hard holding back tears as I watched him get himself together enough to preach.
Before I knew it, church was over and we went to my grandma's to eat lunch. Her fried eggplant was a favorite of Michael's, and he usually ate about twenty pieces of it before she was done frying it.
He was currently inside intercepting piece twelve or so while the rest of us lounged around the house, doing other things and waiting for her to finish up. I was on the back porch with my mom and dad, and we could see Michael and my grandma through the kitchen window. Maw-maw had put him to work breading eggplant, and she paid him in bites.
Jacob yelled at my mom to come see something on his new motorcycle, so she got up to go do that. With my parents' permission, Michael had given it to him as an early graduation gift, and Jacob was anxious to show it to anyone who would stop and look.
I personally had already looked it over about 250 times since Jacob got it. He loved it so much that he basically wanted to take it apart and put it back together just for fun. Michael had created a monster, and I shook my head and smiled as my mom walked over to the side of the house to get a motorcycle lecture from Jacob.
"Ivy, baby, I wanted to tell you thank you for…" my dad cut off what he was saying in such a way that told me he was trying not to cry as he said it. "I just wanted to thank you for singin' this morning."
He touched my leg with a comforting hand, and I smiled at him.
"That's a really special gift you have, Ivy. You get it from your mother. She could sing like that. It's special, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your dad. I think you're able to minister to a different generation with that voice, Ivy."
"Michael's in a unique position, too," I said. "He's able to reach people even you or I wouldn't be able to reach. He earns the respect of a certain group just because of what he can do with motorcycles. Did you know Michael met Mr. Morrow's brother in prison?"
My dad nodded. "I heard something about that but then the Sheriff said he couldn't find where he had a record."
I let out a sigh. "He doesn't have a record because he wasn't in there serving time. He was there because he chose to be. It was a rough prison, and they couldn’t keep a Chaplin, so he volunteered. He talked shop with them, and earned their respect. And after about a year of planting seeds, Mr. Morrow's brother ended up accepting Christ. Mr. Morrow had been trying to get his brother to believe in God for years, so he wrote a letter, explaining that he had accepted Christ and that it had come about through a young man who had been volunteering at the prison. Mr. Morrow was so thankful for his brother's conversion, that he gave Michael the shop."
My dad took a second to let what I said sink in. "Why haven't you mentioned that?"
I shrugged. "I guess I knew it would make you like him, and I wanted that to happen without trying to convince you."
I knew Michael was a different type of man than my father. But I also knew that they could be different and equally as good—equally as capable of reaching people.
My dad breathed a long sigh before squeezing my leg. "I do like him," he said. He glanced toward the window where his mom and Michael were working. "I'm proud of you—proud of both of you."
I smiled, knowing it was not only a sweet statement but also an apology.
"I'm proud of you, too," I said. It always gave me a funny feeling to say that to people who were older than me, but I did it anyway.
Dad glanced at me with a smile and thanked me. I was looking at him when Michael came out of the house. I noticed he was carrying a piece of eggplant.
"Is that for me?" I asked before he ever made it out of the door.
"It wasn't, but you can have it if you want."
I had been sitting on a swing with my dad, but got up so I could meet Michael. He grinned at me as he held the eggplant in the air. I chomped the end of it, taking about half and leaving the other half for him. He popped the rest into his mouth just before he reached out to take me by the waist. I went easily into his arms, and we smiled at each other as we chewed the completely, utterly delicious bite of food.
My dad got up, saying something about checking out Jacob's motorcycle as he opened the screen door and walked outside.
"How many of those have you had already?" I asked, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. I really didn't care how many he had I just felt like I wanted to flirt with him by asking questions.
"Too many," he said. "I'm already full. Can't you feel my big belly?" He poked out his belly, and I touched it, but it was just trim and hard.
"You're just trying to get me to notice how muscular you are," I said, still flirting.
"Nu-uh," he said. "I don't care if you see how big my muscles are or not." The whole time he said it, he was slowly bringing his arm out front so he could flex his bicep. He held his crooked arm between us and stared down at his own muscles as if he was completely serious even though I knew he was being silly. "Go ahead and squeeze it," he said with a straight face. "Feel that."
I felt his arm and then looked at him with wide eyes, lifting my eyebrows as if I was completely shocked. "Wow," I said. "You must work out."
"I do," he said, confidently nodding. "And I have my own business. I build motorcycles. I have to do a lot of heavy lifting and manly stuff."
He was so good at being completely serious that it was all I could do to hold back a smile.
"Sounds interesting," I said with a straight face. "Motorcycles, you say?"
He nodded.
"Did you get all these muscles just from motorcycles?"
He nodded again.
"I think I want to go to your motorcycle shop."
"You can," he said. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss right on my lips. "Why don't you just move in?" he asked after he kissed me.
I nodded. "I think I will."