Authors: Joy DeKok
“Joni, I’m leaving.”
I glided into Ben’s arms for a kiss. Holding me close, he nuzzled my neck and whispered, “I love you and will keep your time with Stacie in my prayers.”
As soon as the door shut behind him I ate a bowl of Grape Nuts then raced upstairs. After making the bed and dusting the second floor furniture, I showered then French braided my hair and applied my makeup with extra care. I put on pressed black jeans and a teal silk blouse. Dressed and ready to go, I checked the time. Ten o’clock. Shoot. I liked to be early but this neared ridiculous.
I curled up in my chair in our room, snuggling into its oversized comfort. I picked up my Bible and study book. The truth in first Corinthians 15:58 tap-danced across my mind: “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.”
Relief flooded my soul. If I remained true to God and did what I knew He’d called me to do, the effort wouldn’t be wasted.
I wandered into my office. Firing up my computer and printer, I sat at my desk and set the timer. Getting lost in my work was easy and I didn’t want to miss this lunch date.
When the alarm went off, I slipped on my shoes, shrugged into my black blazer, and grabbed my purse. On the way to the restaurant, I wondered for the first time if she would come.
Oh Lord, please!
After parking, I fed the meter and turned to walk the block to the restaurant. There she was, coming from the opposite direction. I knew I’d looked forward to seeing her but the love-fest taking place in my heart made even me uncomfortable.
“I’m so glad to see you!” I said.
I saw her body stiffen and knew my enthusiasm had put her off. I vowed to be more careful.
The hostess led us to a corner booth before Stacie could say anything.
After we ordered, I asked, “How are you?”
I’d expected opposition to my pro-life stand but not my belief system. She let me know she believed Christians were always looking for an opportunity to “preach” and that we were mostly a bunch of hypocrites. I hated the defensive answers that rose to my mind. They were too clichéd. Besides, she wasn’t wrong.
“Sometimes we all do things contrary to our core beliefs.” I said.
“Perhaps, but I think Christians should live to a higher standard.”
“You’re right. But how do you know I’m a Christian?”
“It shows.”
Our egg rolls arrived and we poured plum sauce over them in silence. I thought about her saying, “It shows” and a smirk tugged at one corner of my mouth.
“What?” she asked.
“Does it show like a pimple on my face?”
“No. It’s all around you but not visible. It’s in you but it shows in your eyes. And I saw the cross in your office and your open Bible.”
“That’s interesting, but I’d still like to know how you are.” I’d ponder her opinion of Christians later.
“You mean the abortion thing?” She asked putting her fork down and tapping her fingernails on the table.
“No. Well, maybe. Just how are you?”
“Okay.”
“Okay is good right?” I asked.
“No. Okay is okay.”
Our meals arrived and our waitress refilled our coffee cups. I knew I’d crushed a few of the egg shells I was walking on.
“Tell me about your work.” I said.
I watched a light go on in her eyes. “Are you sure? This is one thing I can talk about for hours.”
Looking at my watch I said, “Ready, set, go!”
And she did. Her zeal for helping women and especially children ran deep. How could a woman who loved them this much get an abortion? Her passion was so evident that, like me, she could not hold it in.
She closed with, “I’m building relationships with counselors, doctors, psychologists, social workers, and advocates. Right now I’m not doing any courtroom work. I’m little more than a highly educated assistant in a firm specializing in corporate law. I do their research. But someday I will be in there fighting and will have a team of experts behind me. I will be unbeatable!”
She took a deep breath and sat back. My plate was clean and hers was barely touched.
“Your turn,” she said.
“You know I write.”
“Another warm up?” the waitress asked, proffering the coffee pot.
“Yes,” we replied in unison.
“What does that mean—you write? What does it feel like to be published?”
Now I was off and running. I talked about ideas, rough drafts, and rejections through three more cups of coffee. When Stacie pushed away her empty plate, I took a breath. The waitress brought our bill and I insisted on paying.
“It was my idea.”
