The Cinderella Plan. Margaret Daley

a lifetime.

      “A friend at school asked me the other day that if Jesus was really the son of God, then why did He die like He did? Why didn’t He just save himself?”

      Jeremy’s question pulled Caleb out of the past and firmly in the present. “What do you all think?” He scanned the fourteen faces of the teenagers in the group.

      Tiffany waved her hand in the air, bouncing up and down on her chair. “I know why. I know! He died for our sins.”

      “He died because He was finished with His message to us. Christ had done what He was sent to do,” Gina added.

      As Billy gave his opinion, Caleb saw Anne at the doorway. She listened to the different children’s opinions but didn’t come any farther into the room. A lightness entered his heart at the thought she had come to hear about God. There was hope.

      Leaning forward, Caleb rested his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands loosely together. “What you say is all true. But more importantly, Jesus was resurrected to show us the way, to show us not to fear death, that He would be waiting for us when our time came. No other has come back from the dead like He did.” As Caleb talked, he noticed Anne step into the room. “He wanted His disciples to go out into the world and spread His word. And Christ wanted no doubt in their minds who He was. How would you have responded if He had shown Himself to you three days after He had died?”

      Anne eased into a chair next to Nikki near the door. The young girl bent toward Anne and said something to her. Anne smiled, then glanced at him. Caleb’s heartbeat increased. The sound of voices melted away while his attention clung to Anne across the room, experiencing a connection to her that he hadn’t before.

      She was here. She had taken her first step toward the Lord. His heart sang with the news and all the possibilities. Hope flared into a full-blown promise.

      An hour later when the discussion died down, Gina announced, “I brought brownies for anyone who is hungry.”

      The teenagers made their way to the table along the west wall where the brownies and some soda were set up. Anne hung back, moving toward the door.

      “You aren’t going to leave without saying hi, are you?” Caleb asked, eager to see what her impression of the session was.

      “Hi.” She sidled a step closer to the door. “You didn’t tell me I would be one of two adults at this meeting.”

      He shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important. You know everyone here.” He spread his arms wide. “What did you think?” He positioned himself between Anne and the door, not wanting her to leave just yet.

      “Interesting. I particularly liked Billy’s comment about seeing Jesus after He died.”

      “I think ‘wow’ just about sums it all up. Leave it to a child to put it into one word.”

      “Kids do have a way of getting to the point.”

      “So?” He propped his shoulder against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest, hoping he appeared casual, nonchalant.

      “This past hour has given me a lot to think about.” Anne looked back at the group. “Where’s Dylan?”

      “He’s never come to one of these meetings.”

      “So you haven’t had time to talk with him anymore?”

      He shook his head. “But we’re going to meet tomorrow after school.”

      “Before we work on the decorations?”

      “Yep.”

      “Anne, it’s nice to see you here,” Gina said, interrupting them. “Want a brownie?” She held up a nearly empty plate, thrusting it between Anne and Caleb.

      “I’d better not. If I ate one, I would want two.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with having two brownies. How about you, Caleb?”

      “Thanks.” Caleb took one from the plate, his palms sweaty.

      “Catch y’all later. Got to get rid of the rest of these. I can’t take them home! Mom would so not be happy.” She went back to the other kids for a soda.

      “Only a child who is reed thin would say that about two brownies,” Anne said with a laugh, looking up at Caleb.

      “I’m glad you came.”

      She pinned him with an intense look. “Why?”

      “Because I want you to experience Jesus as I do.” Which was true, but Caleb wondered if it wasn’t more than that.

      Caleb read the e-mail from Kimberly Forrester a second time before deleting it. He missed the theology talks over coffee they’d had while they’d both been missionaries together at the same mission in Africa. He missed their friendship, which had grown while working together, and wished an ocean didn’t separate them, but he understood her need to serve God the way she thought He wanted. In her e-mail it sounded as if she was accomplishing what she had set out to do. He was glad for her, but it left his own failure to reach Dylan as a disappointment.

      Yesterday at their first formal counseling session, the boy hadn’t said more than two words—good bye—at the end of the longest fifteen minutes Caleb had experienced. He would try again today and prayed he could get through to the boy.

      Shutting down his computer, Caleb rose to see what was keeping Dylan. He should have been here by now. When he walked outside, he noticed the boy sitting on the steps, chin resting in his palms, shoulders hunched.

      “Dylan, I was worried about you.”

      Dylan remained silent, his face averted.

      Caleb eased down next to the boy who twisted away. “What’s wrong?”

      “If you must know,” Dylan muttered and brought his face around for Caleb to see.

      “How did you get that nasty cut?”

      “A fight.”

      “When? With who?”

      “Today after school.” The boy squared his shoulders, defiance in his expression now, as though he silently challenged Caleb to say anything about him fighting.

      “What happened?”

      “I got tired of a couple of guys making fun of me. I decided to fight back.” Dylan’s eyes narrowed, his body stiff, as though he were ready to fight all over again.

      “Did fighting solve your problem?”

      The child shot to his feet, his hands fisted. “Yes. They’ll think twice before taunting me again.”

      “What were they taunting you about?” Caleb rose slowly, weary from lack of sleep and concern over Dylan.

      His knuckles whitened, his body grew even more rigid. “Because my father is a drunk. Because—” He whirled about and raced up the steps, disappearing into the center.

      Caleb heaved a sigh and followed the boy into the building, the anger he felt gripping Dylan charging the air with an intensity that was thick, heavy. He found him in the TV room, watching a program. Caleb walked over and switched off the set. Dylan’s mouth firmed into a scowl, his forehead creased with deep lines. He lowered his gaze, staring at the floor at his feet.

      “We need to talk about this.” Caleb moved toward the boy.

      Dylan jerked his head up and stabbed him with an angry look. “No, we don’t. I don’t care what people think. I was just tired of them talking to me.” He turned away as though Caleb wasn’t in the room.

      Rage encompassed every inch of Dylan. Caleb was at a loss about what to do to help him. Please, Lord. I need Your guidance more than ever with this one. I can’t fail him.

      “You know, Dylan, no matter what you do, I am still here for you. I care about you, enough that