Unlikely Praise (25 page)

“You are a long way from the wood pile. You just need to turn this thing around.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. I love the vine. The vine is my life. How did I mess this up so bad?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Candi braced herself. “Yes.”

“You need to change your default settings.”

“My what?”

“Your default settings.”

“You lost me. And I know there’s not a scripture reference for that one, so don’t bother.”

“You’re a great woman of God, Candi, and a great leader. Most of the time your gut reactions—or default settings—are just what God would expect from you. When someone has a crisis, you react with faith and start praying. When someone is broken, you react with Christ-like compassion and truly want to help. When there’s a practical need, you react with heart of service. I can’t prove it, but I know you used your tax refund last year to make up the difference on Rocky’s new wheelchair when the insurance wouldn’t pay. God seriously delights in your efforts.”

“I sense there’s a big “but” coming...”

“
But
, when it comes to personal relationships, you default to fear. You become judgmental and unforgiving because you’re scared of anyone getting or staying close.”

“Not true.”

“True. You didn’t tell anyone last year when you had dental surgery. You took a cab back and forth to the dentist. I know ten people who would have dropped everything to give you a ride. You were too scared to ask.”

“How did being self-sufficient make me scared?”

“You didn’t want to impose, didn’t want anyone to see you drooling on yourself, and didn’t want anyone to know you had dental issues like everyone else. You didn’t want anyone to get inside your tight little world.”

“Possibly true.”

“Definitely true and you know it, and it’s the reason for that uncomfortable scene last night with your father. You didn’t want to square things with him. Fear. You didn’t want to share your burden with the band. Fear. And now it’s all out in the open, you’re miserable when all you had to do was stay close to the vine and ask for help. Instead, you let fear isolate you from those who care about you the most.”

She stood and leaned across his desk. “That’s not fear. It’s unmitigated rage toward my father.”

He stood to meet her nose-to-nose. “Rage born of fear.”

“No...rage born of anger from a festering wound.”

“That was, no doubt, initially rubbed raw by fear.”

“No...the original wound was caused by my father’s callous and criminal behavior.”

He smacked the desk. “Yes, but it never healed because of fear. You were a kid who’d just lost her mother and whose father was going to jail. Admit it. You. Were. Scared. And you’ve never been able to let that fear go so God could completely heal that oozing gash. Now it’s all internalized into a big ball of anger and bitterness, and it keeps you from true intimacy with God and with others. Let it go, Candi. Let it all go. Lean into the vine. Give up all that control and rest in Jesus.”

She blinked against the whoosh of truth he blasted into her face. Harsh reality settled onto her last raw nerve. What he said was real. Something inside her clicked and turned around. He was right. For years, she’d held on to garbage she didn’t need. Where she once fought to keep it buried, she now searched her mind for ways to purge it from the depths of her spirit.

Suddenly she was a cat clawing its way out of a wet slippery bathtub. “I don’t know how to let it go,” she stammered. “What if I can’t?”

“You can. You have to.” He plucked his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Otherwise that numb feeling you have will not go away. It’ll become permanent.”

****

Shade put a music stand near Candi’s keyboard and did his best to pretend he had any idea how to rally the band for worship. Everyone was half asleep.

“Let’s run through
Come, Now is the Time to Worship
and then we’ll pray. Candi should be here by then.”

“Where is she?” Kevin asked through the guitar pick in his teeth.

“She’s with Pastor Charles. She texted me and said she’d be here as soon as she could.”

Kevin started the song while Shade kept his eyes on the doors at the back of the sanctuary. At least she was somewhere in the building. Last night they’d spent an hour on the park bench. It was a torturous sixty minutes of tears and often incoherent babbling as she wept her way through a list of her father’s transgressions and her inability to tolerate his very presence. When she’d run out of words, she’d simply wiped her nose and headed for her car.

He’d joined the remaining band members at the other tent but didn’t hear one note of music as he focused on looking for Candi’s father. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he’d found him, but he was curious as to what he was up to. No luck. If Don Canaberry had stuck around to hear the band he came for, he was staying far below the radar.

