He caught her hand. “Euny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. You just don’t understand. You came from a little church that had no possibility of growth. There’s potential here. God put us in the right place at the right time, but it’s up to us to do His work.”
It wasn’t the right time to tell him he might be trying too hard to follow in his father’s footsteps.
“By the way,” he said as she opened the door, “we’re going to start changing the music to meet the needs of the congregation.”
“The congregation loves hymns.”
“The older members, maybe, but the new people coming in have other tastes. The suggestion box indicates a change is needed if we’re going to turn newcomers into members. We won’t change everything at once, Euny, but I’d like you to introduce a new song each week, from the book we used back in Illinois.”
Eunice walked along Main Street, wishing she could talk again with her father and mother. They might have been plain folks with little education, but they had possessed more wisdom than she had seen in some pastors who shepherded flocks in the thousands. Sometimes Eunice wondered if Paul wasn’t being driven by his past, prodded by his own feelings of inadequacy. He’d always worked hard to prove himself worthy. His father had shown him little, if any, grace. Despite Paul’s seeming self-assurance, he was a young man still desperate to gain his father’s approval.
Her father had seen that in Paul and told her to encourage and love him through the years ahead, and choose her battles with wisdom. And her mother had said to be patient and willing to step aside for those in greater need. She held their advice close to her heart.
Oh, Lord, You’ve given me this wonderful husband. I don’t deserve him.
It was a miracle Paul had even looked twice at her, a girl from a small hick town, the first in her family to go to college. From the moment she met Paul, the latest in a long family line of educated pastors, she’d thought him far too good for her. What did she have to offer a man like him, other than adoration? Everyone on campus knew who Paul Hudson was, with his impeccable Christian pedigree.
She had resisted going out with him at first because she felt unworthy. She had been flattered when he asked her out, and in love with him by the end of their first date. She had turned him down two times after that, convinced she was headed for heartbreak. But Paul was persistent.
It had been months into their courtship before she began to see the hurt and struggle within him, the burden of pain he carried from childhood. She remembered how uncomfortable she had been the first time she attended the church Paul’s father had built. She’d felt out of place among the thousands of affluent parishioners in their expensive suits and adorned with real gold jewelry. And they had all sat mesmerized by David Hudson’s preaching. He stood above them on a stage, holding the Bible in one hand and gesturing with the other as he paced back and forth, looking over the massive audience. He was eloquent and elegant, polished and perfect in his presentation.
She had been embarrassed when she realized Paul’s mother was watching her closely. Had her feelings of disquiet shown? It was the first time in her relationship with Paul that she had felt that “check in her spirit,” as her father called it. As though God was trying to show her something, and she didn’t have the eyes to see. She looked closer and listened harder, but still she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong or why she was troubled. The words were right. . . .
She was feeling the same check in her spirit now.
She had few illusions, having grown up as a preacher’s daughter. She would always have to share Paul with others. The demands on her husband would always be great. The needs of others would often outweigh her own. She could accept that. Still, she missed discussing the Bible with him. She was as passionate about it as he. But lately, Paul grew annoyed when she had another viewpoint. He became defensive.
Perhaps it was the strain after the elders’ meeting.
She had always prayed she would marry a pastor like her father. She had worked hard so that she would qualify for a scholarship to a Christian college, knowing she was more likely to meet godly men in a godly environment. Her father had told her before sending her off on a Greyhound bus that not every young man on a Christian campus was a Christian. She told him a year later that not all professors on a Christian campus were Christians either.
She had never once questioned Paul’s faith, nor did she question it now. He loved the Lord. He had been called into ministry.
Oh, Lord, let Paul experience Your grace. Let him feel Your amazing love. He had so little of it from his natural father.
He was pouring his heart into Centerville Christian. Hadn’t her mother warned her that the life of a pastor was never easy and harder sometimes for his wife? “He’ll get calls in the middle of the night and have to go out in the snow be-cause someone is sick or dying or in distress. And you’ll have to fix his breakfast and his lunch and thank God if you have an uninterrupted meal with him.”
At least Paul received an adequate salary from the church and didn’t have to work a day job in order to support his family. Even at that, she couldn’t remember a time when her father hadn’t been there when her mother needed him. Or when his daughter had needed him. He had made time. Not once had her father ever made her feel she was his last priority.
She had to stop thinking like this. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t help. She could hunger for Paul’s attention, but not be so selfish as to demand it. The other day she had been taken aback when he said, “I never knew you were so needy.” She blushed in shame thinking about it. Needy. Was she? A clinging woman held a man back from doing what God intended. She must learn to stand beside him instead of standing in his way.
Everything was so jumbled. One doubt led to another until her mind was in confusion. She had come out for this walk to give Paul space to do what he needed. Timmy had been begging Daddy to play soccer with him, but Paul had to prepare for another meeting.
“Cast off those things that keep you from serving Christ wholeheartedly,” Paul had said last Sunday.
Was it her neediness that made her feel cast off? Or was Paul’s focus so fixed upon the task ahead that he couldn’t see she needed him as much today as she had on their wedding day? Lord, You are my constant companion. You always have time for me.
