Their Christmas Prayer. Myra Johnson
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sensed the same leading. His second time around, they ultimately agreed their personality differences would only lead to problems down the road. But a huge factor for Shaun was the fear of divided loyalties. Could he sustain a healthy marriage while also devoting himself to mission service? And what of children? Starting a family involved a whole different set of decisions.
Now here he was, ankle-deep in soiled shavings and doing nothing remotely close to the plans and goals he’d set for himself as a seminary student. Was that the root of his current dissatisfaction—that he’d rushed ahead with his own agenda instead of listening more closely for God’s direction?
He couldn’t deny he’d experienced a sense of peace and relief when he’d first returned to the States and Greg had suggested he spend some time in Juniper Bluff. So maybe his stay here—yes, even the Christmas outreach project—was part of God’s will.
As for meeting Brooke Willoughby? Guess he’d have to wait and see.
Two hours later, he climbed into the battered green hatchback he’d held onto since college, mainly so he’d have something to drive during his stateside visits. Arriving at the deli, he claimed a table to wait for Brooke. When she sauntered in, curls loose about her shoulders and wearing a tunic-length striped sweater over black leggings, he allowed himself an appreciative grin. Working on this project with someone as sharp and as pretty as Brooke Willoughby definitely earned a mark in the plus column.
Pulling out the chair across from him, she nodded as he stood to welcome her. “I like a guy who’s prompt.”
“Don’t get used to it. A fresh deli sandwich just sounded a lot more appealing than another PB and J with Kent.”
Brooke laughed as she set her tote next to her chair. “Can’t blame you. Shall we talk first or get some lunch?”
“Breakfast was a long time ago. I vote for lunch,” Shaun said over his rumbling stomach. “Tell me what you’d like and I’ll place our order.”
He returned shortly with two sandwiches, potato chips and iced teas. “The one with the straw is your sweet tea,” he said. “Everything else is the same.”
Unwrapping her sandwich, Brooke cast him a smile. “You got the ham and Swiss on rye, too?”
“My favorite. And sour-cream-and-onion chips—missed those like crazy overseas.” Shaun ripped open the bag.
“Not a fan of sweet tea, though?”
He grimaced. “Makes my mouth pucker.”
Remembering his commitment to start these meetings with prayer, he offered thanks for the meal and asked the Lord to bless their discussion. Considering how long it had taken them to narrow down their top-three list the other morning, agreeing on a single best plan of action would require God’s help in abundance.
They settled into comfortable silence while they ate. The way Brooke held her sandwich just so, keeping the bottom half in the wrapper so the juices didn’t drip, then dabbing the corners of her lips after every bite, Shaun couldn’t picture her ever being comfortable in a Third World country. And since it looked more and more like his sabbatical would be over by the end of the year, whatever other common likes or dislikes they might discover were moot.
Finishing the last bite of her sandwich, Brooke wadded up the wrapper. “Guess we should get started.”
After another swig of tea, Shaun reached beneath his chair for the steno pad he’d been using to collect his thoughts.
He watched with amusement while Brooke cleared a space on the small table for her tablet computer with attached keyboard. She laid her cell phone beside it. After several keystrokes and a few scowls and hmms while she appeared to search for her notes, she looked up with a satisfied smile. “Okay, all set.”
With great flourish, Shaun flipped open his steno pad and whipped a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket. “Me, too.”
Her scowl returned, but a teasing glint flashed in her eyes. “You’re purposely trying to annoy me, I can tell.”
“Who, me?” What was it about this woman that brought out his playful side? Or was he merely growing more and more relaxed the longer he stayed in Juniper Bluff? Either way, it was a welcome change. He sat back and crossed his arms. “Since you’re so organized, why don’t you go first?”
“I will, thank you.” Brooke arched a brow as she turned her attention to her tablet screen. “Of the top three ideas we’d settled on, I’m leaning toward collecting grocery items and delivering them to needy families so they can make their own Christmas dinner. One of the agencies I contacted said they could provide some names.”
“Christmas dinner? Is that the best we can do?” Shaun had already crossed that idea off his list. All humor evaporating, he flipped to the page where he’d jotted his reasons. “Donating a few turkeys, yams and cans of cranberry sauce sounds easy and doable. But it’s one meal. So we do our good deed for the holiday and feel good about ourselves for the rest of the year, while these families face another year of wondering how they’re going to feed their kids or keep a roof over their heads? Sorry, that doesn’t work for me.”
Brooke stiffened. “Obviously, you have strong feelings about this. I wish you’d said something before we included that option on our list.”
He hadn’t meant to offend her, but clearly he had. He lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’ve had more time to think about it, that’s all, and I think we can do better. I’d rather we choose something that will benefit the recipients for more than a single day.”
Lips pursed, Brooke typed something into her tablet. “Okay, one of our other ideas was organizing a Christmas store. We talked about collecting toys, clothing and other items, and then bringing families in to select Christmas gifts for each other—things they’d be able to use year-round.” She shot him a raised-eyebrow glare that communicated, I dare you to shoot this one down.
He drew a deep breath. “On the surface, it seems like a good plan. But you know what they say. Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day—”
“Teach a man to fish and he’ll never go hungry.” Brooke nodded briskly. “I get it, okay? But this is just a Christmas outreach. That’s all we signed up for. We’re not out to save the world.”
Fist clenched in his lap, Shaun glanced away. “Just doesn’t cut it for me, Brooke. Never has, never will.” Scooting his chair back, he gathered up his pen and steno pad along with the trash from his lunch. “Sorry to cut this short, but I told Kent I’d mow his lawn this afternoon. I should get going.”
What just happened here? Brooke picked up her jaw before it crashed onto her tablet keyboard. She swiveled in time to see Shaun toss his trash into the nearest receptacle before he marched out of the deli.
“We never even got to idea number three,” she muttered, her gaze shooting daggers at Shaun’s rapidly retreating back. Oh, well, he probably had a dozen reasons why he didn’t like that one, either.
Then why hadn’t he said something the other day when they were first paring down their list?
Her glance fell upon a nearby display of baked goods, where a tin of chocolate-frosted brownies sprinkled with walnuts caught her eye. Unable to resist, she hurried to stow her tablet and dispose of her trash, then took the brownies to the deli cashier. Five minutes later, she sat in her car with the open container on her lap. She was just about frustrated enough to eat the whole batch.
Sanity prevailed, however, and she stopped at two. After finding a used tissue to wipe crumbs and frosting off her lips and fingers, she decided some retail therapy was in order. Maybe not as good for her wallet but much better for the waistline. She headed downtown and parked at one end of Main Street across from the town square.
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