Who Is My Shelter? (16 page)

The female driver in the car next to me at a stoplight looked at me strangely. But I didn't care. Because all of a sudden, there it was, and I hollered it out:

The earth all around me is sinking sand
On Christ the solid Rock I stand
When I need a shelter, when I need a friend
I go to the Rock—

Beeeep! Beeeep!
The guy behind me was leaning on his horn to tell me the light had changed. I waved an “Excuse me!” at him but I was grinning. How about that! Both gospel songs used the phrase “On Christ the Solid Rock I stand . . .”
Hm
. As soon as I got to work, I was going to make a little sign and tape it to my computer. Usually when the phrase of a song imprinted itself on my brain, God had a purpose for putting it there.

Something told me I was going to need it.

As far as I could tell, the boys had managed to coexist in our apartment without incident last evening. Maybe my strategy of not making too big a deal of the whole situation—continuing to include Jermaine in our lives in a normal way but not expecting P.J. to be his best friend—was paying off. But the difference in personality between Paul and P.J. often perplexed me. Paul was easygoing, outgoing, friendly, easy to love—not to mention his hair and complexion took after my natural reddish curls and freckles— while P.J. had the dark good looks of his father and some of his surly attitudes too. I had to be careful not to play favorites, to give P.J. as much unconditional love as I gave Paul.

Help me know how to love my boys, dear God
, I prayed, threading my way through the usual Wednesday morning here-to-see-the-nurse crowd in the dining room and shutting my office door on the hubbub. I reached for my Bible.
And I could use some help with
my
attitude when I talk to Shawanda today. Help me to see the God-given potential You see in her, Lord
.

When I finally felt fortified with some Bible reading and prayer, I settled down to my first task: typing up the list of rules and expectations we'd come up with at the house meeting last night. Printing out a “Letter of Understanding” that would need to be signed by each resident, I pulled open my office door to go find Shawanda— and ran smack dab into Lucy Tucker, nearly knocking her down.

“Hey!” she growled. “You always got ta be in such a hurry, Fuzz Top?” A couple of raspy coughs punctuated her fuss.

The scarf tied around her head—one of my mother's, given as a memento—was damp, as was the sweater she had pulled over several other layers of clothing. The weeklong on-again, off-again October drizzle must have started up again. “Hi, Lucy. I'm glad to see you too.” I grinned at her. “Hope you're here to check out that cough. You don't want to get bronchitis again like last spring.”

Lucy glared at me. “Don' remember askin' you ta be my mother. I'm twice as old as you, missy, and still livin' an' breathin' ta tell about it.”

I had no idea how old Lucy was in actual years, but I came back at her. “You can't be
twice
as old as me. I'm turning forty on Friday.”

The old woman looked me up and down. “
Humph
. Forty, eh? Ya still wet behind th' ears.” She shouldered past me into my office. “What I come for is to fill up my bucket with more dog food. Gotta put some fat on Dandy, get him ready for winter.”

That alarmed me. “Lucy, you're not planning on you and Dandy spending the winter outside, are you?” What had I been thinking, giving my mother's dog to an elderly bag lady who dragged all her worldly possessions around in a wire cart and spent more time on the streets than in a shelter? “You need—”

Lucy hummed loudly as she filled her plastic bucket from one of the twenty-five-pound bags of dog food that had been donated to the shelter after Dandy's heroic routing of a nighttime burglar.
Fine
. She wasn't going to listen to me. I flounced out the door and resumed my original errand to hunt up Shawanda.

But one of these days—soon—we needed to have a sit-down about how Lucy and Dandy were going to survive this winter.

chapter 15

I found Shawanda sprawled in a beanbag chair in the playroom on the main floor, idly leafing through a magazine and chewing gum while two-year-old Bam-Bam pulled toys off the shelves, scattering the pieces of Legos and puzzles, then moving on to the next shelf. Three-year-old Dessa was tugging on her mother's leg, whining about something, and being ignored.

Gotta help me here, Lord
. “Shawanda? Got a minute?”

The young black woman, her long legs encased in skinny jeans, hair gelled and coiled tight to her head, shrugged. “Sure. Whatchu want?”

I tested my weight on one of the small wooden tables and sat while I explained the concept of second-stage housing, then said we might have space in a shared apartment for her and her kids.

The magazine slipped to the floor and her face perked up. “For real? Ya mean me an' the kids can get outta this dump into a real apartment? Who else be in the apartment?”

“Celia Jones and her granddau—”

“Well then, that's cool. Celia's all right. So when can we move in?”

“First of next month, if all goes well. You would need to fill out an application, because the House of Hope partners with the city, which would subsidize your rent. And you would still work with your case manager here at Manna House on finishing your GED and—”

“GED! That schoolin' be such a joke. What I
want
is daycare for these babies so I can get me a
job
. How'm I s'posed ta find a job with these two hangin' 'round my neck all day?” A wail erupted from across the room. “Bam-Bam! Quit hittin' on your sister. Don't make me come over there.” Shawanda balled her fist in a threatening gesture, then turned back to me and wiggled her shoulders in a little joy-dance. “Oh
yeah
. I'll be glad to get out from under all the
rules
they got in this place. Gotta sign out ever' time I leave, gotta be in by eight at night, gotta do those dumb chores. What a load of—”

“Shawanda!” My voice was sharper than I intended, so I took a deep breath, then continued. “You need to understand that the House of Hope is affiliated with Manna House and we also have rules. Here.” I handed her the sheet I'd typed up from our meeting last night. “Look that over. If you can sign this agreement to abide by these rules and expectations, then let's talk. If not—well, there are others waiting in line for the House of Hope.”

