Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (23 page)

     The verse with the reference, Zechariah 4:6, appeared on the screen, and Nicole checked it in her translation. It was the same, and she felt confused. The principle seemed biblical. What we try to accomplish in our own strength is likely to fail, or, as the song said, had only a
sometimes
chance of success.

     “But the heart of this . . . foolishness”—Nicole had expected him to say
heresy
—“is in the initial premise:
You can’t always get what you want
. Because Jesus said in Mark eleven, twenty-four: ‘Whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive
them,
and you will have
them
.’

     “Believe and receive. Believe and receive. So, I’m here to tell you, you
can
always get what you want. Say it with me,
You
can
always get what you want!
You
can
always get what you want!
Yes you can!”

     All over the auditorium, people were standing, and Greg joined them, lifting his hands high and repeating, “
You
can
always get what you want
!”

     Nicole gripped the edge of her seat, a sense of horror gripping her heart. Something was wrong with this, something terribly wrong. It was so nearly right while being deathly wrong.

     “Now . . .” Pastor Hanson stretched out his hands over the congregation. “Now brothers and sisters, everyone remain standing.”

     Nicole stood hesitantly, joined by many others across the auditorium who had not risen spontaneously earlier.

     “Some of you may be wondering whether this is a new gospel I am preaching. It is not. It is the same gospel Jesus gave us, the same message the apostles preached, and the same promise the church has celebrated until only a few decades ago. If you doubt me, consider this old hymn of the faith. It’s somber and slow—a little country, if you will—penned by Paul Rader nearly a hundred years ago. But we’re going to sing it as we close. Meditate on the words, and you’ll realize they say exactly what I’ve been telling you this morning.”

Only believe, only believe;
All things are possible, only believe.

Only believe, only believe;
All things are possible, only believe.

     The band led off with a very country version of a song Nicole recalled from her childhood. They sang it twice, and then Pastor Hanson held up his hands again to stop them while the band played softly in the background.

     “Now I want you to turn to your neighbor and take your neighbor’s hand. And we’re going to sing it again, except this time, I want you to sing it
to
your neighbor. That’s right,
to
your neighbor. Now don’t get squeamish on me. Just do it. It’s a simple chorus, and you’re not auditioning for
American Idol
. You’re just trying to help your brother or sister receive God’s word for today.”

     Nicole took Greg’s hand as the congregation began to sing, but she couldn’t look at him while he sang to her. All she could do was cry. The tears came faster and harder, and her words turned into big sobs. What was wrong? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt the answer was in the verses of the hymn, and they weren’t singing the verses. But she couldn’t quite remember the words.

Chapter 22

Greg didn’t understand why Nicole had been crying during church, but the kids were giggling and whispering about something on the way home. So it didn’t seem like the right time to ask questions. Besides, she kept her face turned toward the side window for most of the trip.

     He parked the Cherokee in the garage and took a moment to clean some trash out of the car while the kids and Nicole went into the house. When he got to the house, both Becky and Nathan met him at the kitchen door, bouncing up and down like Jack-in-the-boxes.

     “You’ve got to go to your room, Daddy,” Becky said.

     “Yeah, an’ close the door,” Nathan added.

     “Hey, what’s going on here? I haven’t been a bad boy. Why do I have to go to my room?” He feigned mock injury, making them giggle.

     “You’ll see. You’ll see.” They began pushing him toward the bedroom.

     “How ’bout my book? Can I get my book? It’s just a thin book with a black and yellow cover by my computer.”

     “No,” Nathan said. “You have to go straight to your bedroom, and no looking around.” But Becky volunteered to get the book. It had come with a packet of information from SlowBurn as part of his registration for the training that was to begin on Tuesday. Greg was supposed to read it before he got there, but he hadn’t taken time to even crack its cover.

     Once Greg was sitting on his bed, book in hand, the kids left. But just before slamming the door, Nathan turned back, his eyes wide. “An’ no coming out till we tell you.”
Wham!

     Greg fell back on the pillows, a big smile on his face. His kids were something else. But with Nicole being so upset at church this morning, maybe he ought to offer to take everyone out for dinner. It’d been awhile, and even though money was getting short, he wasn’t about to live as though
You can’t always get what you want
. No. He could get it. They could get it.

     “Nicole?” He got up and went to the door, but at the last moment left it shut in order to play along with the kids’ game, whatever it was. “Nicole? Hey honey, you want to go out for dinner? It’s Sunday and all.”

     He could hear his wife and kids murmuring to one another in the kitchen, but he couldn’t make out the words.

     “No. That’s okay.” Her voice was light. “Already got something started.” Her response was followed by more murmuring and stifled squeals from the kids.

     Well he’d asked. Greg drifted back to the bed and picked up the book.
Network Marketing: Overcoming Your Fears to Realizing Your Dreams
. But in spite of his good intentions to read the network marketing book, he soon drifted off to sleep.

     He awakened fifty minutes later when Nathan and Becky flung open the door. “You can come out now. It’s time for dinner.”

     “Ahh,” Greg yawned. “I was just starting my nap. But if it’s dinner, guess I’ll come.” Greg stood up and headed toward the door with an exaggerated stagger.

