Witcha'be (11 page)

“Molly, this is my husband, Marcus.”

“Nice to meet you, Molly.” He raised his hand in a wave.

“Mr. Piper can’t stay. He’s working late at the university. I’m catching a ride home with my friend, Sally, and her mother.”

She reached into the backseat, retrieving a blue book with gold-edged pages. “Do you have a Bible?” she asked.

“No. But I’m going to ask my mom to buy me one this week.”

She held the Bible out to me. In disbelief, I stared at my name, stamped in gold letters, on the blue cover.

“Oh. Mrs. Piper, I—”

“It’s a great read.” She winked. “In the back you’ll find the concordance—girl’s best friend, as I like to call it. Turn there to find the location of specific verses. For example, when you are happy, look up
joy
in the concordance and it will direct you to passages about happiness. When you are afraid, search for the word
fear
, and it will lead you to scripture that deals with fear.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Ladies, be good.” Mr. Piper blew a kiss to his wife, making her grin. She shut the door and he drove away.

Mrs. Piper led me into the church. A man wearing a blue suit and a warm smile stood in the entryway.

“Good evening, Pastor Jacobs,” Mrs. Piper said. “This is a Molly Sanders, a good friend of mine who also happens to be one of my students.”

“Welcome to Cornerstone, Molly. So glad you are joining us this evening.” He gave my hand a firm shake.

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Piper walked me down a long corridor. The aroma of buttered popcorn caused my mouth to water. “This is your stop.” She opened a heavy-looking door and steered me into a large, brightly colored room filled with activity. “Our youth center. We finished setting it up last month. The place is soundproof.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Cornerstone youth, may I have your attention?” Everyone looked at her. “Please welcome Molly Sanders.” She smiled and patted my back. Immediately, chattering teenagers, some of them classmates, surrounded me.

“Hi, Molly.” Amy held out a bag of popcorn and a soda.

“Hi, Amy.” I slid the Bible under my arm and took the snacks from her.

“Welcome to Cornerstone youth.”

Several people introduced themselves and welcomed me.

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, returning smiles and nibbling popcorn.

“Isn’t that too-tall Saul, playing the guitar?” I whispered to Amy.

“Yeah. He’s pretty good.”

“Go Saul!” A girl hooted and clapped. Saul blushed and flicked his pick at her.

She dove to the floor and rose with the pick, holding it up like a trophy. “I don’t believe it! Saul Turner’s guitar pick!” She feigned a swoon then jogged to the small stage and handed it back to him.

Amy and I traded glances and giggled.

“Good evening, youth!” a man yelled enthusiastically as he hurried into the room. “Sorry we’re late. Business meeting went a little bit over.”

A pretty, blonde woman followed him in, hugging kids as they opened their arms to her. “Great to see everyone,” she said.

“Greg, Sandy, this is Molly.” Amy led me by the elbow to the couple. “She’s attending our service tonight.”

“Terrific to meet you, Molly.” Greg extended his hand. I tucked the popcorn into the crook of my arm and received his handshake. “Do you go to school with Amy?” he asked, his eyes lively.

“Yes. And too-tall Saul.” I shook my head. “I mean,
Saul
.”

“Too-tall Saul. I love it. I just might start calling him that.” He nodded. “As Amy mentioned, I’m Greg, and this is my wife, Sandy. We are the Cornerstone youth pastors. So good to have you here.”

“Thank you.”

“We hope you like what you experience and come back to see us Sunday morning,” Sandy said, touching my shoulder.

I turned my eyes to the florescent orange
Kneeling Zone
sign nailed to the green wall.

“No pressure,” Greg said. I cut my gaze back to his good-natured grin.

“Excuse us, please, while we get this party started.” He grabbed Sandy’s hand. They dashed to the stage, joining Saul. Greg snatched a silver microphone from the stand. “Can everybody hear me?” he boomed.

“Huh? Can’t hear you. We’re all deaf now,” a boy I recognized from school said. Everybody laughed.

“Okay, okay. This better?” Greg backed off the microphone.

“Yeah!” Voices peppered the air around me.

“Great. Let’s get on our feet and celebrate with some amazing praise music from Saul, Kim, and Isaac.”