I managed to get out the door without giving Shawanda a
real
piece of my mind. Who did the girl think she was? Frankly, I hoped she'd read the rules and flip off the opportunity. Good riddance.

But back in my office, Mabel's compassionate words fought with my attitude.
“Every woman has God-given potential within her, some just need more help than others to develop that potential. Including Shawanda
.”

I groaned and put my head in my hands.
Okay, Lord. I'm going to have to trust You with this one. If she signs the agreement—well, guess we'll take her and hold her to it. But if Shawanda has some God-given potential You want developed at the House of Hope, You're going to have to reveal it, because it sure isn't obvious to me!

Opening my eyes, I saw the card on which I'd written the phrase from those gospel songs:
“On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand!
” I smiled ruefully. Guess we'd find out soon enough whether the House of Hope was being built on “sinking sand” or Solid Rock.

The drizzles stopped and the sun came out Thursday. “Looks like it's going to be a nice weekend for my birthday,” I told the boys, who had the TV on when the weather guy popped up on the evening news. “Almost sixty degrees on Saturday! Hey, we haven't ridden the bike trail along Lake Michigan yet. This might be our last chance before winter. Whaddya say?”

“Uh, Mom, hello. The cross country team has regional meets this Saturday. I
told
you.” P.J. rolled his eyes. “Besides, you left your bike in Virginia, remember?”

“Aren't we staying with Dad Friday night and Saturday?” Paul added.

I made a face. “Details. I could probably borrow a bike from Edesa. She and Josh have bikes in the basement. What time will your regionals be over? If you're done by, say, two o'clock, I'll ask your dad if I can borrow you a couple hours early. Or we could go Sunday afternoon. Come on . . . let's do it!”

P.J. shrugged. “I guess. If I'm not pooped after running all morning.”

Paul pulled a puppy-dog face. “It doesn't seem right to leave you tomorrow night on your birthday, Mom. Maybe we should skip going to Dad's this weekend.”

I tousled his chestnut head, which insisted on curling even though it was cut short. “Aw, that's sweet of you, hon. But the actual day isn't that important. How about if we declare the whole weekend ‘Mom's birthday'? That way you have to be extra nice to me for three whole days!” I laughed as I headed back toward the kitchen. “Starting tomorrow morning—better yet, starting
tonight
. Which means you guys get to do the dishes.”

“Use paper plates, then!” P.J. yelled after me.

“Can't!” I hollered back. “We're having chili!”

But as cheerful as I tried to be about the boys going to their dad's on Friday, I dreaded spending my birthday evening alone. If things hadn't changed between Lee and me, he'd probably take me out to a fancy restaurant and we'd have a great time talking and laughing.

For that matter, I told myself as I drove to work the next morning, if things hadn't changed between Philip and me in the first place, I'd be spending my birthday with my husband and kids, blowing out forty candles—and Philip would get all forty on the cake, I was sure of that. He used to be quite the romantic, getting me a dozen red roses every birthday, and another dozen for our anniversary . . .

I blinked back tears of self-pity as I parked the car near the shelter. No roses this year. Wasn't even sure if anyone at Manna House knew it was my birthday.

But I did have a surprise waiting for me in my cubbyhole office. A sheet of paper had been shoved under the door. I flicked on the light and picked up the “Letter of Understanding” I'd given to Shawanda—with her signature scrawled across the bottom.

I spent the morning making plans for the first annual Manna House Fall Getaway, only a week away now. So far eleven residents had signed up, plus me, Angela Kwon, and Edesa Baxter, who would function as staff. We could take one more and still fit into Moby Van without needing extra transportation. But we still needed to plan meals and shop for food. This was a do-it-yourself retreat house, one reason we were able to get it for a reasonable price. Maybe Angela could help with food, and I was counting on Edesa to lead a prayer and devotion time on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Which reminded me—could I sneak into Edesa's Bible study in Shepherd's Fold this morning? I wondered if she was still doing the
Bad Girls of the Bible
studies, which had gotten a better-than-usual turnout from the residents. But a quick glance at the clock told me it was almost over. Where had the time gone this morning? It was nearly time for lunch.

Whatever Estelle was making, it smelled wonderful. As soon as I heard the lunch bell, I joined the residents and staff lining up along the far wall of the dining room as Estelle and her lunch crew set out the final dishes on the open counter separating kitchen and eating space. “Gabby Fairbanks!” Estelle called out from the kitchen. “I don't see Mabel yet. Would you bless the food so we can feed these folks?”

I still wasn't comfortable praying out loud in front of people. On the other hand, it was easy to thank God for Estelle's good cooking, so I did. “. . . And we also thank You, gracious God, for the beautiful day outside today, for sunshine and warmth and beautiful leaves on trees.” Once I started, my heart seemed to swell with gratefulness. “And for each precious sister You have brought here to live or work, and for the good plans You have for each one—”

“An' hallelujah, thank You, Jesus, an' all that, amen. Let's eat!” interrupted a raspy voice, which was greeted by a whole lot of other “Amens” and snickers.

Lucy.

“Okay, okay.” I grinned as she joined me in the line. “What brings you here today? Let's see, you already got dog food earlier this week. And last time I looked, it wasn't raining—yes, yes, hello to you, too, Dandy.” I gave the Manna House mascot a scratch on the rump.

“I got reasons. Fer one thing, came to sign up fer that little trip ya got goin' next weekend. Kinda liked that trip you an' me took out west to bury your ma, but it was real long, ya know? A weekend sounds more ta my likin'. Be good to get off these streets a few days. Where ya goin' again?”

“Really?” I hadn't expected Lucy to sign up. But we did have one more seat on the van. “Well, that's great. We're going up to Devil's Lake State Park in Wisconsin to see the fall colors. But this place we're renting doesn't allow pets. What about Dandy?”