A Brush of Wings

by Karen Kingsbury

  Before the teens arrived Lauren explained that she wouldn’t lead the discussion, just monitor it. In case one of the girls showed signs of abuse or criminal activity. Something that would need private follow-up.

  Sami’s friends were split up around the circle, so the teens could sit between them. For this first meeting, everyone stayed in the large group. In later weeks they would break off into separate areas in the Youth Center so the girls could have more talk time.

  In an effort to meet the girls where they were likely struggling the most, this first conversation was about sex. What it should be . . . what it shouldn’t be. God’s plan for intimacy in married relationships. Sami led the discussion.

  “God designed sex to be a beautiful part of a married relationship between a man and a woman.” Sami was ready for push-back. “Let me be clear—this isn’t my plan. It isn’t something I made up. It’s God’s plan. He defined marriage that way in the Bible. So for the purpose of our group, the Bible will be our standard.”

  A few girls covered up quiet giggles. Some of them exchanged sarcastic looks. Sami didn’t care. If she was going to help them, she had to offer them the greatest source of love available. God’s word, His truth. She drew a slow breath. “Why do you think God created sex and then confined it only to marriage?”

  One girl snapped her fingers, her brow raised. “Because He doesn’t want us to have any fun.”

  Her remark elicited laughter from a few of the girls.

  Sami’s friends looked nervous. But Sami was ready. “Okay.” She lifted her Bible off the floor and put it on her lap. She opened it to Song of Solomon, chapter 3, verse 4. “One of my favorite Scriptures is in Song of Solomon. That’s a book in the Bible. Sort of a love letter. It says, ‘I have found the one my heart loves.’ ”

  The girls were quiet. Skeptical, but listening.

  Sami set the Bible down. “In my life, I’ve found that man. Or he found me. How do I know?” She didn’t wait for them to answer. “Because he loves God more than he loves me. He’s kind. He treats me with respect. He prays for me and reads the Bible with me. He cherishes me like I’m a princess. But we’re not married yet . . .”

  “You’re saying you two don’t have sex?” The question came from one of the youngest teens in the room. Probably not a day over thirteen.

  “That’s right.” Sami needed to be honest and transparent. “We want to, of course. Sex is going to be wonderful. God designed it that way. But . . . He created it for marriage.”

  The girl seemed shocked. “And your boo don’t get mad at you?”

  “No. He doesn’t get mad. He sets boundaries for us. He reminds us when it’s time to go home, when we’ve hung out long enough. God made men to be leaders.” She looked straight into the girl’s eyes, all the way to her heart. “If the guys you’re around aren’t like that, then they’re the wrong guys.”

  The thirteen-year-old tilted her head back, showing a glimpse of the tough girl she wanted to be. “Where we supposed to find guys like that?”

  Sami kept her tone even. “You have to wait for them.”

  “Till I’m eighty.” It was the first girl again, the one who liked getting a laugh. She nodded her head at Sami. “You seen the guys we got around here?”

  A chorus of voices added their agreement. Another girl was more respectful. “You didn’t find your man in the projects.”

  Sami let that settle for a moment. Give me the words, God . . . this isn’t easy.

  Her friend Megan Winters took the lead. “The truth?” She made eye contact with several of the girls. “God is enough.” Megan was from Kenya and lived in the projects before getting a scholarship to UCLA. “My first boyfriend was in a gang.” She hesitated, noting the looks of surprise. “It’s true. I used to think I needed a guy to feel good about myself.” She leaned in, her voice filled with intensity. “But then I realized something. God loves me so much, I don’t need a guy. Having the Lord in my heart, by my side. That’s enough.” She leaned back in her chair.

  Again the girls were listening.

  “There’s another reason I’m okay with being single.” Megan looked around the circle again. “I sure don’t want to be with the wrong guy when the right one comes along.”

  Sami remembered her relationship with Arnie. How it had almost been the reason she and Tyler never found their way back together. Megan’s advice was dead-on.

  The first girl’s expression softened. “What if we don’t want to be single forever?”

