A Time to Dance

by Karen Kingsbury

  Abby flashed John a look of alarm. She kept to a whisper. “In high school?”

  “I guess.”

  “Was Kade involved last year, too?”

  “No.” John was careful to keep his voice low. His conversation with Kade that day on the fishing boat was still fresh. “Not until he got to college.”

  “It’s that rampant?”

  John nodded. “And getting worse.” He had a thought then . . . Why not ask Kade to talk to the team about how pornography progresses and becomes addicting, about breaking free from it and getting help? It could have a real imp—

  Then he remembered. He wouldn’t be coaching next year. The new coach might not be interested in having the boys stay clear of pornographic material. And it would be up to him to plan speakers for the team.

  Jake was still talking. “If that wasn’t bad enough, we walked around campus thinking we ruled the school, treating other people like dirt. Making Marion High a miserable place for anyone who didn’t play ball.” Jake stopped and squared up to the edge of the stage, his eyes searching the audience. “We thought we were better than everyone. Even Coach Reynolds.”

  Jake paused. Even from the back of the room John could tell he was trying not to cry. Finally he cleared his throat and found voice enough to speak. “Coach wanted us to be upstanding, moral young men. Men of character. Anyone who’s played for him has heard him say that a hundred times. He led by example.”

  The image of Charlene came to mind, and an arrow of guilt sliced through John’s gut. He hadn’t always been moral. But because of his faith, because of God’s strength and not his own, he’d walked away from that situation, and steered clear of others that would have led him down the wrong path. Only by God’s grace did Jake and the others see in him the type of character they now wanted to imitate.

  “We had the best coach in the state. Like Buck said, a coach who loved us. And we let him get away.” Jake sniffed and again seemed to be trying to get hold of his emotions. “I’m still believing that somehow God will heal Coach Reynolds, but maybe not. What I did by racing that day might have ruined Coach’s legs forever.” A single sob caught in Jake’s throat, and he placed his fist over his mouth until he had control again. “But I think what our team did by going against him last season is worse, because we ruined his desire to coach.” Jake shook his head, his voice strained. “I can only pray that someday Coach will come back and some lucky group of guys will be smart enough to know how good they’ve got it. Smart enough to listen to him, act like him, and play for him with all their hearts. The way I wish we would have.”

  John blinked back a layer of tears and looked at Abby.

  “He’s grown up.” She had tears in her eyes.

  “Yes.” John turned and watched Jake leave the stage. “He has.”

  For several seconds there was a lull, and finally Chuck Parker took the podium. “I had hoped Coach Reynolds might be here tonight, but I think it’s understandable why he isn’t. Not just because of his injury, but because of the way we treated him last season. Why would he come?”

  Abby nudged him. “Say something.”

  “Not yet.” John felt awkward shouting out while Chuck was at the microphone. “Wait till he’s finished.”

  Chuck shaded his eyes again and scanned the front of the auditorium. “So if no one else wants to say anything, I’ve brought a petition asking Coach Reynolds to reconsider and come back as coach for the Eagles. If each of you could sign it before you—”

  “Wait!” A tall figure entered the auditorium from one of the side doors and strode toward the front of the room.

  Chuck looked surprised and more than a little nervous. The student ambled onto the stage and approached the podium, and then John understood.

  The boy was Nathan Pike.

  John stared. It was Nathan, but he wasn’t dressed in black and his arms and neck were free from spiked collars and leather bands. He looked like any other kid at Marion High, and there was something else. His expression was softer. So soft John almost didn’t recognize him.

  Nathan looked at Parker and extended his hand. “Sorry, I’m late. I have something to say. Would it be all right?”

  Relief flooded Chuck’s face. John was pretty sure most everyone at school had heard the rumors about Nathan. How could they not, after the football game where the boy was arrested? School officials later caught a boy from the opposing team for making the threat, but the incident hadn’t helped Nathan’s image, and John had heard that some still feared he might do something crazy.

  But Chuck didn’t hesitate. He handed over the microphone and stepped back, giving Nathan the floor. “First of all—” Nathan looked toward the back of the auditorium—“Coach Reynolds is here. He and his wife are in the back. I saw them when I came in.”

  A jumble of voices started talking at once as people craned their necks and pointed toward where John and Abby sat.

  “So much for anonymity.” Abby sank lower in her seat.

  “Coach?” Nathan peered into the darkness. “Could you come down here?”

  John’s stomach fluttered and his hands felt damp.

  “I’ll be praying,” Abby whispered.

  “Thanks.” John wheeled himself along the back wall and up the aisle toward the front of the room. He could feel every eye on him as he crossed the front and made his way up a ramp onto the stage.

  At first the parents and players could only stare. The last time they’d seen him, he’d stood six-foot-four, bigger and stronger than life, a walking illustration of the physical power necessary for the game of football.

  Now he was reduced to a wheelchair, forty pounds lighter, his legs strangely thin.

  After several seconds, Jake Daniels stood and began clapping. Not polite applause, but loud, single claps that ignited the room. Before Nathan could say another word, Casey Parker stood, then Buck. Finally the entire audience rose to its feet and clapped for John in a way they’d never done before.

