The somber faces that had climbed into the van with Shiloh this morning transformed the minute they arrived at St. Stephens Baptist and the boys connected with their friends.
Once again, they were the chatty, playful Griffin boys she knew. She wondered, however, if they were worried that she’d spill the beans about everything in service today. Shiloh wasn’t sure when she’d share her testimony. Just as God had put it on her heart to release her secrets, she was certain he’d tell her when and how.
She strolled into the church this morning, greeting members along the way as usual, and tried to stay grounded in the moment. Dwelling on how the boys were reacting to her news wasn’t going to make them accept it and move on any faster; she had to press forward herself, and show them by example how to trudge through challenges with faith and hope that God would give her another chance to correct her wrongs.
She was doubly surprised this morning when she entered the sanctuary. Not only was Monica and her grandmother seated in the middle section of pews on the right, so was Eva, her teaching colleague from Sherman Park High. Shiloh trotted over to greet all three of them with kisses and hugs.
“Was this planned?” Shiloh asked Eva.
“No,” Eva said and grinned. “I told you I was going to visit your church one Sunday, and I just chose this one. Plus, I missed you and I knew I’d find you here, if nowhere else!”
Eva seemed oblivious to the sideways glances and outright stares she was receiving from St. Stephens Baptist members, and Shiloh was glad. Didn’t they have any manners? She wanted to stare them down until they got the message, but she had to remember her role as First Lady, and behave.
“Why don’t you come sit with me, near the front?” Shiloh glanced at Monica, who was sitting next to her grandmother. “Do you two mind?”
Eleanor shook her head, and so did Monica.
“That’s fine, Mrs. Griffin,” Monica said. “Am I still coming with you after church?”
Shiloh grinned at Monica, who didn’t look any different than she had several weeks ago. Shiloh asked herself why she was surprised. Most teens didn’t show until the fifth or sixth month of pregnancy.
“Absolutely,” Shiloh said, and peered at Eleanor. “As long as it’s still okay with you?”
Eleanor seemed less chipper than usual, but was receptive to Shiloh, as always.
“That’s fine,” Eleanor said. “She needs to be home no later than seven, to wrap up the homework she hasn’t finished, but I know she’s in good hands.”
Shiloh wondered where Monica’s father was this morning, but decided not to ask.
She returned to the end of the pew, where Eva was waiting, and escorted her tiny friend to the front of the church, where she usually sat.
Eva slid into the second pew on the left, and watched with interest as the choir filled the loft behind the pulpit. Shiloh sat next to her and instantly felt like the jolly green giant, given that Eva’s head barely reached her shoulder.
“What is this—a full-fledged professional choir? You’ve got men, women, drums, a sax, an organ, and a guitar?”
Shiloh smiled. “Welcome to the black Baptist church, my dear.”
Eva chuckled. “When you visit me and my Korean friends, don’t talk about our harp. That’s all we’re working with now.”
Shiloh peered at her, waiting for Eva to declare that she was joking, but Eva shook her head. “No joke. We make sweet simple music to the Lord. It’s all good!”
Shiloh grinned and patted her hand. “You and your slang.”
“Don’t hate,” Eva said with a straight face.
Shiloh giggled, appreciative of the lighthearted banter, after what she had put her family through yesterday.
The choir launched into gospel renditions of several hymns, and Shiloh was surprised not only by how well Eva knew the songs, but also by how lovely her voice was.
“You’ve been holding out on me!” Shiloh whispered. “Your voice is gorgeous.”
Eva blushed. “Thank you … First Lady.”
A few folks had come by and addressed her that way, and Eva hadn’t been able to contain her amusement.
The morning was eventful, with Jade’s return from Fond du Lac and the standing ovation she received from the congregation.
“And here’s the latest news,” she said as she stood in front of the church this morning to thank them for their support. “I’ve been asked to testify before Congress from a layperson’s perspective about why hearing aids should be covered by insurance companies, without families having to write special letters of appeal. Sometimes they are granted the coverage, but just as often, they are denied. I’ll travel to Washington in early February to have my say.”
“Amen!”
“Go ‘head, Sister Jade!”
The chorus of approval rippled through the church, and Jade beamed. Shiloh’s heart smiled. She was happy for Jade, and proud of her, too.
When Randy asked the congregation to turn in their Bibles to Ephesians and announced that he would be preaching on grace, Shiloh found herself near tears again.
“For it is by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast.”
Shiloh had memorized Ephesians 2:8–9 as a teenager, at the insistence of a Riverview Baptist Sunday school teacher in Atchity, but not until this very day had those words registered in her heart as relevant to her life. It struck her that she’d been trying to work her way into God’s grace for the past eighteen years, by getting married and serving as the good preacher’s wife, by volunteering in church, and by holding her annual commemoration every August—even though she knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to work; grace was already free and didn’t have to be earned. She’d heard Daddy declaring that truth for as long as she could remember, and her husband asserting it for nearly twenty years.
