Trusting Our Love: The Love of a Good Woman, #2

By Momi Robins

Trusting Our Love: The second book in "The Love of a Good Woman" Series, after book 1, First Love

 

If you want to believe in second chances…

If you want to believe in God-destined soul mates…

 

You'll love these sweet, provocative Christian romances.

 

Beautiful, busy, business owner, divorced woman, mother of two, gives up on love until a twist and a shove to attend her high school reunion delivers her to her God-ordained destiny, and a second chance at love.

 

From the moment she was born, almost 40 years ago, God-ordained Rebecca's destiny, but she went on another path, and God's promises took a back seat

in her life.

All Rebecca ever wanted was to love herself, to experience real joy, to live purposefully, to have balance in her life, to feel like what she has is enough, and to have true romance.

 

A bitter divorce, an uncooperative ex-husband, two girls to raise, and a business that can't run itself, has her just about done with love.

When her best friend twists her arm to attend their twenty-year high school reunion, she wonders if maybe she's given up too fast and decides to trust God's inspiration.

 

Nobody promised the second time around would be easy, but when obstacle after obstacle obstructs every path for love, she wonders if trying was a mistake. She doubts her fate and fights it tooth and nail, but God pursues her relentlessly to deliver her destiny.

 

Does she finally let go and let Him lead? Find out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Momi Robins-Makaila
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393945529

Book preview

For God and Family...

and for you, the reader of this book, I pray that my stories will entertain and inspire you to live your best life; the life God has destined for you.

Preface

If you're like me, you want to love yourself, to have balance in your life, to experience real joy, to walk confidently with purpose; to know who you are and what you have is enough, and you want real love. You want reminders of the truth that love conquers all, no matter the obstacles.

Whether you're reading my memoir, Christian romances, or middle-grade novels, my goal is to take you on an enjoyable journey of discovery, relationship, and personal growth.

In my memoir, I hope that my willingness to be transparent and honest about real struggles empowers you, by the grace of God to embrace your own struggles with honesty and without fear. 

In my sweet and provocative Christian romance novels, the characters are relatable and interesting. You'll love and hate them; cry and laugh with them.

Woven throughout the fanciful, entertaining journeys in my 'coming-of-age' novels for middle grade and young adult audiences are lessons to inspire the understanding of one's self, perseverance, trust, faith, and overcoming obstacles in the face of fierce adversity. I hope you enjoy them. 

Sincerely, thank you for picking up my books and sharing this journey with me. If you'd like, please visit  www.momirobins.com and drop me a line.   Momi

Introduction

From the moment she was born, almost 40 years ago, God-ordained Rebecca’s destiny, but she went on another path, and God’s promises took a back seat in her life.

All Rebecca ever wanted was to love herself, to experience real joy, to live purposefully, to have balance in her life, to feel like what she has is enough, and to have true romance.

A bitter divorce, an uncooperative ex-husband, two girls to raise, and a business that can’t run itself, has her just about done with love. 

When her best friend twists her arm to attend their twenty-year high school reunion, she wonders if maybe she’s given up too fast and decides to trust God’s inspiration. 

Nobody promised the second time around would be easy, but when obstacle after obstacle obstructs every path for love, she wonders if trying was a mistake. 

She doubts her fate and fights it tooth and nail, but God pursues her relentlessly to deliver her destiny. 

Chapter 1

1973

The church property nestled in the center of Old Plantation Road, the first parallel street from the main highway, was the gathering place for the residents of the rural residential neighborhood. The grounds, which were quadruple the size of most of the 4,000-square-foot parcels of adjacent land, had just enough space in its dirt-comprised parking lot for thirty or so cars—most of which would be shaded by the enormous banyan trees rooted in the two front corners of the yard. The branches from each crown canopied the church building, stretching toward one another like forbidden lovers. Behind the little church-house was an aging, well-maintained graveyard whose inhabitants were devout members of the church before they passed.

Parishioners enter the church-house through double doors on either side of the quaint building. The five or six steps of both stairways each lead to a foyer, the area of a medium-sized pantry. Once past the entrance, the large archways invite believers into the main sanctuary. Members from the generation before, constructed the walls, pulpit, and rows of pews out of dark sandalwood trees that once adorned the coastline. Manila palms in pots decorated the corners of the room, flanking both sides of the intricate hand-carved pulpit and adorned the antiquated grand piano and organ that occupied the room's corner. Black-and-white pictures of people who had lived in the old town covered the hallway walls, reminding its members of the generations of families who grew up in the quaint neighborhood surrounding the church. Rays of sunlight shone through the large horizontal windows just below the joists of the vaulted ceilings, which provided some relief from the heat and humidity of the year-round warm tropical climate.