  It was an applause that in sixty seconds made John forget an entire season of criticism and complaints. An applause that told him, yes, his players and their parents had done him wrong, but they knew they’d made a mistake and they were sorry. Not sorry for him— though certainly they were that, too. But sorry they hadn’t supported him and given him a chance that past season.

  When they’d taken their seats and the room was quiet again, Nathan spoke. “I think we’ve learned something about forgiveness tonight. Kids like me have to forgive kids like you.” He looked at the place where the players sat. “And kids like you have to forgive kids like me. Those are lessons Coach taught me, things I’ll remember forever.” He paused. “But mostly, Coach Reynolds has to forgive us all.”

  John was too stunned to do anything but listen.

  “Right now—” Nathan moved closer and took hold of John’s wheelchair—“I’d like everyone to come up and gather round Coach while we pray for two miracles.”

  What was this? Nathan wanted people to pray? The entire scene was so strange it was unbelievable. Yet, it was actually happening. John stilled his mind enough to listen.

  “The first miracle we need here is obvious—that Coach will walk again. The second one is just as hard to imagine. That Coach’ll change his mind about resigning from the Eagles. Because we need him. We all need him.”

  One at a time they came—players and parents and students, many who hadn’t spoken, but wanted to show their support all the same. The cluster of people on the stage grew until everyone was circled around John. Everyone except Herman Lutz and a janitor in the back of the room.

  John saw Abby work her way up the aisle to the middle of the stage. She placed her hands on John’s shoulders, and as the voices around him began lifting prayers to heaven, John felt movement in his feet. This time from both his big toes.

  Then and there, in the quietest corner of his heart, he could almost hear God whisper to him.

  Lean not on your own understanding . . .

 
As John closed his eyes and joined his silent voice with those of the others, as he realized the good God was indeed working out of the disaster of his past year, he knew something for certain.

  He would never lean that way again.

  Twenty-six

  AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK THAT NIGHT, NICOLE REMEMBERED how to pray.

  By then she’d been charting contractions for most of the night, and though they hadn’t been regular, they were definitely getting stronger.

  She’d played them down to Matt and his parents, not wanting to bother anyone if they were only false contractions. She’d done the same at nine o’clock when her mother called to update her on the meeting at school.

  “How’re the pains, Nic?” There was worry in her voice.

  “Fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Now two hours had passed, and she was in so much pain she’d moved to the downstairs sofa, both to keep from waking Matt and to chart the contractions. But something else bothered her—almost more than the pain. Something her mother had asked earlier that night on the phone.

  Was the baby still moving?

  At first, Nicole had said yes. There had still been movement, even if it was less than before. But since then she’d paid more careful attention. And now, an hour after Matt’s parents had gone for the night, she was starting to panic. She hadn’t felt the baby move since after dinner. Not once.

  And that’s what had led Nicole—for the first time since her father’s accident—to pray again.

  At eleven o’clock, as a pain worse than any of the others seized her and knocked her off the sofa onto her knees, she prayed as instinctively as she breathed.

  God, what’s happening to me? Help me, Lord . . . It’s too early for the baby to come!

  Silence.

  When the pain ended, Nicole began to cry. There was no way to describe how she felt—both horrible and wonderful at the same time. Horrible because of the contractions, but wonderfully at peace because for the first time in far too long she’d spoken to God.

  What had she been thinking these past months? Why had she convinced herself that prayer was useless? Look how faithfully God had answered her prayers about her parents. And about a thousand other things every day of her life.

  Then it hit her. The reason why she’d stopped praying.

  She had only seen God as faithful when her prayers were answered the way she wanted them answered. What did the Bible say about making requests to God? That He heard them, and that He would be faithful to answer.

  Not necessarily faithful to grant the request, but faithful to move in the situation as He saw best.

  She remembered something else. All prayers were not answered immediately. Otherwise there would be no need to pray without ceasing, as Scripture said to do.

  Nicole climbed back onto the sofa, her abdomen still tight from the last contraction. Why hadn’t she remembered those things sooner? And how could she have gone all these months without talking to God?

  What a fool she’d been . . .

  Tears nipped at the corners of her eyes and sorrow overwhelmed her. Had she really thought she could get through life without a relationship with her Creator? A relationship so vital she’d built her life around it? The answer resounded in her soul. No, she could never have walked away from God forever. She was merely mad at Him for allowing her father to be paralyzed.

  But God never promised life would be problem-free. Nicole had always known that, had heard it all her life, but she’d never had to face it before. Never had to wrestle with the dichotomy of an all-loving, compassionate God who didn’t stop terrible things from happening.

  And yet . . . as she lay there, she thought back over all the years, all her life, all the ways God had touched and blessed and moved. He’d proven Himself over and over. And His Word proved even more. It told her the truth: God promised peace amid pain, and He promised life everlasting. Wasn’t that more than anyone could hope for? Especially since this life was so fleeting, so unpredictable.

