Grace Alive: a Christian Romance (2 page)

I stumbled out of bed and headed toward the
bathroom. After showering, I went back into my room to pick out a
respectable outfit. I chose a black, knee-length skirt, a sparkly
white top, and a hanging black cardigan overtop of it. I picked out
some black heels and did my makeup really quick. Dad would turn red
if I put a ton of makeup on, but I finally got him used to me
wearing some mascara and lipstick. I grabbed my purse that
contained my Bible, notebook, wallet, and pens; then turned off my
bedroom light. Let’s do this thing.

I rode with my parents since it saved gas.
Our church was only like 10 minutes away, but gas money was gas
money right? Our building is breathtaking. Light on the Hill Church
is nestled on this beautiful hill overlooking Lake Michigan. It has
a bunch of windows in the sanctuary that give you a perfect view of
the lake. Dad had all this professional stuff done to it, so that
it felt like you’re walking into a cathedral. We are
non-denominational, so we get all kinds that come here.

My dad liked to be an hour early to pray in
his office. I usually just wandered around bored. I know I could
have slept in longer, but I needed to save up every penny I earned.
Jacob Whitmen walked in the door just a moment after we got there.
Mom was dusting or something, so she didn’t see the look that guy
gave me. He is so creepy. He’s 28, slicked brown hair, and tiny
eyes that always looked at me like I’m a piece of meat. It’s
disgusting. I think he called
dibs
on me with God or
whatever, because I swear that guy thinks he owns me.

“Hi ya, Zoe-doughy,” he said with a sleazy
smile. He always called me stupid nicknames that got under my
skin.

“Hi, Jacob,” I said dryly and went to go find
something to do. Maybe I could go take communion or something.

“How was your weekend?” he asked with this
undertone of let’s hang out one of these weekends. I’m sorry, but
this guy was creepy on steroids. The sucky thing is that my dad
loves him. Jacob sucks up big time. More than once my dad nudged me
toward Jacob to talk. Our conversations made me want to ram my head
in the wall.

“My weekend was great,” I said without
batting an eye. I adjusted my purse over my shoulder and
fidgeted.

“Maybe next weekend, if you’re not too busy…”
he started to say.

“I’ve got to work.” I tried to sound sad. I
wondered if it was working? Probably not.

“Are you still writing that book of yours?”
He sounded like he was mocking me. Was he actually making fun of
me? It feels like people think I’m a failure and can’t accomplish a
darn thing in my life.

“Yeah, I am,” I answered. I really wanted to
just go take communion. It would be way better than talking to this
guy.

“How’s that going? Did you finish it yet?” he
asked and gave me a smile.

“No.” I gave him that girl look that says,
go away you’re annoying me
, but I still don’t think he gets
that look.

“Oh.” Jacob shifted in his sparkly black
shoes. Just then I was saved, because a couple of my friends walked
in. Thank you, God!

“Zoe!” my friend Mia said, her arms
outstretched. I gladly went into them. Her long brown hair hung in
a braid by her pale face. Mia is as pale as a vampire, has full
pouty lips, a trim figure, wears pretty dresses nonstop, and she’s
my best friend. She’s also married to Tomas and has three kids. See
what I mean about them multiplying like rabbits?

“How are you!” She squeezed me tight and
kissed my cheeks. She was wearing a red dress that hung in ruffles
in the front. It was very flattering on her. I’d seen a couple guys
glance at her when she walked in. I wonder if she even noticed
that. I got looks sometimes too, but between my dad and Jacob I
think they were too afraid to get close to me. Most the guys in my
church avoided me like the plague.

“I’m good, how are the kids?”

Mia threw a look behind her shoulder as Tomas
dragged in a baby car seat and two kids that had leashes. Yes, I
said leashes. Their kids are insane.

“Oh, they’re great.” I could read a look in
her eyes that said,
they are driving me insane,
but kept
silent. Tomas handed the leashes over to Mia and gave me a tired
smile.

“Hi, Zoe, how’s work going?”

That was the only thing that Tomas asked me
about. Work. Poor guy. I think he only has like 100 words in his
vocabulary. And he’d married Miss Talk herself. Mia grabbed my arm
and dragged me away, her two children following behind her like
puppies.