People stood. Amy took my refreshments and Bible, storing them on an empty chair. Applause echoed as Kim, a girl with a glossy black braid, trotted onstage and accepted Greg’s microphone. Isaac climbed the steps and slipped onto the stool behind the drum kit. He tapped his sticks together then hammered a slow rock beat accompanied by Saul’s guitar. Kim swung her braid in rhythm and sang with a clear voice. Saul grinned at Amy and me from the stage, shut his eyes, and strummed. Kim lifted her hand toward the ceiling. I glanced around to find several other hands raised as well. Some people swayed with closed eyes, their expressions tender.

The song ended to an explosion of shouts and cheers, but the applause didn’t seem to be for the performers. Instead, people shouted, “Thank you, Jesus,” and, “Praise God,” while clapping.

I clapped for the band.

“Amen!” Greg exclaimed, taking the stage. Saul, Kim, and Isaac jogged down to join the rest of us.

“Let’s remain in an attitude of worship while we share prayer requests.”

“We can sit now,” Amy said.

“I have a request,” a short, scruffy-haired boy said.

“What is it, Lance?”

“Please pray for my mom. Her cancer’s back.”

“Yes, we will certainly pray. Just remember, God created your mother and He can also heal her.”

Sandy walked to Lance and hugged him.

“Anybody else?” Greg asked.

“Uh, Greg, can we pray for me to get an A on my science test tomorrow?” Isaac, the drummer, asked.

“That depends. Do you plan on studying, or slacking off and letting God do the work for you?”

“Never mind.” He blushed.

“That’s what I thought,” Greg teased. “Tell you what, how about you study and we’ll pray for God to help you retain what you’ve learned. Deal?”

“Deal.” Isaac smiled and gave a thumbs-up.

“Who else?”

“May I go next?” Amy asked. “Can we please say a prayer for Mrs. Piper? We’re doing a big project in creative writing. One of the kids disrespected her terribly, and then quit the class. Plus, she takes care of so many things here at Cornerstone. I thought it’d be cool to lift up her needs to God.”

“Excellent, Amy. The Bible tells us to lift one another up in prayer.”

I blinked. What happened to shy Amy?

“Anybody else?”

“Molly, do you have a request?” Amy whispered.

I shook my head.

“You don’t have to say it out loud. It can be unspoken. People are always doing that.”

My chest tightened and I swallowed hard. Urgency nudged me. I shook my head again.

“Okay. I’m just going to pray for you on my own, without telling anyone,” she whispered.

I nodded, wondering how she knew something was wrong. Was my misery that obvious?

“Let’s present these requests to the Lord in prayer,” Greg said.

Some people moved across the room and knelt under the
Kneeling Zone
sign, others remained seated.

I bowed my head as Greg prayed aloud, mentioning all of the spoken requests, and then asking God to meet our unspoken needs. Several people echoed his, “Amen,” when he finished.

“Does anyone have offering money?” Sandy asked, passing around a large, colorful can labeled
pray-doh
, painted to resemble a child’s modeling clay container. People emptied their pockets into the can, chucking in change and wadded bills. “It’s fine if you didn’t bring any. God doesn’t love you based on what you put in the plate.”

“You mean,
can
, not plate,” someone joked. Sandy smiled, held up the can, and shook it.

I dug in my jeans pocket but came up empty.

“Gather around, youth. Let’s spend some time in God’s word.” Greg straddled a plastic chair. People grouped around, some in chairs, others cross-legged on the carpet. Amy scooted her chair closer to mine.

Sandy tucked the offering can into a cupboard and sat on the floor, near Greg.

“Turn to First John, chapter four, verse four. If you don’t have a Bible, raise your hand and someone will be glad to share.” Greg scanned the crowd. “Everybody has a Bible? Cool. Please look at this scripture with me.”

I opened my Bible and thumbed through the delicate pages, pretending to know what I was looking for. Amy leaned over and helped, placing my finger on the verse.

Greg read aloud. “‘You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the One who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.’”

Several people were underlining in their Bibles.
With pens
. I looked around, stunned.

“Saul, please tell us what John is saying in this passage.”

“That God is more powerful than Satan.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because God is in us, and Satan is in the world. So that means, greater is He who is in us, meaning God, than he who is in the world, meaning Satan.”