Yet she kept giving the same burden to God every year on that date in August, which meant she was never really releasing it to him. When would she stop taking back the guilt and shame and finally accept his offer?
Her family was still furious with her; she needed to talk to Monica about her experiences; and she needed to deal with whatever fallout would come from her eventual conversation with Lia; but for now, in this moment, she truly felt for the first time God’s indescribable peace, and the reality that he had forgiven her a long time ago—the moment the plane from France had landed in the U.S. and she had gone into the airport bathroom, entered a stall, and cried her eyes out and told God she was sorry. He had heard her. He had forgiven her. She just hadn’t allowed herself to receive it.
Randy lowered his head to pray before beginning the sermon and when he said “Amen” and opened his eyes, a beam of sunlight streamed into the sanctuary.
“Well, alright then,” he said, surprised, and the congregation chuckled. “I couldn’t have planned that if I wanted to, but clearly grace has entered this place with the Spirit of the Lord.”
Shiloh smiled through her moist eyes. Whoever the sign was for, it was right on time.
The tension during dinner had been thick enough for Shiloh to carve a sculpture.
She could tell Monica was uncomfortable and knew she’d have to reassure her later that the frostiness had nothing to do with her. They were leaving the house now, heading to a neighborhood ice cream shop. Few people would be there on this chilly fall afternoon, but Monica had requested it, and Shiloh didn’t mind complying with what might be a craving, or simply a teenage request.
They settled into their spots with their mint chocolate chip and birthday cake ice cream and enjoyed their treat and the sunny day.
“I told Pastor Randy I enjoyed his sermon today,” Monica said. “That grace stuff he talked about is what I need right about now. Good to know I’m still eligible.”
“Always,” Shiloh said, reflecting on her own worship service revelations. “Don’t be like me and think that it applies to everyone but you. It’s a gift that’s granted the minute you repent, and turn toward God.”
She hated to change the subject, but she couldn’t wait any longer for an update. “So how are you doing, and how are things with your dad?”
Monica shrugged. “I’m the talk of the town, I guess. It’s all over Facebook and Instagram that I’m pregnant by Trey, and everyone is saying horrible things about me. It’s insane, and I can’t believe I’m being trashed this way. The crazy thing is, I think he’s the one
spreading the rumor, even though he’s like my father—demanding that I get rid of the baby.”
Monica’s stoic revelations threw Shiloh for a loop. “Come again? Why would Trey mess up both of your reputations like that?”
Monica gave her a “Let’s get serious” look. “It doesn’t mess up his reputation, Mrs. Griffin. Especially if I get rid of the baby like he wants. It builds him up as a guy who can have any girl, and keep rolling along. And I guess that’s exactly what he’s doing. Meanwhile, everyone is shunning me like I have a disease.”
There was still some ice cream left in Monica’s cup, but she rested it on the table as if she were full. Shiloh leaned forward, so she could peer into the girl’s eyes. Now seemed as good a time as any to share her own experiences, if Monica wanted to listen. “So what are you saying, Monica … are you going to get rid of the baby?”
The girl shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, Mrs. Griffin. My dad is insisting that we make an appointment as soon as possible; my future is hanging in the balance here. But Grandma Eleanor is saying not to do that, because I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Shiloh decided to tread carefully. “What do you think?”
“I think there are going to be regrets whatever I do. If I become a teen mom I’ll miss college altogether, or go somewhere local that won’t allow me to study music and become a professional musician. If I give the baby away to be adopted, I’ll always miss him or her, and wonder if my child is being cared for the right way. And if I get an abortion I’ll wonder for the rest of my life who or what my child might have been.”
Shiloh nodded. “I get it; I’ve been there.”
Monica’s eyes widened as she soaked in what Shiloh was saying. “What do you mean? Did you …?”
“I had an abortion when I was in college, and to this day I remember exactly where I was and how it felt before, during, and after. Those memories are etched in my spirit forever.”
Monica was taken aback. She didn’t speak for several minutes, and Shiloh allowed the silence to fill the space between them, as the girl thought about, or prayed about, what she wanted to know next. When Monica finally spoke, she still didn’t have much clarity.
“Well, if you were me, what would you do? I’m just so torn …”
Shiloh sat back in her chair and shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not going to make this decision for you, like Trey, your dad, and your grandmother want to do. As much as I have my own set of beliefs and experiences, I need you to talk to God and follow his lead. You have to live with yourself, and with your decision—not Trey, not your dad, and not your grandmother.
“We parents can become frantic sometimes in our efforts to ensure that our babies get all the right breaks and opportunities in life, but we don’t realize the power in allowing you all to see us being authentic, and sometimes afraid. You will face a consequence for your intimate relationship with Trey, whatever you decide. The question is, which choice is going to honor God more. You have to go into your secret, quiet place with God—or create one if you don’t have one—and tell him what’s on your heart and mind. Then you need to find the courage to follow where he leads, Monica. That’s the only thing that’s going to give you peace.”