  “Don’t worry about being single. Always looking for the right guy.” Megan was on a roll. “Worry about yourself. Spend time becoming that special girl, the one the right guy would want.” She looked at Sami. “Right?”

  “Yes.” She leaned over her knees. “The right guy will love God first. He will be honest and hardworking and kind. He will treat you with respect and lead your relationship so that both of you stay pure.” She paused. “Pure means not having sex before you’re married. Or making a decision right here . . . tonight . . . to stop having sex until then.”

  A few of the girls nodded, curious.

  One of them let out a single defeated laugh. “Girl, I lost my purity when I was twelve. And every weekend after that.” She laughed again. “Ain’t nothing I can do about that. And ain’t no Prince Charming gonna want me now.”

  “I’ll be honest.” Sami took a breath. Tyler had told her to share his story if it would help. “Tyler—my boyfriend—had sex before. With different girls.” She waited, measuring their surprise. “He walked away from God and his life became miserable. But now . . . now he’s committed to being pure. We won’t have sex until and unless we get married.” She looked straight at the girl who had just spoken. “With God, you can start again. He’ll help you.”

  “Not everything can be forgiven.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Some things are too bad.”

  “That’s not true.” Sami slid to the edge of her chair, her tone more passionate than before. “Jesus died on the cross to forgive us from all our sins.” She motioned at the circle of girls. “All of us. Everything we’ve ever done.” Her eyes met the girl who asked the question. “No matter how many times you’ve done it.”

  Sami went on to explain that next week they would talk about Jesus. Who He was and who He is, why He came to Earth and what it meant that He died on the cross. “You can have a certainty—because of Jesus—that you’ll go to heaven when you die. But more than that, you can be sure you’re forgiven.” She hesitated. “Purity can be part of your life again . . . because Jesus is the God of second chances.”

  A few of the girls nodded. Others still looked skeptical.

  When the hour was up, Sami closed by reading one of her favorite verses. “In the Bible, in Jeremiah, chapter twenty-nine, verse eleven, it says, ‘For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to give you a hope and a future and not to harm you.’ ” The verse was personal for Sami. “A hope and a future.” She allowed a long pause for the words to sink in. “Let’s think about that until we meet next week.”

  A few of the girls thanked Sami and her friends before they left. Three neighborhood moms had shown up, and they lingered when the meeting was over. Each of them made their way to Sami and thanked her for the meeting. “This could change my baby’s life,” one of them said. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  As her friends drove away, Sami peered at the starless sky and smiled. Thanks, God . . . tonight was perfect. Her heart felt suddenly heavy again. But Lord, wherever Lexy is, please get her attention. She needs this.

  There was no quiet whisper, no audible response. Only a certainty that Sami needed to call Lexy tomorrow. Sami stepped back inside the center and found her things. Good changes were happening . . . she could feel them. Tonight didn’t hold all the answers.

  But it was a beginning.

  WHEN SAMI GOT HOME, Mary Catherine was sitting at the kitchen table. She seemed quiet. Distracted. Sami looked at the baked chic
ken and broccoli on the counter. “Smells amazing.”

  “Have some. I already ate.” It looked like she’d been crying. “Tell me about the meeting.”

  Sami served her plate and sat down. She studied Mary Catherine. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been going through my closet.” A smile lifted Mary Catherine’s lips. “Just a lot on my mind.” She leaned her forearms on the table. “Come on. I want to know everything.”

  Sami was still hesitant about whatever seemed to be troubling Mary Catherine, but since her friend wanted to know the details, Sami told her. “Okay . . . so it went better than I ever thought . . .”

  When she was finished she paused. “Except one thing . . . Lexy wasn’t there.”

  Mary Catherine’s shoulders sank. “I’m worried about her.”

  “I know.” Sami set her fork down. “She hasn’t been by the center at all.”

  For a moment Mary Catherine stared at her hands. “Sometimes I think I should skip Africa and help kids here. Kids like Lexy.” She lifted her eyes to Sami. “It’d be a lot easier.”

