Faith went to sleep thinking about her parents' early years of marriage. Evidently it hadn't exactly been a picnic if they had enough disagreements to provide ideas for weeks of marital conflict for Mama's sociology class.
"I wonder if any of their problems were of the magnitude of mine and Aaron's," she thought as she drifted into sleep.
The next morning, Faith prepared to put her plan to meet Kyra into action. She went to a dollar store and picked up a notebook. While she ate breakfast on the patio, she scribbled her book outline into the notebook. She wrote the name of an abortion book on the top of a page and penned a few notes from her reading of the previous day. She wrote They Chose Life and made notations about some of the stories she had read.
On another page, she wrote the snippet of conversation between Kyra and her friend. She didn't know if she was going to tell Kyra that she had overheard that conversation. If she did, she could show it to her. If she didn't, then she would still have the information. The more Faith thought about it, the more excited she was about the book concept. Maybe she would actually try writing a novel based on her research.
Finally, she drew a rough layout of the area around the nursing building. Deciding that she had enough to look like she was actually doing research for a book, she tucked the notebook into her backpack, along with a couple of books on abortion.
By the time Faith finished her preparations, it was 10:00. She imagined that Kyra was probably finished with her morning shift and into study mode. Taking her backpack, she headed for Starbucks.
Today the coffee shop was relatively quiet. Evidently nursing was not the only class dismissed for the day. Only Kyra and one other student hunched over books while sipping steaming cups of brew. A couple of patrons dressed for business waited for drinks to be prepared.
Faith bought a cup of Chai Tea and settled at a table adjacent to Kyra. She placed her notebook on the table and took out a book that was pro-abortion. She had spent the previous day reading the con side of the issue. Any author writing on a young woman's struggle to decide whether to abort would have to be versed in both viewpoints. She hoped Kyra would notice the title of her book and strike up a conversation.
After 20 minutes, Kyra had hardly even glanced Faith's way. After another 15 minutes, Kyra stretched and called out, "Hey, Justin. I need another mocha. It's about time to douse my brain again."
Deciding this was her chance, Faith took the plunge. She smiled at Kyra. "You look like you need a break, and I need a medical student whose brain I can pick." Kyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Purely research," Faith added hastily. "I'm trying to write my first novel. One of my characters is a nursing student, but I don't have any inside knowledge about the schedule of an aspiring nurse. Things like that."
Kyra picked up her heavy textbook. "I'm a nursing student, but I'm studying for midterms," she said.
"Mocha's up," Justin shouted.
Faith shrugged. "Midterms are definitely more compelling than novelists. I'm not going anywhere. If you need a break, think of me."
"Will do," Kyra said as she got up to go get her coffee.
Faith resumed reading, masking her disappointment with an open volume. She did notice Kyra glance down at her book as she returned to her table. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. Over the next 30 minutes, Faith noticed Kyra cut her eyes towards her several times. Faith was certain she had the girl's attention and that eventually Kyra would take the bait.
Faith got up and ordered another cup of tea. As she returned to her table, Kyra looked up and said, "I need that break now. Why don't you join me? I haven't got much of a brain left to pick, but I'm all yours."
"Great." Faith set her tea down and scooped up her things. She deposited them across from Kyra. Holding out her hand, she said, "I'm Angelica." She used her middle name. She had already decided that since she had emailed Kyra as Faith, she wouldn't use her first name. She didn't want to set off any warning bells.
"Kyra," the girl answered. "So how can I enlighten you?"
"I went to LSU," Faith said. "But I was in journalism, and I don't know much about nursing students. My character is going to attend ULM, so here I am. Tell me about your program. How demanding is it? Do you have much time to socialize? That kind of thing."
Kyra told her about the program in purely objective, factual terms.
"How about the emotional stuff?" Faith said. "Are the students competitive or helpful? If they're competitive, how does that show up? Ever want to scratch someone's eyes out or spike their drink? Are you scared you'll make irreversible mistakes? Are you so tired at night that you just want to crash, or do you have time to party?"
"That kinda stuff's subjective," Kyra said. "Answers would vary depending on life circumstances, personality, and other things."
"True," Faith said. "Just give me your take. No one will ever know how I got my info. What I'm striving for is authenticity."
Kyra looked around the coffee shop. A few more students had drifted in. Finally she said, "Well I don't see any med students who might overhear. The university rumor mill, you know."