By two in the morning, Shade sat at the twenty-four-hour diner with Max, Kevin, Kelly, and Rocky, carefully avoiding their questions about Candi and her father. It wasn’t his story to share.

Candi rushed through the back door. She took several steps and stumbled out of her left shoe. By the time he got his guitar back on the stand to go help her, she’d recovered and had already bounded onto the platform. Whatever Pastor Charles said must have helped. She seemed to be in a lighter mood than the night before.

Kevin and Kelly stopped playing and singing. The song trailed off to an awkward end.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said and flipped on her keyboard. “Go ahead with your warm-up.”

Shade pointed toward the wall clock. “We’re about out of time. Do you want to go ahead and pray?”

“Sure. Let’s pray. I have something to tell you all, anyway.”

Everyone was slow to form the circle.

Kelly yawned. “Are you all as tired as I am?”

“Yep,” Max answered. “I think we all could use a few more
Z
’s.”

“I slept like a baby,” Rocky said. “For the three short hours I slept.” He reached up to snap his fingers in front of Kevin’s face. “You awake, buddy? Can’t tell if your eyes are open. Looks like you have a marshmallow under each one.”

Carol Ann’s musical laughter filled the air. “Oh,
please
. We’ve been over this. At y’all’s age you can stay up all night and it doesn’t show. Your skin is young and elastic. At
my
age, however, I still have imprints on my face from my wrinkled pillowcase three hours after I get to work in the morning.” She turned her head and leaned forward. “See? I’m sure I have one of those wicked little sleep creatures right now, and I’ve been up for hours.”

They all laughed as Candi called the group to order. “OK, listen up.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and raised them to her lips. Shade noticed a slight tremor as she took in a couple deep breaths and then seemed to relax.

“First of all, thanks for yesterday. It was phenomenal. The band did an amazing job, and I fully expect a rich harvest from the seeds that were sown.” She paused, opened her mouth to continue, and then stopped. “Sorry. It’s going to take a minute to get this out.”

“Take your time, hon,” Carol Ann said. “It’s not as if they can start church without us.”

“Secondly...I believe I owe you all an explanation about my bizarre behavior last night when my father arrived. He said he would come today, and I don’t think he will but, just in case he does, I want you all to know about him. I should have shared this with you earlier and asked for prayer, but I didn’t know how to do that. I’m beginning to figure it out, and I would appreciate your patience and your prayers.”

“Whatever you need, Candi, you know that,” Rocky said.

Shade didn’t realize he was holding his breath. He choked as he tried to exhale without making a sound. The whole exciting moment put him in mind of the first time he talked at an A.A. meeting. It wasn’t exactly the same, but he understood what it took for her to speak.

She glanced his way. He prayed she would feel his support.

She started to talk and he held his breath again. The fiercely private and ridiculously guarded Candi Canaberry was about to come clean to her friends.

And nothing encouraged him more.

14

From:
Pastor Charles Littleton

[mailto:[email protected]]

Sent:
Thursday, May 28 2:50 PM

To:
Candi Canaberry <
[email protected]
>

CC:
Shade Blackledge <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
Practice tomorrow night

Candi and Shade:

FYI: Some members of the worship committee and I will be coming by youth service practice tomorrow night to see what you all have come up with for the service so far. I know you’re working on some different music, but Max is supposed to come up with a schedule for the service for us to discuss while we’re there. By the way, do either of you have a good e-mail address for him? The one I’m using keeps bouncing back. See you tomorrow.

Charles

Shade pushed his shopping cart up and down two more rows before he headed for the check-out. Rachel observed every movement from the safety of her car seat perched atop the buggy. She babbled to herself and drew the attention of every woman they passed. Who knew slobber bubbles could be such a crowd pleaser?

