Grace Changes Everything

By Regena Bryant

Ten months after accepting the position of senior pastor at the West Aurora Baptist Church, forward-thinking Rev. Bradley White is questioning God. He does not fit-in with the traditional congregation.

West Aurora’s newest member, Dr. Lori Reed asks too many questions. Based on her joining testimony, the organic chemist is assig

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathy Thigpen
• Release date: Jun 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780990578000

Regena Bryant

In 2004 Regena made a pact with her nephew, "...if you give me a college degree, I'll write a book." Today, her nephew's college diploma graces the mantle of her suburban Chicago home and she is the author of three contemporary women's fiction novels with romantic elements. Except on Sunday - Can she love him; except on Sunday?Believe In Me - In ninety days she'll have to choose between love and loyalty.Love's Remnant - After all, love remains. Grace Changes Everything -The church doesn't embrace them, until Grace Changes EverythingThe September Standard - Will she fall into a quiet season or spring forward with joy. Regena's novels explore the complex simplicity of falling in love-in these complicated days. Regena's honors include Debut Author of the Year, Shades of Romance Magazine and 2017 finalist, Illinois Soon to be Famous Author Project. Visit her at www.RegenaBryant.com or @Regena_Bryant on twitter.

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Acknowledgements

Writing is a solitary endeavor, but publishing takes many hands. Thank you to everyone that had a hand in bringing Lee and Lori’s story to life. Little Pear Editing, Paulette Nunlee at Five Star Proofing, LaShaunda Hoffman and the See You On the Net Promotions Support Group, the NK Promo Partners, Mae at Cover Fresh Designs, and the in-house team at Willow Bend Books.

And to my wonderful readers, thank you for every word of encouragement and every push to hurry-up.

Only by Grace,

Regena

Chapter One

Lori Parker Reed stood tin-soldier straight, as a senior usher adjusted the sash on her crisp, white, starched uniform. After only a slight adjustment, she’d passed muster. Instead of quietly dissipating the breath she’d held, she discharged a series of hoarse bone-dry hacks.

The senior usher reached out and gave her a few assuring pats on the back. It’ll be all right, just follow my lead. I’ll show you.

Thank you. Lori smiled and moved into formation with the team. Six ladies in white with four gentlemen dressed in black suits with stark white shirts were uniform and poised to serve the congregation of the West Aurora Baptist Church. In line, part of the team, looking just like everyone else. The grace of belonging replaced the nervous flutters in her chest.

When the heavy glass double doors to the sanctuary swung open, the newest member of WABC’s number three usher board took a tentative step forward. Lori counted each precision step as she performed the ushers’ march. The entire usher entrance step-thing seemed a little old-fashioned and over-the-top, but the tightly choreographed routine was a point of pride at the historic church, and she was determined not to mess it up.

Whew!

By grace, she’d made it down the center aisle without missing a step. When the team halted before the altar, Lori glanced down to thank her feet. Yikes, too white. She flattened her lips to suppress her smile. Grinning at the altar, during the eleven o’clock service, would be inappropriate. Thoughts about the recurring theme of her life took a new turn this morning.

The flat-fronted nurse’s dress, white stockings, gloves and soft-soled shoes were too white for her. Today, too white meant an itchy usher’s ensemble. Last night, it meant a questioning look from a department store clerk when she asked for the Fashion Fair cosmetics.

While the other ushers stood at attention before the congregation for the tither’s testimony, the starch in the uniform began to irritate her skin. She wiggled. Most churches had abandoned the traditional uniforms years ago, but not West Aurora Baptist.

She’d joined the church several months ago because it practiced many of the same traditions as her home church in Louisiana. WABC still held Wednesday-night Bible study and published a weekly sick and shut-in list. All the typical church elements were in place. Oak pews, upholstered in worn red velvet, a never-changing Sunday school attendance plaque hung on the wall to her left, and beyond the opening to the baptismal pool hung a heavy wooden cross. She might be new to Illinois, but church folk across the nation were the same: kind, nosey, messy, and loving. Today, she felt at home.