“Is Jacob bothering you again?” She looked
over at Jacob who was smiling toward us like a cat who just ate a
mouse.

“No, he’s just being Jacob.” I shrugged.
“It’s nothing new.”

“I saw the
I want to kill myself
look
when he talked to you.” She laughed as I rolled my eyes at her.

“It’s fine. He’s as harmless as an annoying
fly. One of these days I think I need to get out a fly swatter and
whack him one. That might keep him away for awhile.” I totally
could picture a bug face on Jacob. It made me laugh to myself.

“Come on, Ezra, Nehemiah; let’s go play in
the nursery with Daddy.” Mia tugged her kids along.

Yes, Mia names her kids weird stuff. The
baby’s name is Atarah. It’s some weird name she found in the Bible.
She’s so cute though! Tomas dragged all three kids toward the
nursery to give Mia girl time. I’m pretty sure Mia would explode if
she didn’t have time away from her kids.

“What’d you do this week? Did you go to that
singles’ mixer that Pastor Mike organized?” Mia asked after we
watched Tomas fade away out of sight.

Pastor Mike. Yeah, right. He is extremely
nice, but let’s face it, the guy can’t plan a party to save his
life! The mixer usually included creepy Jacob, two girls that were
so quiet I thought they were dead, and one other guy that breathed
like an elephant. No. No. No. Pastor Mike’s mixers sucked. Believe
me! That was what happened last time I went anyways.

“Um, why on earth would I go to that?”

“You are the pastor’s daughter, Zo!” Mia
grabbed my shoulders.

“And that’s why I didn’t go, Mia. There are
some perks to being a PK.”

“Maybe it was better, I mean maybe there were
more guys there,” she said.

Mia is always trying to hook me up. If there
are any new visitors that step through the door, that are even half
way cute and single, she signs me up as a mail-order bride. Does
anyone even know what those are anymore? I need to get out more, my
goodness. Besides going to a bar to find guys, it was really hard
to get a date, errr court. Or whatever. I don’t really
date.
My parents raised me to believe God for Mr. Right. When the time
comes, God will speak to me that he is the one and
bam!
I’d
court him, we’d marry, and live in a pink castle with unicorns. Or
at least, that’s what I always believed.

That is until last year. It was then that I
started getting whiny with God. I’m 26! Everyone younger than me is
already hitched and popping out kids. It sucks. Mia tries really
hard to be sensitive about it. She thinks courting is for the
birds. She met Tomas from some dating site. He seemed decent
enough. He’s not a psycho killer, so that counts for something
right? Though, they have been having marriage problems. I’ve been
so tempted to get on one of those dating sites, and just give it a
whirl. But, there’s my dad. He would bombard me with questions
about some random guy. It’s just not worth the headache.

“Pastor Mike doesn’t know any young hot guys.
I mean get real.” We walked into the sanctuary and sat down in our
usual spot in the third row. Any further back and Dad would think I
was backsliding. I couldn’t have that now could I?

“I’m just worried about you, Zoe, you work at
that crummy job, you live with your parents, and you’re…”

“You suck,” I said, and she gave me an
apologetic look. I know she means well, but she tends to rub all my
woes in my face. I mean HELLO I know I’m getting old! I found a
gray hair last week! I don’t want to think about that!

“Can you just drop it? I’ll meet a guy one
day, and he will be Prince Charming.” I rolled my eyes at her and
dug into my purse. Branson’s face drifted before my mind again.
What was with that? People slowly began to trickle into the church,
mingling, drinking coffee, and dropping their kids off at the
nursery or children’s ministry room. In less than 10 minutes, the
worship service would begin. I could sing pretty well, but I hadn’t
been very motivated lately to get up there and do specials like I
used to. My mom had insisted that I learn an instrument, so just to
please her I learned piano. I’m not too bad either. I filled in if
our piano player was sick or on vacation.

Mia left to go check on Tomas, probably to
make sure her kids hadn’t eaten him alive. At about one minute to
ten she slipped back in the pew. She flashed me a smile as she
dragged Tomas in behind her. The worship leader, Pastor Mike, got
up with a bright smile. He’s fortyish but thinks he’s twenty.
Problem is he doesn’t
get
twenty somethings very well. His
high forehead is balding; he was sporting a black suit coat, and he
was wearing a green dress shirt. He gripped the microphone and
lifted it to his wide mouth.