“But who is
us
and who is
them
?” Greg asked.

“
Us
is believers. The beginning of the verse says, ‘
You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them
.’” Saul looked at Greg while keeping his knuckle on the passage. “I think
them
refers to unbelievers.”

“Good interpretation. I happen to believe you are right,” Greg said.

God was in some people, but not all? The world was separate from God? How could that be true when He was the one who created it? My forehead tightened as I struggled to process. And what exactly was a
believer
? I got the feeling it meant more than just knowing there was a God.

“Molly?” Amy gently tapped my shoulder. “Do you have a question?” She slid to the edge of her chair and leaned close to me.

A question? Every fold in my brain was crammed with them.

“I’ll ask it for you, like you did for me in creative writing. I’m not so shy here.” Her eyes searched mine.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” No way I’d humiliate Amy by making her ask Greg a bunch of lame questions.

Amy settled back in her chair.

“The world is filled with hurting people,” Greg said. “Hurt manifests in many different forms. I believe anger is the most prominent of these manifestations. How many of you have ever met a bitter person?” Greg lifted his own hand and skimmed the room.

“Yes, Derek. Go ahead.”

“My neighbor, Mr. Franklin, is always mad. He complains twenty-four-seven. My dad can’t stand him,” a boy, about thirteen years old, said.

“I think we all know at least one person like that, Derek,” Greg said, nodding. “But let me ask you this, do you think Mr. Franklin could possibly be hurting about something?”

“I think he’s too mean to be hurting.”

“Can you picture Mr. Franklin as a young man? I’ll bet a long time ago he was a strong, hardworking man. Maybe he’s bitter because he can’t work anymore. Or because people don’t give him the respect he deserves as an elder of the community. Is there a Mrs. Franklin?”

“She died a couple of years ago. He was nicer when she was alive. She must’ve forced him to be nice.”

Greg’s voice softened. “Did you ever think Mr. Franklin might miss his wife and that’s the reason he’s so unhappy?”

“No. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Will you do me a favor? Say something kind to Mr. Franklin this week.”

“He’ll yell at me.”

“Yes, he might. But, please, try anyway,” Greg said, his gaze steady on Derek’s face. “Will you take that chance? You might be surprised.”

Derek squirmed. “If I think of something nice, I’ll say it. Then I’ll run!”

“That’s all I can ask for.” Greg chuckled and gave him a double thumbs-up. “So, folks, who agrees hurt and anger are easier to bear when God is in our lives?” Several hands raised.

A tune, which sounded like Lenni’s doorbell, chimed loudly.

“Quickly, everybody jot this down,” Greg shouted over the bell. “Hebrews chapter eleven verse one—that’s your memory verse. Know it by next Wednesday. Before we dismiss, let’s pray.”

We rose and formed a circle, joining hands. I stood between Amy and a younger girl with tiny fingers tipped in pink polish. Sandy led the group in prayer, asking God to protect us and keep us in His care until we reassembled. Everyone said, “Amen.”

Amy slipped me a small piece of paper with
Hebrews 11:1
written on it. “The memory verse,” she said.

“Thanks.” I tucked the note into my Bible, slid it under my arm, and scooped up my half-consumed popcorn and soda.

“Please place trash in the wastebasket on your way out,” Greg instructed as he jogged toward the door. He patted our backs as we left the room.

Adults, children, and youth poured from different areas of the church building and mingled in the hallway. Mrs. Piper nodded slowly as a bluish-haired woman with a walker lifted her floral dress and pointed to her knees.

Mrs. Piper strode in my direction as the crowd thinned. “Well, what’d you think about the youth service?”

“I really liked it. I’m planning to come back Sunday, if that’s okay.”

“Okay? It’s fantastic. You’ll have that Bible broken in proper, in no time.”

I looked at my Bible. “It’s so beautiful. I’m never going to write in it.”

“I wish you would.” She grasped my hand. “When a verse speaks to you, underline it. That way, you can find it later and remember when God made the meaning clear.”

“I don’t know…”

“Try in pencil, then you can erase it if you have regrets.”

“Better.” I nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Molly. Looks like I may be waiting a while. Pearle’s still showing off her knee replacement scars.” She tipped her head toward the hallway where three young women now bent to examine the older woman’s knees.