After about 15 minutes of conversation about the atmosphere at the nursing school, Kyra said, "I couldn't help but notice that you're reading a pro-abortion book. Is your character going to have an abortion?"
"Well, she's struggling with the decision," Faith said. "She hasn't decided what to do yet."
"She hasn't decided? You're the author. Don't you decide?"
"Sort of. When you write, the characters take on lives of their own. Sometimes they surprise you."
"I thought this was your first book."
Faith laughed. "It is my first full-length novel. I've written short stories and one novella. Not that any of them have made print yet. The only things I've written that have been printed are obituaries, and I don't get a bi-line for those."
"So will your nursing student be based on me?"
"Loosely, I guess, since it's your brain I'm picking. But I don't really know much about you other than these few minutes of conversation so my character won't really be you. There'll just be a little of you in her," Faith said. "That's what 'based on' means. When a movie or book is 'based on' a real life situation, it means that somewhere buried in the book or movie there's a shred of truth."
"If it's authenticity you're after, I've got an idea," Kyra said. "How long are you going to be around soaking up atmosphere?"
"I'm here for a week," Faith said. "This is my third day. By next Monday, I've got to go back to gathering statistics and writing obits."
"That book you're reading will give you the pro side of abortion. I can give you the rest of the story."
"How so?"
"I'll fix supper for you tomorrow night. I'm no gourmet cook, but I make a mean chicken spaghetti. You can get a feel for how poor nursing students live. Afterwards I'll take you to an abortion recovery group I facilitate. If the girls agree, I'll let you sit in on a meeting. If your character decides to have an abortion, you'll know what she'll be dealing with on an emotional level."
"Wow," Faith said. "Looks like I stumbled on the right brain to pick."
"Read my blog. There's a hot debate going on about abortion," she said. "I won't be able to add you to my friends until I get home from work, so don't try to get on until after 9 tonight," she added. "Just jot down your email address, and I'll take care of it."
"If you've got an abortion blog going, how come your site's restricted?" Faith asked as she wrote down the email address she'd had the forethought to create for Angelica.
"It didn't used to be, but I got some emails that concerned me. You never know what kind of weirdoes you might attract." Kyra sighed, her mouth turning down for a moment. "I've thought about creating a different site just for the abortion debate. I think it's important to keep it going. Restricting the site does limit the discussion."
"I hadn't thought about the possibility of attracting undesirables," Faith said. "It'll be interesting to read what's there, though. Thanks for your help. I'll be looking forward to tomorrow night. What time's supper?"
"Sixish. The group starts at 7:30."
An elated Faith left with Kyra's phone number, physical address, and MySpace address. She hadn't gotten any information about Kyra's high school or her relationship to Aaron, but she was a lot closer to her goal. An invitation to Kyra's house was just the chance she needed. Now she had a whole day to shop and read before she met Kyra again.
#
One week David suggested I pose a religious dilemma for my students, perhaps having the boy from one religion and the girl from another. Since most of our students were unfamiliar with varying religious traditions, I countered that one should be more involved religiously than the other.
The night that we discussed religious involvement, David and I stayed up talking into the wee hours of the morning. Both of us had begun to realize that part of the reason we were drifting was that we'd moved God to the sidelines of our life. What He demanded was center stage.
"The Bible tells us to seek first God's kingdom and His righteousness and He'll add all the other things," David told me. "That verse follows God telling us not to worry about what we'll eat, drink, or wear. We haven't had any problems with the necessities of life, but we have had problems finding fulfillment. We've sought things first, not God. If I really believe God is who He says He is, then I have to give Him everything, Syd. He wants me to preach the gospel. I've known that since I was a teenager."
At that confession, I burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" David asked, evidently hurt that I found humor in his moment of true confession.
"I'm sorry, David, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at me. God certainly has a sense of humor. As a preacher's kid, I always felt like I was living in a glass house. Our parishioners reported my every transgression to my parents. I swore that I would never put my children in that position by marrying a minister. I guess God had to marry me off and then turn you into a preacher."
The fact that I could laugh at the prospect of being a preacher's wife was a sign of God's work in my life. I had broken up with my first semi-steady college boyfriend when he surrendered to the ministry. When I met him, he was part of a Christian band. I could handle that and even enjoyed it, since I sang, too.
I'd gone home for Christmas. When I returned, he told me he had a wonderful surprise for me involving a license. I couldn't fathom what he was talking about since he already had a driver's license.
When I expressed my puzzlement, he enlightened me.
"I was licensed into the gospel ministry last Sunday," he said.
