Bridge to a Distant Star (30 page)

“What on earth does that mean?” Jessica looked confused again.

“A missionary can be anyone who tells others about Jesus. We’re all supposed to do that.” Ruth was currently taking a class on missions and sounded a bit condescending.

“But isn’t there a difference when it’s vocational missions?” Jenny asked. “As opposed to having other jobs—like us, since we’re … you know … students right now? We’re not full-time vocational missionaries.”

“Then Michal can still go out with Allistair.”

“No, she can’t.”

Michal broke into the argument, stating firmly, “I told you, I’m not going out with him anyway.”

Samantha’s face lit up, and she whispered, “Well, speaking of you-know-who. Announcement,” she trilled, in a singsong voice. “He’s headed our way this very moment, eager listeners.”

Before Michal had a chance to mentally prepare, Allistair was casually resting his hand on the back of her chair. “Do some studying this afternoon for your exam?” He glanced up at the girls gathered around her, nodding his head in greeting. “Hey.” The twinkle in his eyes hinted he was getting a kick out of their interest.

“Yeah, I did and—”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven. Never dated an MK before. Something tells me I’ve got a lot to learn.” And with that, he turned and was swallowed into the crush of students milling around.

“Well, that’s the way to tell him the date’s off,” Samantha offered, dissolving into giggles that pulled in everyone else, enjoying the joke at Michal’s expense.

Chagrined, Michal attempted to defend herself. “He didn’t give me a chance, did he?”

“Seems to me you didn’t exactly try to find one either.”

Michal held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. So I didn’t do the right thing. I should’ve said no first thing this morning.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Amy mused, shrugging her shoulders. “So Allistair didn’t like the chapel speaker. Why not find out what he disagreed with? Maybe you’ll find you and he don’t see things so differently, after all.”

“Whatever. I can’t back out now. Well, I need to get back to studying. Anyone else ready to go back to the dorm?”

“I’m going back for dessert,” from Jessica. “Chocolate cake.”

“There’s chocolate cake tonight? I didn’t see that …” Samantha mumbled as she followed Jessica, leading the entire group toward the dessert bar.

Though Michal was tempted to follow, she declined, and was hurrying down the path toward the dorm when she sensed someone falling into step beside her. Stephen.

Shyly, she grinned up at him. “Hey, Stephen.”

He gifted her with one of his rare smiles, the dimples making their appearance. Michal had to remind herself,
Close your mouth, dummy,
the transformation was so amazing.

“I um … I was um … was kind of wondering …”

Michal waited, thinking she should obligingly help Stephen finish the sentence, but she had absolutely no idea what he was trying to say. So she fixed on him what she hoped was an encouraging look.

“I was wondering if you’d want to study together. Tomorrow night. For the New Testament exam.”

Suddenly panicked, Michal was at a loss for words.
How on earth could I possibly tell him I have a date?
She could feel her heart pounding. Sensed the awkwardness of her silence.
After we shared our similar commitment to studies.

Taking Michal’s silence to mean she wasn’t interested, Stephen backtracked. Tried to save face. “Oh, um … you know. It’s not … well, you probably need to study on your own.”

He was already speeding up in his haste to get away. But she grabbed his shirt sleeve. “No—it’s just that I can’t. I would’ve loved to, Stephen, I really would. But someone else already asked me to—”

“Study with them,” he interrupted, avoiding Michal’s eyes. Briefly glancing at her once more, he bravely ventured, “I understand. Another time maybe?”

It was a lie, really, to let Stephen believe that. But she grasped the substitution Stephen had offered as a way out of a dilemma. With a measure of guilt, she answered, “Yes, I’d love to study with you, Stephen. I really mean that. After we get back from spring break?” Michal smiled, and realizing that she still held onto his shirt, let go, flustered.

Stephen nodded solemnly, apparently believing her. But he didn’t utter a word as he took off at a trot toward the library.

When Michal got back to her room, Beth was busy studying, sprawled out in the middle of her bed. She glanced up at Michal, grimacing. “Hey. Come join the torture.”

So the two of them dove into their study notes together, sharing points and quizzing each other until they’d covered the material. By the time Michal needed to move on to other subjects, she felt fairly confident about taking a few hours to attend the basketball game with Allistair.
Yeah, I feel confident about taking the test,
she thought to herself,
but not at all confident about being with Allistair.
“What was I thinking?” she mumbled out loud.

“What’s that?” Beth didn’t take her eyes from her book.

“Oh … nothing important,” Michal answered, sighing. “Nothing at all.”

At six thirty the next evening, Michal peeked out her door to discover every one of her suitemates waiting outside, demanding to be let in. She slammed the door shut, stubbornly insisting, “Go away. I don’t need your help getting ready. I’m already dressed.”

She could hear Samantha groan loudly. “That means she’s wearing exactly what she wore all day long.”

“I heard that, and I am not!” Michal yelled, crossing her arms, staring at the door as though facing her friends.

“So what did you change? Your socks?”

“Just as long as she didn’t change her mind.”

Michal could hear them tittering at each others’ wit. Which drew a pantomimed laugh from Michal—and then a real one from Beth. She was having a great time observing the scene from the comfort of her bed, leaning back against the headboard, books scattered around her again.

“Come on, Michal. Open the door. We only want to help. Please.”

Against her better judgment—and lamenting to Beth, “I know I’m going to regret this”—Michal opened the door about an inch and peeked out again. “What exactly is it you want anyway?”

Matter-of-factly from Ruth, “We just want to check your outfit.”

“And your hair and makeup,” Samantha added.

“I don’t—”

Their patience exhausted, all three pushed the door open and plunged into what sounded like a military inspection.