If this service runs too long, I’m in trouble.

Per protocol, she couldn’t move or turn her head to relieve the irritation at the base of her neck. Or ease the burning irritations on her thigh. If they starched this dress with Argo, I’m not going to make it.

At the end of the testimony, Lori used the required about-face turn to face the pulpit to swipe a quick scratch at her thigh. When she glanced up, her eyes connected with the pastor, who smiled even though he’d caught her in the graceless act.

Reverend White’s newfangled program to assign all new members to a ministry job had misfired with her. This position on the usher board was her third assignment in the few months she’d been a member. Why did she always have trouble fitting in?

Nevertheless, during the offertory prayer, Lori thanked God for yet another chance. She fully intended to fulfill the promise she’d made when she was in trouble: to serve HIM. Surely, ushering was a job she could do. Didn’t seem much to it beyond handing out programs, passing offering plates, and providing tissues to those who wept and mourned during the service. She’d already mastered the most challenging task of the usher’s job—the march.

Amen, she recited with the congregation at the end of the prayer.

On the guiding usher’s signal, the team turned in unison, and Lori moved forward to lift the offering. With a friendly smile, she offered the golden plate to a church mother on the second row. The older lady grimaced before reaching out with her left hand to grab the back of the first-row pew. Lori noticed the post-operative boot on the woman’s foot as she struggled to stand. As the sole occupant of the second row, the order of the offering required the member to walk the plate to the other side of the pew and hand it off to the other usher.

No, Lori shook her head and retracted her white-gloved hand. It didn’t seem right to ask the handicapped senior to walk the plate. She checked left; the guiding usher gave the ready signal. Lori turned her head and relayed the nod to her partner, Mrs. LuBertha Greene. Her partner shot back a disapproving glare. Instead of moving forward to serve the next row, Mrs. Greene stood firm like a pillar of halite.

What to do?

They didn’t cover this scenario in the two-hour usher training class she attended last week. They’d spent the bulk of the class time practicing the marches.

Thank God, the choir held the congregation’s attention with a popular, up-tempo tune. For a second, she contemplated walking the plate over to Mrs. Greene herself. But that would draw more attention. The only thing to do?

Move forward.

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Rev. Bradley White tapped his foot impatiently as the new young adult choir took their B selection back to the bridge. Most people watching him would conclude he enjoyed the music. He did, even though he knew the secular-sounding song would meet with disapproval from some of his senior members. The same members who’d also complain, again, about him preaching in his cowboy boots.

It wasn’t the music that set his foot to tapping. His sizeable right foot stomped out his annoyance with the Number Three Usher Board. The traditional steps, turns and poses favored by the ushers consumed more time than necessary. They’d taken far too long to lift the offering this morning. Rev. White worry-rubbed his brow. With more important battles to fight, he tolerated the first Sunday floorshow.

From the red, velvet-covered, throne-like chair, he cast a hard stare across Deacon’s row. Thank God for the ever-alert Deacon Steele. After giving Steele a signal, he exhaled, stopped, then re-started his foot. Now, he tapped in tempo with the music. Why worry about time? He didn’t have anything to do after church.

On the final chord of the song, Rev. White stood and took his place behind the sacred desk. Just below the pulpit, the deacons patiently waited for the ushers’ post collection procession. As he surveyed the congregation, something beyond the glass sanctuary doors caught his eye. He leaned over the desk to confirm what he thought he saw.

What were the ushers discussing in the vestibule? No, that wasn’t a discussion. That was a flat-out argument.

The commotion caused the back two rows to turn and view gaper-style. Rev. White stomped his right foot and prayed. Lord, help me, help them. He opened his mouth and proclaimed, louder than necessary, As the ushers are assembled.

The sanctuary doors parted, and the ushers began their heavily choreographed, slow-motion-march forward. He hung his head, buried his face in his hands, and willed his foot to stop making such an audible connection with the floor. Deacon Steele, please bless the collection and the collectors.