  “Then do that.” Sami felt a glimmer of hope. She hated seeing Mary Catherine leave for so long. Especially with her heart condition. Sami was concerned about something else, too: that once Mary Catherine got settled in Africa and started working with orphans, she might never come back.

  Mary Catherine made herself a cup of green tea. She swirled the hot liquid and stared at it. “I have to go. I promised myself.”

  “Hmmm.” Sami took a bite of her chicken and set her fork down. She looked at her friend. “What about your heart? The valve replacement?”

  Mary Catherine shrugged. Her answer came a little too quickly. “My doctor said I could go.”

  “All right.” Sami didn’t want to push. If Mary Catherine’s doctor was okay with her going, then the trip must be okay. “And God? What does He say about you going?”

  A surprised look lifted Mary Catherine’s eyes. “He wants me to go. Of course. I mean, who do those kids have?” She looked distant, distracted. “Besides, I’ve always dreamed about going back.”

  Sami cleared her dishes and washed the chicken pan, letting a little space settle between them. Something was definitely bothering Mary Catherine. When she was finished she dried her hands and turned to her friend again. “Have you talked to Marcus?”

  “He calls.” Mary Catherine kept her eyes on her cup of tea. “We don’t talk long. There’s no point.”

  The two of them had been over this. “I still disagree.” Sami crossed her arms and kept her tone kind. “You and Marcus had something special. I was there, remember?”

  Mary Catherine lifted her eyes to Sami. “It’s over. You know that.” She stood and joined Sami in the kitchen. “How are you and Tyler?”

  The message was clear—conversation closed. Sami understood. She breathed in, thinking back to her phone call earlier with Tyler, how much he missed her. “We’re great. We’re Skyping tomorrow night.”

  “Good.” Mary Catherine smiled. “You two are perfect.”

  Sami would miss this, her time with Mary Catherine. “Thanks.” She hugged her. “You’re a great friend.”

  “You, too.” Mary Catherine pulled back. Her smile remained, but Sami could see the hint of tears in her eyes.

  As Sami fell asleep that night she figured she understood why Mary Catherine was more emotional tonight. In just a few weeks she would be leaving everything behind. Not only that, but her friend had worked too hard making it clear she wasn’t interested in Marcus. If Sami had to guess, she’d say her friend was missing him. Maybe more than even Mary Catherine herself expected.

  If she wasn’t so stubborn, she and Marcus could have a beautiful love. One as great as Sami and Tyler’s. A love that—as Mary Catherine said—wasn’t only beautiful.

  It was perfect.

  THE SITUATION WITH Mary Catherine was getting critical.

  Aspyn and Ember had been there tonight—invisible—in the apartment when Sami came home from the Youth Center. They had hoped Mary Catherine would tell Sami the truth. About her need for a heart transplant. If Sami knew, then she would encourage Mary Catherine to immediately fly home from Africa when her symptoms grew worse. Or better, convince her to stay in Los Angeles.

  If Mary Catherine didn’t make it back from Africa in time, she would die. In which case, the mission would fail.

  Earlier in the day, Ember had arranged for an extra project to land on Mary Catherine’s desk. Because of that she left work late and didn’t make a trip to the ocean. A victory for Aspyn and Ember. They had to keep Mary Catherine away from the beach. Even a few hours of exertion on her already damaged heart could take days off her life.

  Days she didn’t have.

  The angels had done everything right. But still Mary Catherine had avoided the conversation about her heart. Now Aspyn and Ember were headed once more to Camelback Ranch for another idea, one that involved Marcus Dillinger.

  If only Mary Catherine would cooperate.

  3

  MARY CATHERINE HAD BEEN dreading this appointment for weeks.

  A few days ago she’d gone into Dr. Cohen’s office for another round of tests. Today he would give her the results. The nurse called her name minutes after she arrived.

  The floor shifted as she stood, and spots clouded her vision. Calm down, she told herself. Don’t be afraid. Breathe. Whatever was happening inside her chest, God already knew. He had a plan for her life—a good plan. Mary Catherine believed that completely. But somehow her heart felt tight as she followed the nurse down the hallway to an exam room.