Every Sunday service program leaflet was necessary for three reasons: 1) so the congregation knew when to open their bibles and hymnals, 2) so they knew how close they were to the end of the service, and 3) in case members got too clammy, they worked perfectly as wind makers to combat the scorching, oven-like heat of the old building.

According to the program on this particular Sunday, the first verse and refrain of the hymn, 'Blessed Assurance' would end service.

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!

Heir of salvation, purchase of God,

Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

This is my story; this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long;

This is my story; this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long.

Thank you, church. That was beautiful, exclaimed the exalted Pastor Greg. Thank you, families, for such a wonderful service, and thank you for your prayers and requests. Before we conclude our service, let us congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Diamond, who recently welcomed into this world a beautiful baby girl. The congregation accompanied Pastor Greg as he applauded the family. Mr. Diamond, Kanoe is her name, right? Pastor Greg affirmed.

Yes, Pastor. Kanoe is her Hawaiian name, Mrs. Diamond answered for her husband. She's two months old. Pastor Greg released an effervescent cheer.

Praise God. Praise God!

And, Pastor continued joyously, shifting his attention to another family. God also blessed Mr. and Mrs. Kingston with a beautiful baby boy born a month later, correct?

Each member of the Kingston family loosened a cheerful grin.

Yes, a month later. And, he is a junior!" shouted Mr. Kingston pridefully.

Praise God, after three girls; they have their boy. Praise God, cheered Pastor Greg. So nice to see both families in church. He turned again toward the Kingstons. The corners of his mouth turned down. Sadly, we also have to say goodbye to the Kingston family. They will be leaving for a temporary placement abroad. We pray safe travels for the family and their safe return.

Mrs. Kingston prayed silently. Please, God, I know we're supposed to be here. I pray it's your will for us to stay home. If we must go, please bring us back. In the meantime, and at all times, please keep my family safe. Cover us with a mile-wide radius of your supernatural protection, and may we always be sensitive to your will. I pray this for my entire family, all their lives.

The Pastor interrupted Mrs. Kingston's silent prayer with his standard, pre-ceremony-closing reminder: Please place your Bibles and hymnals at the end of the pews. Peace be with you.

And also with you, replied the protestant congregation in unison.

The two new moms swapped delivery room stories in the breezy relief of the banyan tree while the congregation fellowshipped over brunch. Mrs. Diamond fanned herself with the flyer from the church service for additional relief from the heat. Look, baby, at the cute little angel boy, Mrs. Diamond puckered her lips, lifting Kanoe to admire Michael Jr. Look at the cute baby, Kanoe.

Mrs. Kingston returned the gesture. Aw, they're smiling at each other.

The two mothers and their babies were the center of attention. The entire congregation took turns coddling Michael Jr. and Kanoe. When brunch was over, everyone said their goodbyes. As they always did after church, they prayed blessings for one another until they'd meet again. Mrs. Kingston and Mrs. Diamond vowed they'd keep in touch. Having their babies a month apart, coming back to church on the same day, and being prayed for by Pastor Greg connected them.

Mrs. Diamond planted a kiss on Michael Jr's forehead. Wait. She rummaged through her purse for an envelope, handing Mrs. Kingston a wallet-sized picture of her daughter. Here's a picture of Kanoe. I signed the back, said Mrs. Diamond.

Mrs. Kingston, who hadn't yet received Michael Jr.'s baby pictures, thanked her with a hug. I'll see you again someday, little angel baby. Mrs. Kingston kissed Kanoe goodbye on the same spot of her forehead. They parted ways.

Chapter 2

1978

CLASS PICTURES FOR five-year-olds are ridiculous. Why did we do this in the middle of the hot afternoon? Principal Katsumura murmured to himself as he surveyed the spectacle. He prayed his teachers wouldn't lose their minds in their attempt to create a symmetrically balanced picture of their cute yet challenging little Kinders. Boss K, the name by which he also answered, chuckled as he overheard the whining and bickering of the not-so-agreeable kiddos. To five-year-olds, little disagreements meant their world was ending. Boss K stood in the shade of the giant banyan tree in the corner of the schoolyard as the sun beamed down on the kindergartners who stood on the makeshift bleachers taking turns posing for class pictures. Teachers aimed for perfect photos, especially since their names on the black placard in the center of their students made each picture a record of their ability to manage their class. It was a time-honored tradition to post every image in the school office for the rest of eternity.

Stop, I'm telling Ms. Benson! Ms. Benson, Michael is hitting me, Rebecca, one of the disgruntled kindergarteners, tattled, tugging on her teacher's shirt.

