And the Shofar Blew by Francine Rivers
The town drunk peered in the windows every few days. He had an awkward way of walking, which Stephen figured had more to do with his disability than the amount of Ripple he was drinking. Other citizens of Rockville stopped in to see how the work was progressing. Most thought Stephen was eccentric for wasting so much money on a building in the middle of a run-down town like Rockville. Even the mayor. “I’d move if I could afford to. I’ve had my house on the market for three years without an offer,” he’d told Stephen.
“Times are changing. People are commuting farther and farther to work.”
“So I hear. So I’ve been saying. Why don’t you run for mayor?”
Stephen had shaken his head. “I’m not a politician.”
“Neither am I.”
Stephen had spotted the town drunk across the street and raised his hand in greeting. The man turned his back and pretended to stare in a store window.
“That’s Jack Bodene.” The mayor shook his head. “Sad case, like a lot of other sad cases in this town. He lives in the trailer park at the end of town. First eyesore people see when they drive into Rockville. He lives on disability.”
The next time Jack peered in the front window, Stephen opened the front door. “Come on in and take a look around.”
Jack backed off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean any harm.”
“Everyone else in town has had a look-see. You might as well.” He extended his hand and introduced himself. Now that he got a closer look, he realized Jack couldn’t be more than thirty.
Edgy, Jack entered. “You’re making a pretty big mess.”
Stephen laughed. “You could say that.”
“I used to do this kind of work.” Jack scratched his shaggy beard as he looked around.
“Carpentry?”
“Restored houses.”
“I used to do what you’re doing. I had a real taste for scotch.”
“I can’t afford scotch.”
“Poison is poison, no matter the cost.”
“You don’t look the type.”
“What type would that be?”
“Loser.” It was clear he’d heard the word often.
“Lost my wife. Lost my daughter. Almost lost my business. Hit rock bottom and stayed there for a long time. Went through six months of rehab at a Salvation Army facility. I’ve been living one day at a time ever since.” He set a board on two sawhorses.
“How long has that been?”
“Twelve years.” He pushed the plane along the edge of the board, leaning on it deliberately. “It’s helped to have friends to keep me accountable.” Samuel Mason had been a godsend.
Jack winced. “You’re gouging that wood.”
Stephen straightened. “Be my guest.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Can’t do worse than I am.” He watched Jack closely. Not bad. “How long since you had a job?”
“Year and a half. Didn’t finish my last project.”
“Why not?”
“Fell. Broke both legs. Spent six months in the hospital. Got addicted to pain medications. Went bankrupt.” He made a long smooth run with the plane, and a perfect curl of wood came up. “Then things got really bad.”
A drunk with a sense of humor. Stephen liked him. Jack looked like he’d been living on the poor side of Bosnia too long. He was thin, his hair long and shaggy. He needed a bath, a shave, some clean clothes, a new pair of boots. “Booze won’t help you get back on your feet. Take it from someone who knows.”
“No, but it helps me forget.”
“Forget what?”
Jack gave him a tired, cynical smile. “What are you? A shrink playing weekend warrior?”
“I’m an architect and contractor.” Stephen grinned. “It’s just been a while since I’ve done any real work.”
“Better stick to your drawing board or you’ll waste a lot of good wood.”
“I could use a good man.”
“Better keep looking.” Jack looked around the room again, slowly, sadly. “I’m an alcoholic. Ask anyone in town. I’m not sure I could do it.”
Stephen had the feeling Jack was talking about more than carpentry. “You just took your first step toward sobriety, my friend. The bottom line is you can’t. My sponsor at rehab taught me something that’s stuck with me and taken me through those days when my mouth is dry and I think I’m dying for a drink. ‘I can’t; God can; I turn my will over to God.’ ”
“Helps if you believe in God.”
“Give Him a try. He’ll surprise you every time.”
“I don’t know. Is that going to be a condition of employment?”
“No. But I’m a Christian, and Jesus is the center of who I am now and who I want to be from here forward. He gives me the strength to get through the day without a drink. So if you take on this project, you’ll be hearing a lot about Him while you work.”
Jack looked around again. “Beats talking politics.”
Stephen chuckled. “What do you say we break for lunch first? I have a couple of subs in the fridge. Usually stock up on Friday before coming back from a job site in Sacramento.” He opened the refrigerator, took out a white paper–wrapped sandwich, and handed it to Jack before looking back in the fridge. “I’ve got sodas, fruit juice, milk or water. Or strong coffee.”
“Coffee.” Jack tore the paper off the sandwich and took a big bite.
“Where are you living, Jack?”
He swallowed. “Trailer park.” He took another big bite.
Stephen poured coffee into a thermal cup with a lid.
Jack’s hands shook as he took it. “You got some plans to this madness?”
“Take a look.” Stephen rolled out the blueprints and tacked them down.
