Walls of Jericho. Lynn Bulock
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instead of her aggravating day.
Finally Debi Baker, the head of the fellowship group, got everyone to settle down so she could get the evening’s program started. The woman she introduced looked so polished and put together that Claire felt a twinge of envy.
Granted, anybody presenting a program to a group wanted to look her best. But how long had it been since Claire had come to fellowship in something other than a denim skirt, or maybe a pair of khakis and a cotton shirt, if she’d gotten to the ironing? Her household priorities, and picking up the slack for Ben as often as not, made her own appearance last on the list quite often. This woman looked as if she’d just stepped out of a corporate meeting.
Debi introduced her, and the woman smiled at their welcoming applause. “Thank you. I feel like part of the group already. And that’s good, because I want to lay something on your hearts this evening. It’s June. Traditionally the season for graduations. And weddings. Who could tell me what they were doing in June, say, four or five years ago?”
A few hands went up. Claire could have told the lovely speaker what she was doing any June in the last fifteen years. And none of it involved the kind of glamour she was sure that this young woman had seen in life.
“As Ms. Baker told you before, I’m Nessa Hart, and I’m the regional director of The Caring Closet. And five years ago this June, I was a single mom with two small children, collecting public assistance while watching them grow up in a St. Louis housing project.”
There was a murmur through the group. Claire found herself backing up in her chair. This woman? Collecting welfare? It didn’t add up with her polished appearance and self-confidence. When Nessa Hart began to explain how the changes in her life had come about in five years, Claire felt a thrill go through her. Talk about dramatic change.
“Once I knew Jesus, my whole life changed. But it was harder to match the changes on the inside with changes on the outside, where people could see them,” Nessa told them. “I could change my life and become a different person. But that person needed schooling to do a job, and clothes to go to interviews and get that job. That’s where The Caring Closet came in. Obviously, I’m a believer in what they do.” Nessa was smiling as she spoke. “I passed up a promotion at another job to come and work for them. And I’ve never had any doubts that this was the right decision for me. It was the only thing I could do to give back, to launch somebody else on the same path I followed.”
While Nessa went on explaining The Caring Closet’s mission in outfitting women for the work world, a persistent thought began whispering over and over through Claire’s mind. You could do this. You could really do this. It wasn’t the sort of thing she had had in mind when she asked Laurel to pray for change. But maybe it was even better. She could hardly wait to get home and talk to Ben. She didn’t even stay for cookies after fellowship—and they were chocolate chip with pecans, her favorite.
Every light was on in the house when she got to the driveway. Ben’s car was parked, and Claire could hear the commotion of the guys in the kitchen as she got out of the truck and headed for the back door.
Trent’s hockey equipment nearly tripped her just inside. Kyle was digging into the closet in the mudroom, holding a piece of pizza in one hand. “Hi, Mom,” she heard him say from halfway in the closet. “Do you know where the rest of the tent stakes are?”
“Should be in a zipper pouch with the tent, Kyle. And either look for tent stakes or eat pizza, but not both at the same time.”
“Okay.” The hand holding the pizza disappeared inside the closet with the rest of Kyle. That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant, but Claire decided to let it slide for now. She was so anxious to talk to Ben, she’d even let Kyle eat in the closet.
As she looked into the kitchen for him, an explosion rumbled from the table. It was the kind of noise that could only come from the gullet of a well-stuffed human male loaded with pizza and cola. “Ugh. What do you say, Trent?” she prompted.
“Nice resonance, Dad.” Her son’s reply brought Claire’s head up quickly.
“Benjamin Trent Jericho, you didn’t do that—did you?” His grin was all the answer she needed. “That’s terrible. What are you teaching these guys?”
“Nothing. At least, not on purpose. I’ve been on my feet for a good solid twelve hours, and I guess I ate dinner too fast. Sorry.”
Ben was pushed back from the kitchen table, tie loosened and shoes kicked off. His face showed signs of fatigue behind the grin. Claire came up behind him, not sure whether to stroke his dark hair or yank it out by the roots. The softness beneath her fingers convinced her not to pull.
“Okay, I guess I’ll let you off this once. But you didn’t have to bring home pizza. There was dinner in the refrigerator.”
Ben looked up into her face, seeming surprised. The motion pushed his head into her midsection, almost making her forget the exciting things she wanted to tell him about her fellowship meeting.
“Wow. You must want something. You don’t usually let me get away with anything that easy.” He quirked one eyebrow, questioning her.
The man knew her way too well. That was one of the downsides of marrying your high school sweetheart. Things got very predictable at times. “Maybe. Well, okay, yes. I do want something. Let me tell you about what I found out tonight.”
Ben held up a hand. “If it’s church gossip, I don’t want to know.”
Claire resisted the urge to really yank that beautiful wavy dark mane. “You know better than that. Do you want more of that soda to drink while you listen to this?”
Ben sighed. “Sure. But if you pour some for yourself, make it decaffeinated. You seem to have enough charge already this evening.”
Ben sat at the kitchen table, trying very hard to focus on what Claire was saying. It wasn’t easy. There was already so much other stuff bouncing around in his brain. And her enthusiasm made her glow. Both those things together made him want to scoop her up and take her upstairs, instead of having a serious discussion.
Claire really wanted this discussion, though, so he was going to have to put his thoughts on hold and pay attention. It was still hard for him to follow her train of thought.
“Now let me get this straight,” he said, when she paused for a moment. “This is something you really want to do on your own?” It just didn’t sound like Claire.
Claire nodded. “It really is. The women’s fellowship group is really excited about starting this community closet idea. And I could do it.”
“Sounds to me like a giant rummage sale with no profit.” At least it wasn’t going to cost him anything. Although knowing Claire, she’d find a way to make it cost him something.
Claire’s brow wrinkled. “Then you’re missing the point, or I’m not explaining things very clearly.”
“Must be me. We know you’re always crystal clear in your explanations.” That would probably get a coaster tossed at his head, but he couldn’t resist.
“Very funny. Let me try it again. Maybe I should start by asking what you don’t understand.”
“Why anybody would want to spend weeks, or maybe even months, sorting through a bunch of cast-off clothing, if you’re not going to either bale it up and send it someplace to a mission, or sell it to make a profit.”
Claire took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try to give you the short story that Nessa gave us. I did tell you about Nessa, didn’t I?”
Now it was Ben’s turn to nod. “And she must have really impressed you.”
“She did. And what she said was so simple, Ben. See, this program gathers good, gently used women’s business apparel. Then it recycles the clothing to people who need to go on job interviews, start an office job, whatever.”
Her eyes widened into dark pools again, bringing