They crossed the steamy parking lot. Late afternoon sun blazed down on what the weatherman had called the hottest day of the year, so far. He adjusted the canopy on the car seat to shield her from the UV rays and quickly started the Del Rio Destroyer. The old truck’s air conditioner didn’t work well, but it was better than nothing. He tossed his groceries in the truck—diapers, canned goods, and water in the bed; perishables in the cab. He double-checked the security of the car seat and hopped inside. According to his grandfather’s pocket watch, he’d beat his previous record by a full six minutes. Rachel was not impressed as she began to squirm and whimper.

“Don’t worry, punkin.” He popped the pacifier in her mouth. “We’ll be home soon.”

With just four miles to go, however, everything changed. The temperature gauge inched toward the “hot” end. He immediately exited the freeway. As he traveled down the frontage road, the tell-tale sign of curling steam began to rise from under the hood. He coasted into a vacant lot and came to rest under the awning of what, ironically, used to be a gas station.

He could check it out, but what would be the use? It was obviously a problem with the radiator. That was the one thing Max’s friend
hadn’t
worked on and was the next big repair on his list.

Rachel started to cry. He opened both doors to let the breeze blow through and scooped her out of her seat. The back of her ladybug covered t-shirt was wet with sweat. He pulled off her socks and bounced her in his arms as he paced alongside the steaming truck and tried to connect with roadside assistance. Their estimated time of arrival was dismal at best, even
with
the added issue of a screaming baby. He snapped the phone closed. Could he even get the safety seat in the tow truck?

He scrolled through his other contacts.

His parents were away on an extended Memorial Day camping trip.

Rocky was out to dinner with the people from the camp where he’d be speaking over the summer.

He couldn’t call Carol Ann. She and Bud were at work and she already had a sick mother to contend with.

Neither Kevin nor Kelly answered right away, and he realized this was the day they mentioned skiing with friends on Lake Conroe.

Wild Bill recently had a stroke.

Max was taking some girl to a movie, and Shade could never interrupt that. It might not happen again.

A.A. sponsors weren’t for this kind of emergency.

Neither was Pastor Charles, though he was sure he’d come if he asked.

His landlord? No.

José from his paint supply store? No.

Jess and Bobby? No, never, not even close.

He dialed the last option available. Though she hadn’t yet come rushing back into his arms, there was no way she wouldn’t come to help.

“Hey, I need a ride. Is there any way you could come pick us up?”

Rachel wailed and nearly wiggled out of his arms. He shifted her to the other hip.

And dropped the phone.

He could hear Candi’s worried voice as he scrambled to pick it up. “I’m here.”

“Are you OK? Is that Rachel? Is she hurt?”

“We’re fine. She’s just mad and hungry. That stupid truck stranded us on the side of the road.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said and the line went dead.

“Candi? Candi?”

He flipped his phone closed and used his t-shirt to wipe a glob of snot from Rachel’s nose. “Where do you think she’s headed?” he asked the angry baby. “She didn’t let me tell her where we are.”

His phone rang.

“Sorry. Where are you?”

“We’re at that closed gas station just off the southbound feeder road between the Irish pub and the abandoned strip center. You’ll see my truck. It’s practically on fire.”

“Got it. I’ll be right there.”

He put the baby back in the car seat and moved it to the coolest spot he could find near the building. He piled all his groceries close by and then proceeded to prepare a bottle with powdered formula and the best all-natural-spring-water his money could buy.

“I’m not saying we should lie or anything,” he said as he sat down on the concrete and cradled Rachel in his arms, “but I don’t think your mommy needs to know you ate your dinner from a bottle I made along the side of the freeway. Seriously, do you see soap and water anywhere?”

The wind from passing cars kicked up dust and swirled paper and other trash into small funnel clouds of flying debris. He draped a light blanket across them to shield Rachel’s fragile eyes.

He leaned back against the brick building. He wanted Candi to meet Rachel, but not exactly this way. In the nearly two weeks since the incident with her father she’d been upbeat and positive, but still kept him further away than he’d like to be. Pastor Charles said she needed time. He understood why. If Don Canaberry had come to church that morning to fight for his daughter, no one saw him.