     But as soon as he stepped out, both kids began chanting, “Happy Father’s Day, Happy Father’s Day,” as they danced before him into the dining room.

     The table was set, steaming dishes of food were ready, and red and yellow streamers hung from the chandelier to the corners of the room.

     “What? Is this Father’s Day?” He hadn’t even remembered.

     “Yes, it’s Father’s Day, and I made a card for you . . . all by myself.” Nathan gave Greg a little push toward his chair.

     Greg glanced toward Nicole. She gave him a sly smile. “Well,
we
didn’t forget. Sit down before the food gets cold.” Her distress of the morning seemed to have passed. She’d put on fresh makeup and looked great, though Greg could still see traces of red in the whites of her eyes. But it wasn’t the time to bring up whatever had troubled her earlier.

     “Read my card, Daddy.” Becky thrust it toward him.

     Greg sat down and read both kids’ cards, as well as a beautiful card from Nicole. He didn’t pay much attention to the printed verse, but she’d signed it, “With all my love,
your
Nikki.” He looked at her as she took her seat at the other end of the table. Maybe his concerns about Lincoln Paddock were groundless. Today, he was a happy man.

     He took a large helping of his favorite pasta dish: spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, basil, and garlic. The mix was laced with small cubes of extra-sharp white cheddar cheese and extra virgin olive oil. He topped it with coarsely ground black pepper, which Nicole had left off because it was too spicy for the kids. In addition, there were some strips of grilled flank steak and a helping of steaming broccoli.

     “What a meal, Nicole. How’d you fix it so quick?”

     “We started yesterday,” Becky said.

     “And”—Nathan’s eyes grew big—“we made cupcakes for you.”

     “For everybody,” Little Miss Sweet Tooth corrected. “Besides, Nathan, that was supposed to be a surprise.”

     Greg reached over and tickled her nose. “And it all is a surprise too. I’d completely forgotten this was Father’s Day.”

     As he enjoyed the scrumptious meal and all the appreciation from his family, it crossed Greg’s mind that Pastor Hanson hadn’t said one word about this being Father’s Day. That seemed strange, especially for someone who often spoke about the importance of husbands being the heads of the families and for the wives to submit in all things. The pastor must’ve forgotten.

     Greg knew how easy that was. He’d forgotten Mother’s Day just as completely. A twinge of regret stabbed him. The contrast between this thoughtful celebration and his lame effort a few weeks ago to make up for his oversight by taking Nicole and her mom to that restaurant in Andersonville was painfully obvious.

     “Maybe this afternoon you should call your dad,” Nicole suggested.

     “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll do it, right after we have those scrumptious homemade cupcakes you kids made.” But Nicole’s reminder was another stab. He hadn’t given his own dad a single thought—not early enough to send a card and not even this afternoon while his whole family was talking about Father’s Day and honoring him.

     Maybe . . . maybe he and Pastor Hanson were just two peas in a pod—focused on more important concerns.

* * * *

Nicole felt bad about the hard time she’d had with Pastor Hanson’s message on Sunday. She knew it had meant a lot to Greg, and she wanted to support him. He’d seemed so encouraged by their Father’s Day celebration that she didn’t want to bring him down by discussing her reservations about Pastor Hanson’s teaching. But she couldn’t get the closing song out of her mind:
Only believe, only believe; all things are possible, only believe
.

     Songs weren’t necessarily authoritative, like Scripture, but if this old song—one she recalled from her youth—actually meant all you had to do to get what you wanted was to believe, then maybe she’d been wrong all these years.

     Once she had the kids settled doing their reading Monday morning—something she’d insisted continue even though it was summer break now—she switched on the basement computer and did a search for the song’s lyrics. When she finally tracked down the hymn, it was as old as Pastor Hanson had said, having been penned by Paul Rader in 1923. She hummed the tune quietly as she read the words, but realized as she went along that it did
not
promise people could get all the riches and blessings they wanted if they “only believed.” In fact, the final verse clarified the message the songwriter intended.

Fear not, little flock, whatever your lot,

He enters all rooms, “the doors being shut,”

He never forsakes; He never is gone,

So count on His presence in darkness and dawn
^.

    
Only believe, only believe;

All things are possible, only believe

Only believe, only believe;

All things are possible, only believe.

     Nicole sat back in the desk chair and blew out a breath. The songwriter wasn’t singing about “believing” for a new car or even recovery from sickness and tragedy. That was
not
the promise. The song called God’s people to believe that Jesus would be with them and never forsake them no matter how bright or dark their circumstances . . . “
whatever your lot
.”

     “Mommy, what does m-u-s-t-a-n-g spell?”

     “What?” Nicole pulled her attention away from the words on the computer.

     “M-u-s-t-a-n-g, what’s it spell?”

     “Mustang. It’s a kind of a horse, Nate.”

     “What kind of horse?”

     “Uh, uh . . . a wild horse, out west.”

     She turned back to the song on her computer screen.

     Her jaw tightened. How
could
Pastor Hanson use this song to tell people they could get everything on their wish list, do everything on their bucket list, and have a pain-free, worry-free life if only they believed? What a cruel distortion of the truth. Yes, she knew the Bible made some extraordinary promises, but the greatest was Jesus’ promise just before He returned to heaven, “Lo, I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”