I burst into tears.
Thinking they were tears of joy. He said, "I know. Isn't it great."
"Great!" I shouted. "Great? That is the worst thing I've ever heard. Enjoy your future but count me out. I will not date a guy who is a licensed minister."
Nothing he said would dissuade me. I wrote him out of my life that night
This time, I gently touched David's hand. "So what's your plan?"
"I need to apply to seminary. I have no idea how to write or deliver a sermon," he said. "I'm going to talk to Daniel. He can give me some direction. I think I need to make this public at church, too. That way my fear won't let me back out, and I think that's what God wants, a public surrender of my life to His call."
David did all of those things, with my blessing. Much to his chagrin, God immediately took him at his word. David thought he was promising to preach after he had his seminary degree. God thought otherwise.
The day David publicly surrendered to the ministry, a man was in the congregation whose father attended a small rural church a few miles down the road. He told his father, a deacon at Mt. Zion Baptist Church, that a young man in his church had surrendered to the ministry. The preacher at Mt. Zion had resigned that same Sunday. The deacon called David and asked if he would fill the pulpit the next week.
When he hung up the phone after agreeing, David told me, "God called my bluff, Syd. I just agreed to preach next Sunday, and I have no idea what to preach or how to write a sermon."
"I think the Holy Spirit is supposed to help you with the first," I said, "and maybe Daniel can aid with the second,"
That Sunday 20 people were in attendance at Mt. Zion to hear David's inaugural sermon. He agonized to write a sermon that he thought would fill the 25-minute time slot allotted a homily. He preached everything he knew about the Bible in 8 minutes. He was so mortified when he finished that he wanted to go hide in the car, but the grateful congregation wanted to shake his hand and tell him how appreciative they were that he stepped in on such short notice. I found out later that the former pastor was long-winded, and David's abbreviated discourse was a welcome change.
The deacon invited us home for lunch and dropped another bombshell after the meal was interrupted several times by the telephone.
"We would like you to be our interim pastor until you leave for seminary," he told my disbelieving husband.
"Let me pray about it," David choked out.
"How about we pray together right now?" Bro. Carl responded.
Knowing he couldn't refuse to pray with the man, David went into a coughing fit as his fried chicken tried to make its way down his wind pipe with the air he drew in as he gasped at the deacon's boldness.
A few good blows to the back relieved David of the chicken. The deacon, his wife, David, and I held hands while the deacon prayed.
"Lord, I thank you for sending this fine young man for us to nurture. We know he has a long way to go before he's going to give Billy Graham a run for his money, but, God, he's got to start somewhere, and we'd like it to be here. Tell him that's what You had in mind. Amen."
Squeezing David's hand, he said, "It's your turn, son."
"God help me," David said.
"Amen," Deacon Carl said, evidently assuming that was the extent of David's prayer. "So, does that mean you'll be here next Sunday?"
"Uh," David said. He looked at me. His eyebrows were drawn together and his mouth in a straight line. "What do you think, Syd?"
"The man's the spiritual leader, son" Bro. Carl said before I could open my mouth. "I'm sure your little lady will support whatever decision you make."
It was all I could do to keep a smirk from my face. When I held my silence, David gave me his hangdog look, but I knew he could read the sparkle in my eyes that said, "You've met your match, dear. Give in graciously, and lets go home before I bust a gut."
David entered the ministry that day, and I told my principal that while I had enjoyed my teaching experience, he would be looking for a new teacher for the next year. We were heading to seminary.
I could not leave, though, without making sure my sociology legacy was not forgotten. The class got their divorces a week before the end of the school year. Our last topic for the year was rumors. We decided to conduct an experiment to see how fast a tale could spread.
On Monday, my class decided to start a rumor that school would not let out until the second week of June because we had missed too many days during an unseasonably cold winter. The students were not to mention the calendar change until they got on the bus on Tuesday morning. No one broke the Monday silence taboo.
I did not apprise the principal of this particular sociology experiment, as I had the others. Our measure of the successful spread of the rumor was to be the principal's questioning me about my knowledge of the report that school was going to be extended. I knew he would come to me when the students began to panic and faculty started asking questions. After our previous escapades, the sociology teacher was the first suspect when anything out of the ordinary occurred.
On Tuesday, I conducted my 10-minute homeroom as usual. I was minutes into my first hour world history final review when the principal's voice came over my classroom intercom.
"Mrs. Lander, could I see you in my office for a minute?"
