Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [134]
That night at home, when the volunteer had left and Thomas enjoyed uninterrupted time with Grace, again he found it impossible to hide his angst.
“I know you, dear heart,” she said. “Talk to me.”
Thomas told her as much of the conversation as he could remember.
“I don’t understand it any more than you do, Thomas. But I still believe you are there for a reason. What these men do with the gospel is up to them. Your responsibility is to tell it. Jorge’s response saddens me too, but what you said to him reminds me of how I cherish my faith.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead. “I wish it did the same for me.”
“Doesn’t it? When you talk of Jesus’ sacrifice, doesn’t it thrill you?”
“Don’t worry about me, Gracie. I’m just as low as I can be right now.”
“I have a song for you but not the strength to sing it tonight. You should sing it.”
“I’m not up to it either.”
“It’s a favorite. ‘In the Cross of Christ I Glory.’”
“Yes, wonderful,” Thomas said. “Sing it for me tomorrow.”
“But I want to hear it now. Please, for me.”
It was the last thing he felt like doing, but there was nothing he would not do for Grace. So Thomas sat a little straighter and took a deep breath, and in his pedestrian but serviceable voice, he began to sing for her. And in the middle of it, tears streaming, and with her reminding him of the lyrics here and there, he began to sing it to God.
In the cross of Christ I glory,
Towering o’er the wrecks of time;
All the light of sacred story
Gathers round its head sublime.
When the woes of life o’ertake me,
Hopes deceive, and fears annoy,
Never shall the cross forsake me:
Lo! it glows with peace and joy.
Serenity Halfway House
Brady liked the days when Jan conducted group therapy sessions solely for the drug addicts. And while he had been clean for weeks, not only was he still required to go, but he also wanted to. He found it helpful to hear from so many others who faced the same struggles and temptations he did. And while he felt self-conscious at first when he too admitted his triggers and weaknesses, in time it became easier for him.
But who was he kidding? He liked the sessions because, unlike the classes under Bill, they were coed and drew not only from the immediate community but also from the entire county.
Brady liked checking out the ladies, though most of them looked so strung out and wasted that they didn’t appeal anyway. The ones who seemed to be succeeding and were attractive appeared way too young for him. But he was closing no doors, as long as they were of legal age. Up till now he had just been looking.
Today one of the outsiders had upper crust written all over her. Oh, she had the streaky hair and pierced tongue and showed a tattoo on her midriff, but Brady had never seen those kinds of clothes on a typical junkie. Funny thing was, she looked vaguely familiar. Or maybe he was only hoping. One thing was for sure. This woman had her eye on him too.
He casually looked around the circle—they always sat in a circle—and noticed who seemed engaged, who was slouching and looking elsewhere. Each time his gaze landed on her, she was looking back, brows raised. Once she even smiled.
Hello.
Finally Jan flipped open her notebook and said, “Let’s greet each other.”
“Hi, I’m Brady, and I’m an addict.”
“Hi, Brady.”
And so it went. Most of the names flew past without Brady catching them or caring to. He knew his housemates, of course, and he wouldn’t likely be getting to know the outsiders anyway. Though he held out hope for “her.”
“Hi, I’m Katie,” she said, “and I used to be an addict.”
Some returned her greeting, but most waited for the inevitable reproach from Jan.
“Katie,” she said.
“Okay, I’m still an addict. Always will be.”