Rebecca, you're practically standing on him. Move over, so Michael has room to breathe. The photographer needs to take our picture, and there are four classes behind us, so please cooperate, Ms. Benson, the sweetest teacher in all of kindergarten, asked politely while running her fingers through Rebecca's sweeping, long curls. And, Michael, you little angel, I saw you hit her, with both my pretty brown eyes, Ms. Benson grimaced facetiously. Please keep your hands to yourself. Don't make me call Mom. You know I don't want to. She smiled forgivingly, fixed the collar on his shirt and moved on to the next child whose ensemble also required adjustments. Ms. Benson knew every mother investigated their child for picture perfection. If it weren't perfect, it would be her to blame.

But, Ms. Benson, she's irritating. I don't want her by me. Her arm is touching my arm, Michael whined.

Would you two, stop nagging? I swear you both act like a married couple. Ms. Benson loosened a wry smile.

Ew, that's gross, they sang synchronously.

Michael and Rebecca, Ms. Benson said sternly, we put you two next to each other for a reason. You're almost the same height, at least with your cute little sandals on, Ms. Rebecca. She had no luck trying to convince them they belonged next to one another. You see? You're in the top row in the center. Look at our height line. It's perfect from this point. Ms. Benson brushed her hands over the tops of their heads. Both Michael and Rebecca refused to cooperate, their puckered and pursed lips engraved on their faces. Oh, alright, Ms. Benson loosened a sigh. Can you please just stay still for another minute until I can figure out where to put you?

No, Ms. Benson, I want you to move me now, please, Rebecca whined in her polite but tantrum-like tone.

Frustrated and in a hurry, Ms. Benson obliged. Kim, can you move next to Michael? Rebecca, I'll move you over here. You can stand next to me. Save my spot, would you?

Okay, Ms. Benson, I'll save your spot. Do you want me here? she pointed toward her feet.

Yes, save the spot on the right for me. You can stand next to Gerald. Ms. Benson reorganized the back row to accommodate her students, whose limited patience was running on par with hers. When Ms. Benson finished filing her students by height, she scrambled to her spot on the bleachers, squeezing in next to Rebecca. Cheese, Ms. Benson hollered cheerfully, praying her students would follow along. She rested a hand on Rebecca's shoulder and flashed her a wink. Rebecca gazed into her teacher's eyes and returned the same grateful smile. The cameraman counted to three; everyone joyously cheered,

Cheese balls, The cameraman snapped the picture, then hurried the bunch along. Ms. Benson released an accomplished sigh as her Kindergarteners trotted down the bleachers. With her arms folded and a finger tapping at her chin, Ms. Benson made a mental note, as all good teachers did, to keep Michael and Rebecca apart to prevent any future mishaps.

Chapter 3

1990

Every high school student knew that when they heard the bell tone of the PA system, the grouchy, grey-haired lady who sat in the office next to the microphone would nag them about something. Most times, the old lady whose shrieking sounded like a pig with its tail caught in a trap, fearmongered with the threat of detention, the slow-like-a-turtle, and rebel-without-a-cause high schoolers to beat the tardy bell.

Rebecca, Amy sang. The bell tolls for thee-ee, teasing playfully.

Tolls for thee, my ass. I'll go to class when I want to go to class. Whether that's before or after the bell, they'll just have to deal, she snickered with an attitude.

Oh my gosh, Rebecca, you are such a diva.

Diva is as diva does, Rebecca teased her best friend. Ames, do me a favor? Hold my folder, will you? 'Rebecca loves Gerald. Rebecca loves Gerald. Gerald loves Rebecca,' Amy mocked.

Oh my gosh, you make me sick. It must have taken you forever to make this folder. This has to be an entire roll of duct tape, she conjectured.

Shut up, Paige dismissively brushed her hand across Amy's shoulder. Gerald made it for me, for your information, Rebecca admonished. Here, hold his jacket too, please? My ponytail is falling, and my acid-washed jeans feel like acid against my ass. They're riding up; they're too damn tight.

Then maybe your butt should be in size seven, not a size five.

Shut up. I look good. Rebecca loosened a seductive pose.

Yeah, I guess you do. Shannon and Johnson think so too. They can't get their eyes off your ass. "Since they're staring in that vicinity, I can't be having no pinky toe. That'll be the next phrase carved in the boy's bathroom stall. My grandma would have a cow if she saw me with these tight jeans and dark red lipstick. 'You have to dress like a good Christian girl. Not a floozy,' Rebecca mimicked the sweet old Christian lady as best she could.

You mean, camel toe? teased Amy. Shut up, that's gross.

You shut up. That's what it's called!

Whatever, Rebecca rolled her sassy light brown eyes and flipped her flowing long, dark brown hair tied in a ponytail. After she finished adjusting her wardrobe malfunction, Amy returned Rebecca's prized folder and Gerald's jacket.