“Eunice!”
Surprised, Eunice uttered a soft laugh, realizing she had walked over a mile to the Masons’ house. “Your garden looks wonderful.”
Abby’s face shone with welcome as she set her weed bucket aside, brushed off her hands on her apron, and opened the gate. “I was just about to take a break. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?”
“I’d love it, Abby.”
“Sam!” Timmy broke away and ran toward the house. “Sam!” He sounded like he was calling for help.
Eunice felt the heat pour into her cheeks. “Mr. Mason, Timmy. You should call him Mr. Mason.”
Abby laughed. “Sam is home, Timmy. And he’ll be delighted to see his little buddy.”
“Sam!” Timmy stopped on the porch.
Abby opened the front door. “Samuel, you have company.”
“Sam-u-el.”
“It’s all right, Eunice.” Abby chuckled.
Timmy made a beeline through the family room to the open door that led into Samuel Mason’s small study. “Sam-uuuuuu-el.”
Eunice thought of how much her father would have loved Timmy. She pressed her fingers against trembling lips. Oh, Daddy, I wish you’d lived long enough so that my son could have run to you the way he’s running to Samuel Mason.
Abby’s laughter died. Her expression softened as she reached out and slipped her arm around Eunice’s waist. “Come in, dear. Let’s go in the kitchen. I’ll fix us some coffee, and you can tell me what’s troubling you.”
Eunice felt as though she’d come home.
Samuel had been on his knees praying when he heard Abby calling. He heard Timmy, too, and smiled. His ol
d bones protested as he straightened. Paul Hudson had been on his mind all morning, and he took that as a need for prayer. Most of the church ladies thought he was “adorable,” but the men were not so enamored, feeling the pinch of new demands.
“You’d think I’d never run a meeting before the way he talks,” Otis had blustered over the telephone a few days before. “He told me he wants an agenda at the next meeting. I always have an agenda! He wants it printed out this time and enough copies to go around. As if that’s going to make a bit of difference to the way things always go. And he gave me a list he wants under the heading of new business. He wants a new sound system.”
Samuel tried to explain that Paul was simply trying to attract more young people, but Otis was on a roll. “Attract them with what? Rock music?”
He’d tried for a little levity. “Keep your shirt on, Otis. I’m sure he wouldn’t have Eunice playing rock music. Can you imagine?”
“No, but then there are a lot of other things I couldn’t’ve imagined a few months ago either. Like serving popcorn and sodas and showing movies in the fellowship hall!”
“He showed the JESUS film.”
“So he showed something worthwhile this time. What’s he going to come up with next Tuesday night? I don’t remember him even consulting us about whether he should or shouldn’t be using the hall for movies. Do you?”
Samuel found himself wishing for the old days when he and Henry Porter would go out for a round of golf and talk about church needs. Now, he had to call and make an appointment with Paul to talk about anything. And the young man was ready with his position statement, which usually started with, “This worked at Mountain High.”
It didn’t do any good to remind Paul Hudson that Centerville Christian was a long way from a megachurch. And the fact that new people were coming to church merely served to make Paul even more certain that his methods were working. He was like a shepherd using his staff to hook people into the congregation. But Samuel was afraid he was going to use that God-given gift to bludgeon the old members like Otis who couldn’t or wouldn’t keep pace.
“Sam-uuu-el!” Timmy knocked on the door.
Samuel stepped to one side and opened the door. “Who’s there?”
“Me.”
“Me who?”
“Mewwww.”
They both laughed. It was a silly game they played, but Timmy loved it. Samuel ran his hand over the boy’s hair as he welcomed him into the den. Timmy headed straight for the stack of children’s books on the bottom shelf beside Samuel’s desk. Samuel sat in his easy chair and waited. The last three times Eunice had brought Timmy by, the child had picked the same book. It was now tucked halfway down the pile. Timmy went through the pile, one book at a time, until he reached the one he wanted. Samuel lifted Timmy, plunked him on his lap, and opened the book he’d read more than a dozen times.
When he finished the story, Timmy looked up. “Fish?”
“Yep. I’ll bet they’re hungry.” Samuel set Timmy on his feet. He could hear Abby talking in the kitchen. Careful not to interrupt, he headed through the family room and opened the sliding-glass door. Timmy dashed outside, ran across the lawn to the waterfall in the corner of the yard, and peered into the pool at its base. “Koi!”
Samuel took a handful of food pellets from a plastic bag and poured some into Timmy’s hand. Timmy held the pellets carefully and threw one at a time into the water, laughing as the gold-and-white fish surged to the surface and slithered and splashed over one another to get a pellet. “The Lord made beautiful fish for us to enjoy, didn’t He, Timmy?”
“We eat fish.”
“So do we. Fish are good for eating. But we wouldn’t eat these fish.”
“Because they’re pretty.”
“No, because they’re bottom feeders. See how their mouths are formed? When they finish with these pellets, they’ll go down to the bottom of the pond and feed off whatever garbage they find there.” He hunkered next to Timmy, watching the swirling koi and thinking how people could swallow little bites of truth on Sunday morning and then dine on garbage all through the week. They could look beautiful, sleek, and healthy and be filled with all manner of evil. But he couldn’t tell all that to a little boy. It was a lesson meant for someone older, someone willing to hear. There were other lessons that needed to be taught to a child just beginning to see the world around him, hungry for knowledge of it, openhearted to the One who had created it.
