him by moving forward the way I believe he would want me to. Part of that includes not losing myself in the bitterness of what might have been, or who I can look to blame. Now, are there any other questions?”
There were none. Beth came forward to make a few announcements about the afternoon workshops. As soon as she was done, I hurried down the aisle, determined to demand an explanation from Detective Thompson. How dare he come here and try to undermine what I was doing?
“Mrs. Stewart, may I speak with you a moment?” An elegant-looking African-American woman wearing a stylish suit extended her hand. “My name is Reisha Cinders, and I am the host of the Christian America Talk Show . Have you heard our broadcasts?”
As much as I didn’t want to talk about broadcasts right now, I did want to be polite. Besides, I knew where I could find Detective Thompson, he’d given me his card. I looked at the woman. “Of course. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you would like to be a guest on our show.”
“Me?”
“I believe your talk could be an inspiration to so many others. And your answer to the questions could have been nothing less than Holy Spirit–inspired. Next month we’re having a series on leniency in the justice system. Since I know that is what had previously happened with your son’s attackers, I thought you’d be a first-person voice on the topic. Whether you think justice or mercy impacts a life more.”
I wondered if she would still think my answers Holy Spirit– inspired if she knew the questions were asked by the detective investigating my son, and that the answers were given by a mother who would do anything she could to defend him. Still, I took her card. “It sounds like a good program. Let me spend a little time praying about it and I’ll get back to you.”
She nodded. “I need to know something by early next week.”
“I’ll be in touch.” I walked the rest of the way down the aisle, looking for any sign of Detective Thompson. He was gone.
Eight
Despite my earlier protests, I found that preparing for the conference and delivering my talk, coupled with my excitement for Kurt’s U-turn, energized my attempts at writing, as well. I’d chipped away, page by page, on some ideas most nights after Caroline was asleep, and finally after four weeks I had enough to show others for some advice. I knew my friends wouldn’t spare me if they thought I was headed down the wrong path.
“Alisa, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect!” Marsha waved the pages in the air as if she were holding up a winning lottery ticket. Thankfully, the sandwich shop we’d decided to meet in after church was noisy and crowded, and no one seemed to notice. “I can’t believe it. I’m actually going to be the friend of a famous writer.”
“I think you’re overshooting just a bit.” I really wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
“No, I am not.” She looked offended by the suggestion. “This is exactly what you’ve been called to do with your life. You’ve found your place, the place God has been leading you toward all along. Your promised land, you might say.”
I looked toward the others. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten Marsha’s optimistic delusions out of the way, what do I need to work on?”
Tasha slid her stack of papers toward me. I could already see red-inked notes in the margin. “This is powerful, and I agree with Marsha that you were born for this. I would have to disagree about the perfect part, however. You know how I feel about proper grammar and your lack of it.” She smiled and said, “Of course, that’s the reason God led me to you, so you wouldn’t be left in the wilderness of dangling participles.”
“And … God led me to you because a few of your chapter titles are a little lacking,” Carleigh said. “Some of them are fine, but I think we need to reach for greatness. Don’t you? I noted some suggestions.” She slid
There were none. Beth came forward to make a few announcements about the afternoon workshops. As soon as she was done, I hurried down the aisle, determined to demand an explanation from Detective Thompson. How dare he come here and try to undermine what I was doing?
“Mrs. Stewart, may I speak with you a moment?” An elegant-looking African-American woman wearing a stylish suit extended her hand. “My name is Reisha Cinders, and I am the host of the Christian America Talk Show . Have you heard our broadcasts?”
As much as I didn’t want to talk about broadcasts right now, I did want to be polite. Besides, I knew where I could find Detective Thompson, he’d given me his card. I looked at the woman. “Of course. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you would like to be a guest on our show.”
“Me?”
“I believe your talk could be an inspiration to so many others. And your answer to the questions could have been nothing less than Holy Spirit–inspired. Next month we’re having a series on leniency in the justice system. Since I know that is what had previously happened with your son’s attackers, I thought you’d be a first-person voice on the topic. Whether you think justice or mercy impacts a life more.”
I wondered if she would still think my answers Holy Spirit– inspired if she knew the questions were asked by the detective investigating my son, and that the answers were given by a mother who would do anything she could to defend him. Still, I took her card. “It sounds like a good program. Let me spend a little time praying about it and I’ll get back to you.”
She nodded. “I need to know something by early next week.”
“I’ll be in touch.” I walked the rest of the way down the aisle, looking for any sign of Detective Thompson. He was gone.
Eight
Despite my earlier protests, I found that preparing for the conference and delivering my talk, coupled with my excitement for Kurt’s U-turn, energized my attempts at writing, as well. I’d chipped away, page by page, on some ideas most nights after Caroline was asleep, and finally after four weeks I had enough to show others for some advice. I knew my friends wouldn’t spare me if they thought I was headed down the wrong path.
“Alisa, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect!” Marsha waved the pages in the air as if she were holding up a winning lottery ticket. Thankfully, the sandwich shop we’d decided to meet in after church was noisy and crowded, and no one seemed to notice. “I can’t believe it. I’m actually going to be the friend of a famous writer.”
“I think you’re overshooting just a bit.” I really wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
“No, I am not.” She looked offended by the suggestion. “This is exactly what you’ve been called to do with your life. You’ve found your place, the place God has been leading you toward all along. Your promised land, you might say.”
I looked toward the others. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten Marsha’s optimistic delusions out of the way, what do I need to work on?”
Tasha slid her stack of papers toward me. I could already see red-inked notes in the margin. “This is powerful, and I agree with Marsha that you were born for this. I would have to disagree about the perfect part, however. You know how I feel about proper grammar and your lack of it.” She smiled and said, “Of course, that’s the reason God led me to you, so you wouldn’t be left in the wilderness of dangling participles.”
“And … God led me to you because a few of your chapter titles are a little lacking,” Carleigh said. “Some of them are fine, but I think we need to reach for greatness. Don’t you? I noted some suggestions.” She slid
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