Rebecca pretended to be confident, but it was all pretending. She was just a high school girl trying to find her way through her parents' embattled divorce, and Rebecca, the oldest of three, needed to be tough to survive it. She prayed to God regularly that he'd take care of her, her sister, and her little brother since her parents weren't doing that great of a job, but in high school, no one was the wiser.

The nagging old lady's fearmongering had no impact on the girls' behavior. Amy and Rebecca meandered past rooms 102 and 103 like snails on vacation.

Girls, get to class.

We have a free period, Mr. Richardson.

All right, well then, get to study hall. You still need to be in the classroom.

Yes, sir. The girls synchronously turned and saluted. The boys sitting along the railing did their best to flirt with the girls who passed in the halls. Attention-seeking Josh, one of the handsome jocks on the football team, mischievously lifted his leg to prevent Rebecca from walking past.

Hi, my favorite cousin, Josh. I haven't seen you in English. I may have to give my favorite aunty a ring-a-ding-ding, she playfully threatened.

Shut up, Rebecca. You wouldn't dare, his eyes as big as golf balls.

No, I love you too much. Rebecca shifted her focus to Michael, Josh's best friend, who was sitting against the corner of the pillar near the middle entrance of the breezeway. Michael, what the hell are you staring at, huh? What can I do for you?

Uh, n-nothing. Shut up. I w-wasn't looking at you, Michael stuttered nervously.

Yes, you were. I saw you. Rebecca wondered inside why she was giving Michael, the class clown, such a hard time; he was funny, she liked him and he was Josh’s best friend. Unlike most class clowns, he was a Scott Baio handsome. If a dumb-pranking was in the works, Michael was a good bet. He was the culprit behind the juice syrup turning the pool pink, and the explosion of soap suds in the café kitchen but no one except the senior class knew it was him and they swore themselves to secrecy.

Rebecca was sure Michael was staring into space, thinking about something else, like her mind often did, but since he was staring in her direction, she was forced to live up to her tough-chick-from-the-rough-side-of-town reputation. When she walked away, she felt a weird tug at her heart. Glancing down at the portfolio in her arms, reminded her of her life's current mantra: ‘Rebecca loves Gerald.’ The curiosity in her mind forged vertical lines in the middle of her forehead. She shook off the fleeting feeling.

Michael felt the same weird prompting in his heart. Rebecca stirred his insides. But she was the chick from the rough side of town, with the boyfriend from the same block, and Michael was her cousin's best friend. Those were reasons enough to make him steer clear. It wasn't like he was in love, but he was interested. Michael shrugged off the difficult-to-shake feeling in his heart, pretending not to watch her walk down the hall.

Rebecca, the bell! Amy recklessly yanked Rebecca's oversized jacket into the classroom in the nick of time, rescuing her from her curiosity, quiet thoughts, mindless wandering—and detention. Michael saw Rebecca get caught off guard, nearly tripping in the doorway. He wanted to laugh and rescue her. That feeling inside etched itself into his heart.

Chapter 4

2011

Four sizeable blue velvet queen-sized pillows propped Rebecca regally on her full-sized bed, as her toes played with the folded comforter lying across its foot. Rebecca's full, dark brown, illustrious hair blanketed her pillow. Her haltered, pastel baby doll dress draped delicately over her thighs, revealing her knobby knees and worked-out calves. The faint light concealed the new crow's-feet around her eyes—a byproduct of a recent divorce and single motherhood's incessant and burgeoning worries. The 400-square-foot bedroom, scarcely and tastefully decorated, darkened with deep-hued curtains, was illuminated by two faint rays of light projecting from aqua-and-brown vintage lamps that rested on two identical rustic end tables. The dark décor, the ornate patterns of the soft comforter, the Victorian-style crown molding, and the clean abstract, modernly-framed art covering the room's stark walls all perfectly reflected Rebecca's eclectic tastes. The sultry scene created an enticing photograph suitable for a myriad of magazines whose purposes could be sinful or otherwise. Rebecca was enjoying the conversation with the person on the line, as evidenced by the occasional nod and mischievous grin.

I can relate. If I have to read one more teacher letter, planner, flyer, application, or note, I am going to scream. Rebecca rocked her body sideways on the bed to untangle her legs from their crisscrossed position. But contrary to me, Amy, you will mitigate the circumstances by going out, having a few drinks, and dancing with your friends. I am quite elated to have an excessive amount of time tonight to myself. With that time, I will be washing my hair since it's been deprived of shampoo for three days. Rebecca swept her hair to her nose. By its crinkle, disdain for the scent was obvious. Luckily, the aroma of diffused lavender oil concealed most of the odor.

Let me venture a guess, Amy said, snickering. You've crossed out, as always, everything on your to-do list, except the items specific to your personal care, including and most important: wash your reeking hair, she mocked playfully.

Very funny, answered Rebecca.

"I