  Mary Catherine slipped into a paper gown and crossed her legs. Outside temperatures were in the mid-eighties. Warm for Los Angeles in early March. But here on the exam table, Mary Catherine’s teeth chattered. Her fingers were freezing.

  Not more bad news. Please, God . . . not now.

  Again the wait was brief. Dr. Cohen knocked first, and then joined her. He shut the door behind him and immediately she knew. The look on his face told Mary Catherine two things: The news wasn’t good. And she was about to get more restrictions.

  Dr. Cohen held her chart in his hands and for a few seconds he looked at her, his expression pained.

  “Bad news?” Mary Catherine’s voice trembled, her words soaked in fear. I need more time, God . . . please.

  She held her breath and waited.

  “Your functions are worse.” He sighed and opened the folder. “The insufficiency is more pronounced. Your heart’s enlarged and thicker—which is a precursor to heart failure, as you know.”

  Mary Catherine nodded. She pulled her paper gown more tightly around herself. “Did you expect it to happen more slowly?”

  The doctor brought his lips together and stared at the contents of the folder. “I had hoped.”

  Her trip to Uganda was set, so Mary Catherine didn’t mention it. “What happens next?”

  “I’d like to officially place you on the heart transplant list. But even then I’m not sure we’ll have enough time. You’re deteriorating very quickly.” He breathed in sharp through his nose and looked at her. “How’s your activity level? We talked about adrenaline last time you were in, trying not to overexert yourself.”

  Mary Catherine stared at the floor for a few heartbeats. She hated this, hated having to ration her brightest moments, the times that took such a toll on her life. She looked at Dr. Cohen. “I haven’t been skydiving.”

  He smiled, patient with her. “You know what I mean. What about the ocean?”

  She thought about her flat tires and the late assignment the other day. “I haven’t been. Not lately.”

  “Mary Catherine . . .” The tension in the room doubled, and a heaviness weighted the doctor’s tone. “This is very serious. You absolutely cannot spend time in the ocean. I’d like you to walk five to ten minutes a day, no more. And only at an easy pace.” His expression was intense. “No bike riding, no running, nothing that will put extr
a strain on your heart.” He hesitated. “You understand, right?”

  “Adrenaline is bad for my heart.” It wasn’t a question. Mary Catherine already knew.

  “Not just that.” He straightened and set her file on the counter. “Any unnecessary activity means heart strain. The harder your heart works, the fewer days you’ll have before you need a transplant.” He let that sink in. “Do you remember the statistics about getting a heart transplant?”

  Mary Catherine had memorized them.

  God worked outside the numbers, but even so, the reality was grim. Between five and ten thousand people were on the wait list for a heart at any time. But only two thousand transplants were performed in the United States each year.

  Which meant most patients died waiting.

  Dr. Cohen didn’t ask her to recite what she knew. Instead he pulled a piece of paper from her folder and handed it to her. “I’d like you to look over this information sheet. It’s about the transplant. I’d like to put you on as a Status Two patient. The less urgent ranking.”

  Panic took punches at Mary Catherine’s calm demeanor. She looked over the fact sheet and her mouth felt dry. “You remember . . . I’m headed to Uganda?”

  A frown darkened Dr. Cohen’s face. “You were still planning on going?”

  “I was.” She paused. “I am.” Never mind her hesitancy the other night. With this news, nothing could change her mind. “It might be my last chance.”

  Dr. Cohen shook his head. “We’ll talk about Uganda in a minute.” He narrowed his eyes. “The transplant list has two levels—Status One is for patients already in the hospital. That’s the urgent list. People in grave condition with very little time. Days, in some cases.”

  Mary Catherine caught a full breath. Finally, something to be thankful for. At least she wasn’t Status One.

  He continued. “The other is Status Two. Patients who need a new heart to survive, but the situation isn’t as urgent.” Dr. Cohen nodded at the fact sheet. “You’ll notice Status Two patients can wait six months to several years in some cases.” He crossed his arms. “Which is why your name will be added today. As long as you want to be considered for a new heart.”