Nursing his coffee, Jack looked them over. “You would’ve saved yourself a lot of money demolishing this place and starting from scratch.”
“I know, but I needed the challenge.”
“Some challenge. What’re you hoping to make of this building? You got a split personality going here. Renovation, restoration, modernization.”
“I’m trying to keep the old touches.”
“Like the foundation you laid. Nice job, by the way.”
“And some of the old fixtures, the style. This floor will be my office and work area; upstairs will be my living area. Basement for game room, guest quarters, whatever. I don’t know yet. I’m replacing boards upstairs right now. Come and take a look.”
Jack followed, hitching his right leg up each step. He looked at the metal braces holding the roof in place. “Well, that’s a modern touch, all right. You planning on leaving it like that?”
“I’ve been debating the high rounded ceilings, but I’ve never done that kind of work, and I’m not sure I want to tackle plastering. What do you think of redwood beams?”
“Oh, sure. No problem.” He snorted. “If you’re related to Rockefeller. Why don’t you just plate those pipes in gold? It’d be cheaper and you’d have a whole new look.”
“Okay. What do you suggest?”
Jack drank some more coffee, still eyeing the ceiling. “You’ve raised the roof enough to have an attic. Close it off, put in insulation, add subflooring, and you can have your storage area up there. I can build you a slat frame if you can install it. I can’t work on a ladder anymore.”
“And the plastering?”
“I know a guy who does first-rate plastering. Crown molding would look good in here. You going to have central air?”
“Not sure.”
“It’ll cost you a fortune to put into this place. An insulated attic will help with that, and you can wire it for ceiling fans. Otherwise, you’re going to bake like a Thanksgiving turkey come summer.” He looked around. “What about the rest?”
“Open space. Strictly functional. Over there will be a kitchenette with built-in stove, microwave, double sinks, dishwasher, wall refrigerator-freezer above the counter space, breakfast bar. Bookshelves, entertainment center on that wall.”
“Good idea. When do you want to start work?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. As a matter of fact, I could use a hand right now.”
Paul hung up the telephone and sank back in his office chair. It was the ninth complaint in four days about the music Eunice was choosing for Sunday morning worship services. Her recent solo had sent ripples of discomfort and disgust through the congregation. Had she discussed her selection with him, he would have told her to choose something else. Now he was the one fielding complaints and trying to smooth the ruffled feathers and outraged sensibilities of several primary donors to the church.
Even Sheila had remarked about Eunice’s choice when she had come for her counseling session. “The whole idea of blood is rather repulsive to me.”
The problem was how to tell Eunice. He felt uncomfortable with the idea of telling his wife she was causing trouble for him. Music had always been one of the most important aspects of her life and her part of the ministry.
“Eunice has a beautiful voice, Pastor Paul,” Ralph Henson had said the other day. “It’s what she’s singing that has so many people upset. If we want to appeal to the younger generation, we need to keep the services upbeat.” The new associate, John Deerman, didn’t agree, but he hadn’t been around long enough to get with the program. Paul would have to set him straight on a few things.
Eunice was in the kitchen when he got home, a bowl of tossed green salad on the counter with a carafe of homemade salad dressing. She was taking chicken breasts from a marinade and arranging them on the broiler pan. “How was your day?”
“Busy.” He loosened his tie. “Looks good.” When she glanced at him, he felt a sharp twinge of guilt. “I’m going to get into sweats.” He needed to buy more time before he talked to her about the complaints.
She slid the chicken onto the top rack in the oven. “What’s the problem, Paul?” She spoke evenly. Leaning back against the counter, she looked into his eyes. Hers were clear, guileless.
She was the problem. “We’ll talk about it after I change.”
Tossing his suit jacket into the wing chair near the windows, he went into their closet. He shouldn’t make such a big deal of this. All he had to do was explain. She’d listen to reason. She always had. Why this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that things would never be the same between them after tonight? All he was going to do was ask her to select music compatible with his seeker-friendly services. She’d understand.
When he saw lit candles on the dining-room table, he felt sick. Taking his seat at the head of the table, he prayed, emphasizing their call to draw others to Christ.
“What’s bothering you, Paul?”
“Let’s eat first.” He cut a bite of chicken breast and jammed it into his mouth. He took a sip of ice water and swallowed.
“Is the chicken too dry?”
“No. It’s great. As always.”
She took the white linen napkin off the table and laid it in her lap. “You have a meeting tonight, don’t you?”
“Not until eight.”
“I’ll be leaving at seven-fifteen.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“So?”
“I’ve been attending Samuel’s Bible study.”
Irritated, Paul looked at her across the table. “I thought we had an agreement. People might get the wrong idea about why you’re going.”
“The people attending the study don’t attend our church anymore.”
His irritation deepened into anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s the way things are, Paul.” She took a small bite of chicken.