Monica fixed her eyes on her melting ice cream, but didn’t speak. Shiloh knew she was wrestling with everyone’s voice swirling in her head, with what she knew of God’s truths, and with how her own heart might feel about all of this. She saw a reflection of herself in the girl, whose dreams still rested with the summer flute program that she hadn’t mentioned this afternoon.
“I know this seems hard to imagine, Monica, but twenty years from now, God willing, you’ll be about the age I am, looking back over your life and the choices that loomed before you. If you can
visualize it, try to ask yourself what you would tell your fifteen-year-old self.”
It sounded so Oprah-like that Shiloh wondered whether Monica would even grasp what she was trying to say. And in some ways, she felt hypocritical sitting here trying to minister to a teenager, when her own house full of them was angry with her.
Monica sat back and peered at Shiloh. The poor girl looked miserable. “I can’t talk to an older version of myself when I can’t connect to the current version—sorry, Mrs. Griffin.”
Shiloh thought about the anniversary commemoration she had held in secret all of these years and wanted to shout “Don’t do it!” She also thought about Monica’s musical gift, and what her father was likely demanding of her in regard to staying on track. She wouldn’t interfere with another parent’s reasoning; she wouldn’t want someone doing that with one of her sons, especially someone she entrusted her child to.
What she could and would do was pray for God to give clarity to both Monica and her dad. She also would continue to be part of Monica’s support system, however all of this turned out. That’s what grace was all about.
The short drive back to Shiloh’s house was quiet, as Shiloh and Monica lost themselves in thought.
When Shiloh pulled into her driveway and parked, Monica turned toward her. “I just texted my dad and told him you’d be bringing me home shortly, but he said he’ll come and get me.”
Shiloh was surprised. “Okay; that’s fine. Is everything alright?”
Monica shrugged. “Who knows? He’s been acting weird ever since he found out. For all I know, he was at church today, sitting outside in his car listening to the live sermon on the radio instead of coming in to sit with me and Grandma.”
Shiloh frowned. “Is he upset with me? Or with Pastor Randy?”
Monica shook her head. “No, Mrs. Griffin, I think he’s mad at God. For taking my mom instead of healing her cancer. And now for letting his baby girl be stupid enough to fall for a cute boy’s whispered lies.”
Shiloh understood. Grief could lead your mind down strange tunnels. She made a mental note to have Randy reach out to Claude when he arrived, and invite him for coffee.
They got out of the car and strolled to the edge of the lawn to admire Ms. Betsy’s lush indoor plants, which were visible from her bay window facing the street.
“They’re beautiful,” Monica said. “She must have what you call a green thumb, to keep her plants looking so good.”
“It takes a lot of time to maintain, but Ms. Betsy loves it,” Shiloh
said. “I guess anything worth having in life does—flowers, gifts and talents, relationships.”
Monica looked at her. “I’m glad you make the effort, especially with me. Since my mom has been gone, I haven’t had anyone to talk to like I really need to, because both my dad and grandma have been grieving and overprotective. Thank you for being here for me, Mrs. Griffin, and for always being honest with me. I know you can’t tell me what to do about the baby, but at least you’re not judging me, or running from me.”
Shiloh touched Monica’s arm. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m grateful to be here to listen and to offer my friendship. And did you hear me at the ice cream shop? I can’t run from you or judge you if I’ve been in your shoes, which I have. But even if I hadn’t, no one has the right to judge another so harshly that we can’t reach past our beliefs and assumptions and love them. None of us is perfect and none of us always gets it right. Why do I get to judge my sin as less problematic than yours? We Christians do that all day long, but that doesn’t make it right. I’m glad you still consider me
your
friend, despite my flaws and imperfectness.”
They hugged and walked toward the house. They were about to go inside when a horn beeped, and Shiloh turned to see Monica’s dad pulling into the driveway. He gave her a slight wave, and motioned for Monica to join him.
“Just a minute, Daddy—I left my Bible in the house,” she called to him.
Shiloh pushed open the door and told Monica to go on inside and find it. She strolled over to Claude’s pickup truck and tried to muster a smile. He remained expressionless, but nodded hello.
“Hi, Claude. It’s so nice to see you. Thanks for letting me spend some time with Monica this afternoon—I’ve really missed her,” Shiloh said. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “We missed
you in service this morning, but I was glad to see your mom and Monica.”
More silence led to more chatter from Shiloh. “I won’t ask how you’re doing, because I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders right now. My heart hurts for you, Claude, and for Monica. But you can trust God with this. Ask him to guide you.”
He looked at her with questioning eyes.
“Trust him? Like I did with Sheree? I didn’t even make it to the hospital in time to say goodbye before she passed. I begged God on the way there to have my wife hold on, so I could at least tell her goodbye. Didn’t happen. Now you’re saying I should trust him with my daughter?”
Shiloh was grasping for a response when Lem’s panicked shout caused her heart to clench.
“Mom! Come now! Monica just passed out in the kitchen!”