“Oh, you’re not wearing that blouse. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t have any makeup on at all, do you? Not even lip gloss.”

“What did you do to your hair? Besides nothing?”

“Take those stinky sneakers off right now.”

Beth broke out in a fit of laughter, holding her side as though it hurt.

“My sneakers do not stink. I wash them all the time.” Michal gave Beth a look of deadpanned insult. “And thanks for your support, roommate.”

“Hey, you’re all on your own. It was your choice to go out with the most popular guy on campus.”

“That’s why this will be the last time I go out with Allistair Fuller.”

Samantha had disappeared into her room and was gathering makeup. Jessica was literally yanking the maligned sneakers right off Michal’s feet. And Jenny was holding up a blouse she’d already chosen from her own closet, singing its praises, sounding like a used car salesman.

Resigned, Michal accepted that doing what they wanted was ultimately easier than fighting. And by the time she’d “passed inspection”—she had to twirl in front of them as they nodded their heads in approval—the call came from the lounge. Another freshman, nearly breathless, voice full of wonder, proclaimed, “He’s here. I mean … you know. Allistair’s here.”

Michal nervously walked down to the lounge, and as she rounded the corner, she saw Allistair turn toward her, smiling broadly. He gave her a quick perusal, one swift assessment from head to toe. “You look great.” Politely holding open the door, he gestured with the other hand. “Shall we go?”

Michal was surprised how easily they slipped into conversation; they chatted about spring break, how excited they were to get away for a while, the churches where Allistair’s team would minister, what it was like on a traveling ministry team. Despite her resolve to remain detached, Michal was interested in what he’d be preaching on, and impressed by it too. And at Allistair’s urging, she talked at length about Aunt Sarah. How she also grew up in Ethiopia, but was the only sibling not to go back to Africa.

“Why was that?” Allistair asked.

“I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know because I’ve never asked,” Michal confessed, realizing she hadn’t shown much interest in Sarah’s life. “I guess I’ve been pretty self-centered that way. Never realized it till just now.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just being nosy, that’s all.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t. But it’s good you asked. Whenever I’m with Aunt Sarah, she always steers our discussions to be about me—what I’m learning, how I’m doing. You know, this time I’m going to ask her questions too.”

“She sounds like someone who’s a great listener.”

Michal smiled. “Yeah, she really is.”

“I think everyone needs someone like her in their life.”

Michal agreed, tucking a straying curl behind her ear. Jessica had insisted Michal wear it down, the sides pulled back with a large barrette that perfectly matched the color of Jessica’s blouse. But as usual, her hair wouldn’t stay in place, and there were small tendrils at both sides of her face. Framing her expressive eyes (minus eye makeup—Michal had drawn a firm line on that), highlighting them.

Allistair was quiet a moment, pensive. He had a McMaster’s baseball cap on and reached up to straighten the brim before putting his hands in his pockets. “My first year here, we had a chapel speaker who really convicted me.” He stared straight ahead, his expression conveying a seriousness she hadn’t seen in him before. “I decided right then I needed to go to the mission field.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I was convinced that’s what I was supposed to do. Knew exactly where to go too.” He glanced over at her and grinned shyly.

“And that was …?”

“Africa, of course. Isn’t that where the most spiritual missionaries go?”

Instantly defensive, Michal stopped in her tracks. She glared at him, mouth open.

Allistair reached out with both hands, conceding. “Oh, no—I’m really sorry. What I was trying to say was that’s what I thought. In my totally immature way of thinking back then.”

“So what does that say about missionaries there now?”

He pointed to an empty bench. “Look, how about if we go sit down for a minute?” Putting a hand against Michal’s back, he gently guided her toward the bench. To her consternation, Michal was intensely conscious of his hand. And how it felt. “I think I need to completely start over, don’t I?”

She smiled, despite her firm intention not to. “You think?”

He took off the cap and ran a hand through his hair. Slumping over with his forearms on his knees, Allistair looked up at her through squinted eyes. “Gotta tell you … I don’t know when I’ve ever started a date so badly.”

Michal had to giggle at his obvious distress and disarming honesty.

“So, does that reaction mean I get another chance?”

“Oh, I always grant do-overs. Like on the playground.”

Allistair grinned, eyes twinkling. “Exactly.”

“My dad says since we’re given grace, we have to grant it too. And do-overs are life’s way of making that possible.”

“I think your dad sounds like a wise man.”

Michal nodded matter-of-factly. “He is. And …”—she dramatically drew out each word—“ever so spiritual, too.”

She let Allistair suffer for a moment, looking into his openly vulnerable expression that almost broadcasted,
How do I take this? Is she being serious?
And then she burst into laughter again.

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” he asked, laughing along with Michal. “Can I try to explain my way out?”

“It’s a do-over.”

“Well … see, back then I thought everyone was called to the mission field, not at all understanding the idea of integration.” His face lit up, and he elaborated, “But here’s the way I understand it now: We’re all called to a lifetime of sharing the gospel. That might be in Africa, at an office, in a classroom of kids, or behind a register at a local grocery. Or it might be where I’m now convinced God wants me to go—to a church somewhere here in the States.”

Allistair grew more animated, using his hands to articulate his point. “I don’t think any one of those is a higher calling, Michal. The highest is wherever God wants me. And I think a person can be called to clean houses the same as someone is called to full-time vocational ministry. See, what’s important is … that I’m seeking his will for my life. What he wants me to do.” He looked at her intently—as though her opinion mattered to him. “Make sense?”

“I guess. I mean … I’m having a hard time with secular jobs being equal with a missionary or pastor. Isn’t full-time Christian ministry more important than other mere … jobs? And what if someone was really called to the mission field? Wouldn’t she be wrong not to go?”