When I entered his office, he got straight to the point.
"What do you know about the buzz going around that school is going to be extended into June?"
"We're going to have to go to school in June?" I asked, feigning incredulity.
"Sydney!" He drummed his fingers on the desk and glared from under bushy brows. "Is the sociology class behind this?"
"Well, we are studying the anatomy of rumors," I said.
"And..."
"We might have started a rumor this morning to see how fast it would get around."
With a sigh, he turned on the intercom.
"This is your principal, with everyone's favorite trouble maker, sociology teacher Sydney Lander," he drawled. She has something to tell y'all."
"The school year has not been extended into June," I said. "My class was doing a little experiment to see how fast a rumor would make it back to the principal's office."
We could hear the cheers through the closed door of the office.
After he turned off the intercom, I said with a smile, "I just wanted to make sure you would be glad to see me go. If you want, I'll leave my sociology lesson plans for my replacement."
"That won't be necessary," he replied. "I'm certain your lessons will remain a topic of conversation until the last of these kids graduate. I sure wouldn't want to be the one to fill your sociology shoes."
When my sociology students came in last hour, they brought a cake. It read, "Way to go Ms. L – 20 minutes, tops!"
#
Drowning Rumor SorrowsBY SYDNEY LANDER
When I was a kid, we used to enjoy the game of gossip. The first person would whisper something in another's ear. The gossip would make its way around the room. The last person to hear the tidbit would stand up and repeat the message out loud. Rarely would the final version be correct. Usually it was widely divergent.
I remember being mortified when the phrase, "Syd waters her mother's brand new plants," finished the circuit as "Syd wears her brother's blue underpants."
In real life, gossip is not fun. Rumor has the potential to do a lot of damage. A friend of mine bought a restaurant in a rural community that was predominantly Baptist. If you sold liquor, respectable clientele boycotted your establishment. The regulars she inherited from the previous owner were "respectable."
After a few weeks of running April's, she decided to use an innovative advertising plan. She lined the roads leading to the eatery with small signs promoting her wares. Most contained one or two words like "shrimp," "alligator balls," and "ice cream." After each of these signs was one reading, "April's." Two signs said "hot bar" and "cold bar," one referring to the salad bar and the other to the hot food buffet.
The competition saw their opportunity and began a gossip campaign. Word quickly got around that "cold bar" referred to the planned sale of alcoholic drinks. The buzz was that she had applied for a liquor license. Business began to drop. Families refused to bring their children to an establishment that would soon sell alcohol.
The cost of a newspaper ad to counter the scandal proved prohibitive, so our Sunday school class got together to drown the rumor. One member manipulated photos. He concocted a picture of the owner's young daughter eating a salad while reclining on the salad bar tray rails. He etched the words April's Cold Bar on the glass shielding the salads. Thousands were printed and dropped across the rural parish from another member's crop duster plane.
A third member made signs. He donated carved signs to put on the wall above the buffet. One read "cold bar," the other read "hot bar."
A fourth owned billboards that were for rent along the highway. He donated two billboards for a week. On the billboards was a picture of people leaving church. Rev. David Lander was shaking a parishioner's hand. The caption read, "Hey preacher, meet you at April's Cold Bar for Sunday's 7-bean salad special."
A local radio announcer saw the billboards and invited April to his Saturday talk show to explain. The hometown newspaper picked up the story. The AP Wire thought it a good human-interest piece, and it went nationwide.
April's became famous for its cold food. Hot food is no longer sold at April's; she specializes in "cold." The salad bar has numerous entrees including the famous 7-bean salad, a chicken salad with apples and pecans, and a grape, walnut, and Philadelphia cream cheese creation. Another cold bar features sushi, cold boiled shrimp, and other cold seafood dishes. Cold sliced roast beef, turkey, and other grilled and chilled favorites join homemade croissants for sandwich connoisseurs. The desert bar offers only chilled treats. Coffee and tea are the only hot items sold at April's, but most customers prefer her iced versions.
In this case, April had the last laugh. The "gossip" redefined her cuisine. Instead of just another catfish house, April's offered a delicious alternative that attracted more customers than several of her competitors combined.
Rumor has it that the pastor who lent his picture to the gossip-quashing campaign had to let his belt out a few extra notches after enjoying April's Cold Bar for years. I don't think it is the 7-bean salad that contributed the inches.
Pssst. Lean a little closer and pass it on: "Bro. David can't stay away from April's lemon icebox pie."