A Time of Hope. Terri Reed

a dense child. “Pastor Anders never went on vacation. And he never was too sick to preach.” Her expression turned sad. “Except the last few weeks before he passed away.”

      “How did he die?”

      “The doctors said lymphoma. No one even suspected. He never said a word or showed signs of pain. He just started to slow down over the course of a few months. The man was eighty years old so I thought slowing down was a good thing.

      “One day I came to see him, see what errands he needed done and he was sitting in the recliner with his eyes closed. He said, ‘Mara, girl. I think its time to go to see Doc Hanlin.’ He was admitted to the hospital that day. He died a few weeks later.”

      “That must have been hard for you.” Jacob didn’t even want to think about the day when his own grandparents or parents would go to be with the Lord. His chest hurt with sympathy for Mara.

      “Yes.” She closed her planner and picked at the edges with short, unpainted nails.

      “Did he have any family? Children?”

      She gave a negative shake of her head. “No. His wife died forty years earlier and they’d never had kids. I think that was one of the reasons he took such an interest in me when my mother and later my father died.”

      “That was good of him. I’m sure he meant a great deal to you.”

      Her sad smile and little sigh made Jacob want to wrap her in his embrace and offer her some comfort. He resisted the urge. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure she wouldn’t see his gesture as some sort of advance.

      Jacob refocused. “Is there a worship director? A youth pastor?”

      “Well, Grace plays the organ on Sundays. And there’s a real nice couple who’ve started up the Sunday School classes.”

      He felt his stomach sink. He’d assumed there would be a team of pastors just like in his grandfather’s church. Why hadn’t Grandfather mentioned the lack of staff when he’d sent Jacob to Hope? “So I’m it.”

      “You’re it.” Mara stood, her black organizer clutched to her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

      Jacob rose, amazed his legs could hold him with the shock he’d just been given. “Tomorrow.”

      He walked her to the door.

      She hesitated at the threshold where she tilted her face and peered at him with those amazing eyes. “You’ll do fine, Pastor Durand.”

      He wished he shared her confidence. “Call me Jacob.”

      “I don’t know if being that informal is a good idea.”

      Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “Why?”

      Tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, she seemed to be searching for words. Finally, she said, “It seems disrespectful to call you by your first name.”

      Hoping to put her at ease, he grinned. “Respect comes through attitude. Whether you call me Jacob, Jake, like people did in college, Pastor Durand, or Durand won’t make a difference in the respect I have for you—and won’t make me feel disrespected—because I know you have a pure heart.”

      The stricken expression in her eyes confused him.

      “I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

      “No. No, I—” She swallowed. Her grip on her organizer tightening. “I need to leave now.”

      “Okay.” He touched her upper arm. She trembled beneath his palm. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

      With a slight stretch of her mouth that wasn’t really a smile, she nodded. “Bye.”

      He watched her hurry down the walk and out onto the road. She didn’t look back, but he thought he saw her wipe at her eyes. Probably just pushing those wild curls out of her face. Odd girl, likable though. Definitely would make living in Hope interesting.

      He closed the door and picked up his guitar but didn’t play. “Okay, Lord. I know You have some plan going on here. But You didn’t prepare me for this.”

      No pastoral staff, no help. Just him. Whew!

      He picked out the chords to “Amazing Grace.” Three years of seminary, tucked away in a classroom studying the Bible, had given Jacob a deeper understanding of God and His word. But the few practice sermons in front of his classmates weren’t going to cut it.

      If Jacob were a different sort, someone like…his dad, or Karen, or Mara, with her little black organizer and her uptight need to stay scheduled, he’d be hyperventilating about now.

      As he played the melody over and over again, he sought peace in the tune, sought peace in God.

      He couldn’t forget that this was his chance to prove himself worthy of his grandfather’s church that much faster. A means to an end.

      He only hoped Mara’s prediction came true.