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Even if he didn’t have anything to do this afternoon, he didn’t want to do this. Rev. White’s right foot kept up a steady tempo during the impromptu ushers’ meeting he called after service. Good thing he wore boots this morning. Wingtips wouldn’t have made it to the end of this discussion.

I always say you can show ’em better than tell ’em, LuBertha Greene, one of his most senior members, repeated. Usher training should always be in the sanctuary so we can go over different situations. Mrs. Greene slyly covered several issues in one complaint and managed to throw a little shade at him. He’d moved the training to the fellowship hall to let the new praise team practice in the sanctuary.

The plate passes from one side of the pew to the other. That’s the way we do things, LuBertha lamented, stating her standard resistance to change.

I’ve only suggested we consider making allowances—

LuBertha cut him off with another righteous protest. Pastor, I’ve served on the door of this church for forty years, and we don’t need any more changes.

The reverend’s right foot rested, in time, with the common theme. West Aurora Baptist Church was stuck in its ways and dying on the vine of we’ve-always-done-it-like-this. Every day for the nine months he’d pastored here, he’d asked the Lord why these people hired him.

Thank you, Sister Greene. He nodded then bypassed the raised hand of the senior usher to direct his inquiry to the head usher. I’m still not sure about what happened.

It usually took Deacon Greene a few minutes to muster up the courage to speak up after his wife spoke out. But when he did, Greene’s word always rang true, and his counsel proved wise.

Pastor, Sister Pearl had that boot on again this morning, Greene explained. Sister Reed thought it didn’t make sense to ask Pearl to get up and walk all the way to the end of the row. So, after serving Pearl, Sister Reed moved on to the next row. That interrupted the pattern and caused the confusion.

Bradley’s foot stopped. Lori Reed, one of his new members. Her radiant smile as she handed out the church bulletins brightened his morning. The warm glow that rose in his chest as he considered Sister Reed’s actions caught him by surprise.

Well, that makes sense to me. But, let’s not hold up the service like that again. By the way, he stopped and double-checked those assembled, where is Sister Reed? The scent of mess ensured this call meeting was crowded with representatives from all four of the church’s usher teams.

She ran off right after church. Even after I told her this meeting was mandatory, LuBertha huffed.

Pastor White, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about this happening again. Sister Lori quit, Lewis Owens, the other new member of the team, chimed in.

Tried to leave before service was over, LuBertha scoffed. But I made her serve out the day.

The reverend’s booted foot hit the floor twice.

My Lord, Rev. White proclaimed. And yet the greater issue remains. Deacon Greene, please call Sister Reed’s sponsor and alert him. We’ll need to find yet another ministry assignment for her. Bradley’s foot connected with the floor four times. Lori Reed was cute, kind, and a problem. Before we adjourn this meeting with prayer, I’ll challenge each of you to consider how you will encourage new members in the future. And I pray we’ll never see our ushers arguing in the vestibule again.

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Ten minutes later, Bradley White stepped outside to the promise of warmth. The brightness of the sun from his office window fooled him again. The lightweight, gray wool suit he wore wasn’t quite warm enough for early March in Illinois. He’d caught a slight chill in his body, but his feet felt fine. He grinned. Only his boots could accommodate the thick socks he needed to keep his size fourteen feet warm. As he waited for Deacon Greene to lock the church’s outer doors, his thoughts returned to Lori Reed. His smile didn’t fade as he marveled at how she managed to look youthful, even attractive in that awful usher’s get-up. Bradley rubbed his hands together for a bit of warmth. If WABC was going to retain Dr. A. Lori Reed as a member, they needed to find a place for her to serve and fast.

They first assigned her to the welcoming team. Friendly, welcoming faces were a must in his plans to grow the church. And if the welcoming face belonged to a pretty lady? More the better. When she missed a month of Sundays, he had no choice but to replace her.

Next, they appointed her to a vacancy on the buildings and grounds committee. After attending the first meeting, she quit. Something to do with the children’s play lot that he still didn’t understand. Now, this?