“The Lord has made all the creatures of the earth, creatures great and small, each with its purpose. Perhaps God made them so beautiful because of the dirty job they have to do in cleaning the bottom of the pond.”
Timmy lost interest in the koi and wandered toward the rose garden along the picket fence. Samuel walked with him, hunkering again when Timmy pointed to a bud and wanted to know what it was. “It’s the beginning of a flower. See how the long stem reaches up toward the sunlight? Soon that bud will open and we’ll see a flower like this beautiful red, orange, and yellow one over here. It will last for a time and all the petals will drop, and it will become like the rose apple over here. It can be picked and made into a tea that’s good for you.”
He turned Timmy and tapped his chest. “Your heart is like that rosebud, Timmy. You’ll grow taller, stretching up, and inside you’ll want something you can’t explain. And then you’ll come to know Jesus, and feel the light and warmth of God shining down on you, and your heart will open little by little until you are open wide.” He held a flower close so that Timmy could smell it. “People will look at you and say, ‘Look how beautiful Timmy’s life is because of Jesus.’ And someday you’ll be an old man like me, and I hope you leave something behind that will help others know that serving Jesus makes us happy.”
“I know Jesus.”
“Do you?”
“He wuvs me.”
Others were disturbed at how many new people were coming into their church. Ninety-two people attended the last service. That was fifty-five more than had attended the first service. If numbers were the only thing that mattered, it looked as if Paul was off to a great start.
Paul still did visitation, more often to welcome new people. He had started a class on the foundations of Christianity. It would’ve been better received by Otis and Hollis if they had been part of the decision-making process. To be honest, Samuel had been hurt to be excluded as well. Hurt and disturbed. The last thing the church needed was a power struggle. He had tried to talk with Paul about it, but the younger man couldn’t seem to understand that there were channels to swim through before you set off into deep waters.
“Surely you don’t object to a class in what it means to be a Christian.”
“We’re to work in unity, Paul. A church can’t run smoothly without elders being involved. Otis and Hollis are good men who want the same thing you do: to keep Christ at the center of all we do. Be patient.” He saw the flicker in Paul’s eyes. The young man got the point. He’d stomped on three sets of toes and needed to make amends. Would he be humble enough to do so?
Paul didn’t say anything. He looked troubled and a little afraid. Time might help him see things more clearly. And all Samuel wanted to do was help him. “We can avert problems by having the elders read through your curriculum and give their approval.”
Paul had readily agreed.
Samuel did what he could to pave the way, but Otis had needed a few weeks to let off the head of steam he’d built up. It took a month before Samuel could get Hollis and Otis to read Paul’s curriculum for a six-week course in the fundamentals of Christianity. In the meantime, Samuel had read and studied Paul’s course, praying the Holy Spirit would show him anything that might be doctrinally incorrect. The course was a clear presentation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was simple and direct with the appropriate authority of God’s Word. God’s grace and mercy shone through beautifully, and encouraged good works for the purpose of gladness and thanksgiving. Samuel was impressed.
Eunice had been the one t
o tell him that Paul had written the course while finishing his senior year in college. It was one of the primary reasons he had been offered a position at a megachurch in Illinois. “He’s a gifted teacher.”
Samuel believed so, too, but it took more than teaching gifts to pastor a church, especially one as small and inbred as Centerville Christian. Samuel had no doubt Paul was the answer to years of prayer. Still, good pastors weren’t born; they were mentored.
What looked outstanding in a classroom or thesis was not always easy to put into everyday practice. Paul Hudson had a lot to learn about shepherding people who were two to three times his age. Otis needed correction from time to time, but if it was to come from Paul, it had better be done tenderly as a son to a father, and not as a young ship’s captain giving orders to a tired, worn-down old sailor who’d spent the better part of his life in the rigging.
Lord, am I up to this? How do I mentor a young man who thinks he’s learned everything he needs to know from a few years in college and watching his father run a big church? He loves You. I’ve no doubt of that. He’s on fire. The problem is he’s got a knack for setting off sparks. A sound system, for heaven’s sake. Lord, You know how people get all het up over music. He’s only been on the job a year, Lord, and I’m already beginning to feel like a fireman running around with a bucket of water. I don’t want to put out his fire, Lord. I just want You to show me how to bank it.
“Did God make heffalumps?”
Samuel was caught up short until he saw the screen.
“Well . . . ,” Abby said from the doorway, Eunice grinning behind her.
“He made the men who thought up heffalumps,” Eunice said, smiling at Samuel as she gave her son a hug. A cup of coffee and a few cookies with Abby had cheered up the young lady.
“And woozles,” Abby said.
Eunice smiled at Timmy. “Thanks for watching him, Samuel.”
“Anytime.”
He walked with them to the door.
“Say bye-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Mason, Timmy.”
And the Shofar Blew Page 7