“Gooooood morning! Why don’t you stand on
your feet this morning! Let’s get ready to praise the Lord!” The
music kicked in with a nice bass. I do love our music. It’s
rockin’. After three songs, another man got up and did
announcements, and then finally my dad stepped up to the pulpit. He
looked good. He always looked good. My dad’s blond hair was combed
to perfection in a side swoop, which accented his face just right.
His skin was glowing with a light tan from working outside during
the weekends, and he’s medium built with strong shoulders. He
opened his Bible and gave everyone a stern look. That’s just the
kind of preacher he is. I rarely see him smile when he’s
preaching.

“We are to live holy lives!” he began, and a
hush fell on the crowd. I could feel people squirming beneath my
dad’s stare. My dad can see if you’re in sin from the pulpit, and
he will say something in front of everyone.

“God has said in His word, for the wages of
sin is death! If you don’t want sickness, disease, and poverty in
your life then you must stop sinning! You need to fall on your
knees before God, and ask for forgiveness for all your sins! Or…”
He paused dramatically.

“You will be condemned to Hell!” He pointed
his finger at each of his people. My mind popped up to my thoughts
about Branson. I was going to go to Hell. I trembled, feeling
genuine fear grip my heart. I bowed my head and whispered under my
breath, “Father, forgive me for I have sinned against You. Please,
Jesus, come back into my heart. I don’t want…to be a sinner.” I
really meant what I was saying. Maybe you think its crock, but what
if it isn’t? I really don’t want to go to Hell because of one sin I
did.

“Jesus died for you, He made a huge sacrifice
for you, and you trample His blood by sinning freely! Who are we to
take what Jesus did and treat it like garbage? If you have even
lusted in your heart, Jesus said that you have committed adultery.
We have to step up our holiness. If we don’t, the Lord said we’d be
cut off from His kingdom! Do you want to be cut off from Him and
live eternally in the lake of fire?” He stared at each of us, and I
felt my heart leap in my throat. Had I lusted after Branson? A
little I think. He was probably married too. Man, I was definitely
not making heaven here. I bowed my head again in fear.

“Please, Jesus, forgive me, I didn’t mean
to…I…” I fumbled for the words to pray. My dad continued, each word
pounding through me and slapping me in the face. I had so much work
to do. I needed to pray more, read my Bible, help my parents
better, or else God would be extremely mad at me for thinking what
I had thought about Branson.

I climbed into my parents’ car thinking about
the sermon my dad had preached. So much condemnation was on me, I
felt like I could barely think straight. I never ever could do
enough. I wasn’t good enough. No matter how many times I prayed,
asked God to forgive me, there was always more. My dad reminded me
every day that I hadn’t done enough for God or him. I felt so
weighted down, I could barely look at my parents as they got in the
car.

“We are heading over to the Whitmens today
for lunch,” my dad informed me as he started up the car. Great.
Just great. I get to spend more quality time with Mr. Personality
himself. It was hard enough that Jacob came onto me the way he did,
let alone my dad pushing me toward a relationship. I didn’t feel
any attraction toward the man at all! Why did my dad constantly
want us together? It didn’t make any sense to me.

I got all moody after that, as we drove to
the Whitmens’ huge house. Jacob’s dad owns some large business that
pumps out tons of cash. I could see why my dad wanted me to marry
Jacob. He was rich, and a tither on top of that. We got out of the
car and walked up to their door. Dad rang the doorbell, and a few
seconds later Mrs. Whitmen answered the door. She was a short,
pudgy lady, with a round face, and tiny eyes. The same eyes Jacob
had. Mr. Whitmen stood behind her with a smile, his graying hair
combed back like Jacob.

“Pastor! Mrs. Reed, Zoe, please come in!
Edith has prepared a fine meal for us.”

Edith was their cook. It would be nice to one
day have my own cook. No! I would not marry Jacob! I’m not a gold
digger who marries a guy for his mullah! They ushered us inside,
and Mr. Whitmen shook my dad’s hand with a smile. As we entered
into the high vaulted ceiling room, Jacob came around the corner.
There was a crystal chandelier hovering in the walkway and two tall
windows overlooked the luxurious backyard. I could see a pool and a
tennis court. Yup. They had some cash.