He put down his fork. “What’s going on, Eunice? What’s with you, anyway?”
She stared back at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you really going to Samuel’s?”
She searched his eyes. “To study the Bible and spend time with believers who are also friends. And it’s the one place I can be myself.”
“It couldn’t have anything to do with Stephen Decker, could it? He goes to that Bible study, doesn’t he?”
Her lips parted. “Not anymore. Why?” She stared at him. “What are you implying?”
“Stay away from him.”
She put her fork down. “Stephen stopped attending shortly after I started. He moved to Rockville. I love you, Paul. Surely you don’t doubt that.”
Her perusal made him nervous. “I don’t doubt it.” He took another bite of chicken.
“Then what did you mean by what you just said?”
He thought of Sheila and gulped down his bite of chicken. “Never mind. It’s not important. Forget it.”
“What’s really going on, Paul?”
It wasn’t like he was having an affair with Rob Atherton’s wife. One kiss, that’s all that had happened. “Nothing.” He drank half a glass of water and could still feel the heat rising up his neck. He concentrated on his dinner. “Let’s just leave it alone. Okay?”
“Why is your face all red?”
He put his knife and fork down loudly. “Because I’m mad! All right?”
She flinched, eyes widening.
Why did she have to look at him like that? She knew how to push all his buttons. “Maybe I do doubt your loyalty. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me this week?” Was she doing it on purpose?
She left her meal untouched. Cocking her head, she searched his eyes again. “You might as well tell me. If you don’t spit it out soon, it’s going to choke you.”
“Okay. You offended several very important people with the songs you’ve selected the last few Sundays.”
“By very important people, whom do you mean? Those with money?”
Heat surged into his face again. His heart hammered. Clenching his fists, he glared at her. “Maybe you have the luxury of being impartial, Eunice, but I don’t. People get offended. The church bills don’t get paid. Everything comes to a screeching halt. Is that what you want?”
“Is everything we do in ministry now based on how much money comes in?”
“Are you trying to pick a fight? Ever since Tim moved in with my mother, you’ve been sulking.”
“Not sulking, Paul. Grieving.”
She was pushing again. “I miss him, too, you know. I’m his father.” He kept looking at her, staring hard. “Just don’t do it again, Eunice. I don’t want another day like today.”
“I have to follow my conscience, Paul.”
He couldn’t believe she was defying him. “And I don’t? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” She bowed her head. Her silence was answer enough. “I think you need to take a break from the music ministry. Until you’re back on an even keel.” His appetite was gone. He couldn’t even pretend. “Look. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Eunice, but you’ve betrayed my trust in you. You’ve set yourself against my ministry.”
She folded her napkin and put it back on the table. “You can’t please everyone all the time. You have to make choices. I’ve had to make choices.”
He shifted in his chair. “A number of people have found the hymns you’ve chosen depressing.”
“How could they be depressing? They were about salvation.”
“You know what I mean. Why do you have to make this difficult for me?”
“Am I going to have a right to defend myself? Or has some kind of decision already been made? Tell me who and how I offended.”
“You chose two hymns the week before last about the blood of Christ. Do you remember?”
“Two out of six.”
“And then you sang a solo about the Crucifixion. There are a number of people—including one of our elders, not to mention others—who find the subject . . . less than appealing, for lack of a better word. Do you understand now?”
He re
“There was a time when you listened to me, Paul.”
“I still listen.”
Her expression softened. “Then I hope you will take this as it’s intended, with love behind it.” She took a deep breath. “If our people are not going to hear about Jesus shedding His blood for them in the sermons, they need to hear about it in the music.”
For all the quiet sweetness of her voice, the words came like a hard slap in his face. “I’m sorry you think so little of my ministry.”
“I think a great deal of you,” she said gently. “I love you.”
“Then you might try showing it. Love means loyalty.”
“Love also means telling you when you’re wrong.”
“Maybe you need to remember your place. I’m the pastor, not you.”
“What is my place, Paul, if not to be honest with my husband?”
He stared at her for a moment. “You’re not going to compromise, are you?”
“No. I’m afraid I’ve compromised too much already.”
“Okay, Eunice. Have it your way. LaVonne Lockford will be selecting the music from now on.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you think LaVonne cares as much about your ministry as I do?”
“I think you’re a little confused about what part you play in my life. You’re supposed to be my helpmate. Instead, you’ve become a hindrance.”
“I’m not fighting you, Paul.”
“Oh yes, you are!”
“There is a battle going on, Paul, but it’s spiritual, not physical.”
He was shaking. “And you think you’re more spiritual than I am? You think you’re a better Christian? You know what I think this is all about? I think you’ve been against me since Tim moved in with my mother. I think this is all about your resentment, you feeling sorry for yourself, and you trying to get back at me for whatever you think I did wrong as a father! Try denying it! Just try it!”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. “How little you really know me.”