All right, but next time, it’s mine.”
I hoped there would be a next time.
“What are you doing with the rest of your day?” I asked.
Looking at her watch she said, “I’m glad I took the afternoon off. Do you realize we’ve sat here for two hours?”
“Time flies. Are you up to risking a caffeine-high?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’m in need of a new book to read, and Barnes and Noble is just down the street, and they have a Starbucks.”
“You’re on!”
We walked to the bookstore window shopping along the way. In Barnes & Noble we browsed, visited, and drank coffee for another two hours. She liked vanilla cream and I ordered a mocha latte.
When we parted, Stacie held her arms open and hugged me briefly. I returned the embrace as if her action hadn’t shocked me, then handed her my business card and asked for hers.
“Call me,” Stacie said.
“You too.”
Lord,
Could this be the start of something beyond a mere acquaintance—maybe a friendship? Or was she just offering the standard response?
As I drove away, a deep sadness engulfed me. Not once had I shared my faith with her.
Stacie
Getting out of bed all I could think of was, “There is no way I’m going to waste an hour having lunch with her.”
I’d made the same promise to myself every day and wrote on a post-it note, “Call Jonica and cancel.” I didn’t. Instead I moved the yellow sticky from one page to another in my date book. I ran different excuses through my mind but they all sounded chicken-hearted.
Walking to the restaurant, I hoped something had come up in her life and she wouldn’t show. But no, there she was walking toward me from the other direction.
She seemed so glad to see me I was sure she was going to hug me. That was not on my agenda for the day. I couldn’t figure out why she was so happy to see me unless she didn’t want to miss a chance to evangelize me. I stiffened and took a slight step to the side.
We were saved by an efficient hostess who greeted and seated us, then showed Jonica recent photos of her new grandbaby.
“Linda, she’s beautiful.”
“Do you know her well?” I asked as Linda walked away and the waitress came to the table. “No. We just visit when I come in for lunch.”
“Hi, Jonica. Do you want your usual?”
“Hi, Mo. Sounds great.”
“What will you have?” Mo asked me.
“An egg roll with extra plum sauce and the Chicken Subgum Combination Plate.”
Turning toward the kitchen she said, “It makes it easy for me when you order the same thing. I’ll bring your egg rolls right out.”
I felt my eyebrows rising as I asked, “You ordered the same thing?”
“Isn’t that interesting?” She smiled as if truly delighted.
“More like strange.”
“I guess it is.”
Her grin seemed a little sly and I knew she was having a great time.
Then she asked how I was.
Her question made me angry.
How am I supposed to be?
I silently charged. My defenses rose. “Do you really want to know?” I demanded.
She did and I let her know I wasn’t sure about seeing her again.
“Why?”
“I guess I’m wondering when the sermon starts.”
“I didn’t prepare one.”
“I thought your kind was always ready with one.”
“What kind?”
“You’re religious and pro-life.”
“How do you know these things? We’ve never discussed them.”
“I guess part of it is this peace, love, and joy thing you’ve got going on.”
“I’m not sure what you mean because my life is a mess right now. So if you see anything Christian in me—it’s God. I’m too worn out to be of any good on my own.”
Her answer punctured my anger bubble.
I was nowhere near okay but I decided it wasn’t wrong to lie to her. However, when she accepted it as my answer I regretted it a little. I could have used some sympathy or a brisk debate. I was also relieved. We’d gotten personal so fast I wondered if she could be as safe as she seemed. How could I hold her at a distance when she already knew so much of my story?
I wanted to keep the focus of our discussion on the hypocrisy of the church, but my own stood front and center in my mind demanding an answer to the question,
“How could a legal medical procedure to remove a piece of unviable human tissue depress me?”
There was no escaping it. I missed that piece of tissue and I hated that truth.
Then she asked about my work. Her diversion proved effective.
I talked and let my passion show. I didn’t expect her to be genuinely interested, but she gave me her full attention which involved her ears, eyes, and a few perfectly timed nods of her head. She asked intelligent questions, which bewildered me. I’d always considered religious people uneducated—almost feeble minded.