  Another cramp gripped her stomach and this time she cried out. “Matt! Help me.”

  Even while the contraction was gaining strength, she glanced at the piece of paper on the arm of the sofa. The last pain had been at 10:58. She checked her watch, pursing her lips and pushing air out the way they’d taught her at the childbirth classes.

  It was 11:04. Only six minutes had passed, and just seven minutes between that one and the one before it. They were getting stronger and closer together. God . . . what should I do?

  In response she had an overwhelming sense to call Matt again. And as the pain eased she did so, this time louder than before. “Matt . . . I need you!”

  She heard his feet hit the floor above her. The stairs shook as he took them two at a time. He was breathless when he turned the corner and saw her, huddled in a corner on the sofa, tears on her cheeks.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “The baby’s coming, Matt.” She sobbed, still exhausted from the last contraction. “I’m having pains every six or seven minutes, and they keep getting worse.”

  Matt’s face went pale, and he took a step back toward the stairs. “I’ll get dressed and we’ll go to the hospital. Wait there, okay?”

  Though it only took Matt a few minutes, and despite the fact that he sped all the way to the hospital, it was nearly midnight when they admitted her. By then they’d given her a shot of something to stop the contractions, but all it had done was make her jittery and weepy.

  “I need to call my parents.” She reached for Matt’s hand. “What if the baby comes tonight?”

  “I’ll call them as soon as they get you into a room.”

  A doctor wheeled her out of the emergency room and into an elevator, up two floors to a delivery area. “We’re doing everything we can to stop your labor, Nicole, but your cervix is dilated to five centimeters and the contractions are still coming.”

  Five centimeters? Everything Nicole had read about having a baby agreed on one thing: rarely did labor stop once a woman was dilated that far. The doctor wheeled her into a room with bright lights and a shiny steel table. “We’re still trying to stop the contractions, but you need to know the truth. You could deliver within the hour.”

  Nicole opened her mouth to speak, but another pain came. She rode it out, while Matt asked the questions. “My wife’s only seven months pregnant, Doctor. What’s that mean for the baby?”

  The doctor frowned. “We’ll have to wait and see. Babies born that prematurely can survive. The problem is the lungs on a child that little don’t work on their own. Survival is a case-by-case situation.”

  A case-by-case situation? The words pelted Nicole’s heart like so many rocks. This was her child they were talking about! The baby whose reality she had refused to embrace until that Christmas Eve in her bedroom when she’d first felt the child moving inside her. Since then she’d formed a bond with this little one, a bond deeper and stronger than anything she could have imagined possible.

  “Nicole—” the doctor was trying to get her attention, and she blinked, meeting his gaze—“when’s the last time you felt the baby move?”

  “It’s . . . it’s been a while. Usually she’s more active.”

  “Hmmm.” The doctor moved a stethoscope over Nicole’s belly. It took a minute before he spoke again. “The baby’s showing signs of distress. It looks like we may have to let the birth happen if we’re going to have a chance at saving the child.”

  The doctor hooked her up to another monitor. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay as still as possible.”

  He was gone and Nicole grabbed Matt’s hand again. Her heart raced within her. Please God . . . save my baby. Please. “Matt . . . call my parents. We need everyone praying.”

  Matt moved toward the phone on the table near her bed. But then he stopped. “Did you say . . . ?”

  “Of course.” She locked eyes with him, knowing he could see her fear. “I was just mad before. I started praying a few hours a
go and I haven’t stopped since.” A sob caught in her throat. “Now, please . . . call my parents.”

  Matt nodded and grabbed the phone. As he dialed, she could see another emotion join fear and worry and helplessness, those already working his features.

  Relief.

  Abby awoke to the shrill jangle of the phone ringing.

  She jolted upright and caught her breath. Who would be calling at this hour? She reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s Matt.” He paused long enough for her to recognize panic in his voice. A rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. Was something wrong with Nicole? She sat up straighter as Matt hurried on. “We’re at the hospital and . . . the doctors can’t stop Nicole’s contractions. It looks like the baby’s going to be born anytime. She wanted you to pray.”

  Abby’s heart slammed against the wall of her chest. Nicole was only seven months along. That meant the baby couldn’t weigh more than a few pounds at best. Suddenly she remembered Haley Ann. Would Nicole have to lose a child, also? God, no . . . don’t let it happen.

  “Mom, are you there?” Matt’s voice was so tense, Abby barely recognized it.

  “We’re on our way.”

  When she hung up, she woke John. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the hospital parking lot and made their way up to labor and delivery. Matt met them in the hallway. He was dressed in a hospital gown and paper face mask.

  “They’ve tried everything, but they can’t stop her labor.” His eyes were red. “They say the baby’s in distress.”

  Abby took another two steps toward the room where Matt had just exited. “Where is she?”

  “The delivery room. The doctor said it could be any minute.”

  John wheeled himself closer. “Can we see her?”

  “Not yet. I’m allowed back in, but the doctor wants you to wait across the hall. It’s a private room. I’ll come get you as soon as I know anything.”