I remember saying, “Wow, you’re a good audience.”
She said, “You’re a captivating speaker.”
It was her turn. She told me about the myth of inspiration, the discipline it took to put her seat in the chair, the joy of a completed manuscript, the disappointment and doubt that rejections brought, and her journey to publication.
When lunch was over, we went to the bookstore. We talked and laughed like we’d known each other a long time, which was unlike me. I don’t have old friends because I’d built no time in my life to communicate with people on a personal level. Time was to be invested, not wasted. I had contacts, not relationships. Until this day I did it on purpose.
How does she do this?
We browsed separately and bought our books before meeting back at the comfy chairs in the store. While we sipped our coffee, Jonica pulled two books out of her shopping bag, one about helicopters, the other on guitars.
“It’s Ben’s dream to build and pilot his own helicopter someday,” she said.
“Cool, what does he drive?” It didn’t fit with flying, but I asked anyway.
“In the winter his Tahoe, and in the summer his Honda Gold Wing.”
“No way. A Christian biker?”
Jonica laughed out loud.
I didn’t see the humor. Besides, the sound of her laughter threw me. It was like hearing a new song and someone had turned up the volume. People in the store looked toward us and smiled as if hoping to enjoy the joke with us. Religious nuts were supposed to be boring. Stoic. Living by rigid rules and expecting everyone else to do the same.
Here she was, a published author, her husband rode a cycle, and she could laugh—from her gut—without embarrassment. It gushed out with unfettered joy from deep inside her soul. This woman and her husband did not fit my vision of right-wingers.
“Does he go to any wild biker rallies like Sturgis?”
“He threatens.” Then she shocked me again when she said, “I ride with him most of the time.”
“So what do you wear?”
“I have a full set of …”
“Leather?” I interrupted.
“Black.”
“Chaps and fringe and boots?”
She nodded while a big smile stretched across her lovely face.
My mind brought up a visual of this woman in a leather jacket and chaps with fringe and I realized my former theories about religious women were falling away. The Christian zealots in my mind covered everything from just below their chin to their ankles in loose, shapeless, prairie dresses. Not only was this one attractive, she was sexy.
“So, you’re a ‘motorcycle mama?’”
Sadness flickered across her face for just an instant. I hadn’t intended to jab her or bring her infertility into the conversation, but I had.
“No but I am a biker babe.” She saved the moment with a sassy wink and a kind answer instead of a payback.
It was way too much for my mind to comprehend, so I changed the subject before my prejudice could show any more.
“What does Ben do for a living?”
“He’s an insurance agent.”
“For real?”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. A preacher?”
“Nope. Not his thing.”
She opened the book on guitars. Pictures of Jimmy Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and Chet Atkins splashed across the collage-style cover.
“Who’s that for?” I asked.
“Ben. He plays the electric guitar in our church band.”
“Cool.” I muttered. Where did I get the idea Christians were no fun? Maybe the rest of them weren’t. I decided she was probably the odd one and it was time to quit trying to figure her out.
I preferred it when the liberals I knew stayed within predictable boundaries. I especially wanted Jonica to color inside the lines…to stay in the mental box I’d built for her.
This chick destroyed my view of conservatives. A woman like her could be dangerous to all Eve lived for. I liked her a little bit more for that.
We drank and read in comfortable silence and watched people. Then walked back to where her car was parked.
I found myself offering her a hug. No one was more stunned than me. I only bestowed hugs on Mike and my dad. No one else was worthy of the intimacy. Until now.
Could this woman I once considered a foe become my friend? Or had she already?
And if she is, this friendship thing is
sneakier than I’d imagined.
We did the socially acceptable thing, and exchanged cards and promises to call. You don’t have to mean it, but it sounds good.
When I got back in my car, I saw that her socks lay on the front seat, clean and ready to return. Here was a good reason to contact her and maybe see her again.