He’d never forget her first visit to the church last October. Deacon Greene pointed her out before service began because he thought she was a white woman. Unfortunately, Sunday morning remained the most segregated hour in America. And Greene wasn’t the only member to call the ‘white-lady’ in the back row to his attention. He had his work cut out for him if a Caucasian person, visiting for more than two Sundays, threw a portion of his congregation into a tizzy. Yet another change WABC didn’t seem willing to make.

When she joined before Christmas, some of the members were still a little unsure. But when she gave her joining testimony, it was clear. Lori Reed, Ph.D. was a sister. A well-spoken, conscious, single sister with a cute sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. They’d call a girl like her a peppermint patty back home in Texas.

Her testimony touched his heart. He prayed over her words for more than a month. Sister Reed’s earnest desire to make good on the promise she made to God when she was in trouble resonated with his soul. As her pastor, he was honor bound to find a way to help Lori Reed fulfill her promise to serve the Lord. So far, he’d fallen short of his obligation.

She seemed nice. But in keeping with the duties of his office and under the guidance of his mother, he’d kept his distance. After what happened in Florida, he practiced extreme caution when it came to the women in his congregation.

When he first arrived at WABC, the number of female visitors increased exponentially. With the mess the church was in, any increase in visitors was mathematically significant. A few young families had joined, but mostly single sisters. The deacons teased him—not about finding a wife, but rather picking one out amongst the roses that had cropped up in the congregation.

The seasoned sisters worked to hook their single pastor up with their nieces, daughters, or family friends. To date, he’d safely sidestepped all attempts at his attention. In general, he avoided all single women, except Pearl Johnson. Sister Pearl was sweet on him, and he liked her, too. Pearl reminded him of a slightly younger version of his late grandmother. WABC didn’t have a first lady, but he kept Pearl’s first lady’s assistance committee on the board. For that kindness, she fed him. He frowned. A slow recovery from foot surgery still had his favorite auxiliary head sidelined.

Good day, Deacon. Bradley shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried across the small parking lot toward his pickup truck. During the short, brisk walk, he reminisced about his first act as senior pastor. He gave up two reserved, front-of-lot spaces to create one handicapped spot. He should have known he was in for a bucking-bronco-style-ride when a controversy arose over his giving up the parking spaces.

Shaking off the chill, Bradley slid behind the wheel of his vintage, fire-engine-red, Ford F-150. Lord, he missed the Texas sunshine. Sitting in the parking lot, Rev. White took a moment to plan the rest of his day. First, he needed to cook since Miss Pearl had a date with her Mr. Pinkney, and he’d declined the other dinner offers. Sunday dinner was family time back home, and he wanted to encourage that practice among the fractured families in his congregation.

Lord, help us heal our families.

A quick trip to the grocery store, then he’d fry himself a steak before heading to the evening service at Calvary Church. Just like his mother—a therapist, — went to counseling to maintain her sanity, he needed to hear the word of God preached to maintain his.

Chapter Two

On Monday night, Bradley White stretched his long legs under his dining room table and quietly listened. As if he didn’t have enough meetings, he’d added one more to his packed agenda. Since the new members’ sponsor program was his idea, he needed to ensure its success. Even if it meant hosting at the sparsely decorated parsonage. At least the cavernous house served a useful purpose once a month.

The first hour of the March sponsors’ meeting ran on auto-pilot. As the sponsors updated the team on the integration of their charges, his mind wandered. The sponsors were doing a mighty work. WABC had new faces in all its auxiliaries. New members thrived on the special attention. Previous bench-warmers were now active participants. And his core members, for the most part, were excited to have more willing workers.

Except when those new workers came in with any new ideas.

In general, things were progressing as planned. In nine months he’d increased the membership, revamped the music department, started the new members ministry, and instituted a process where members could suggest new groups. So far, the board had only approved one, a young mothers prayer circle. That idea brought in by the young family that joined when he preached his trial sermon last year. Bradley picked up his iPad and sent Mrs. Cynthia Owens an email, reminding her that he wanted to host the group at the parsonage soon. But adding the prayer group wouldn’t mean anything if he couldn’t help the Owens heal their ailing marriage. Rev. White tapped his scheduling app. He’d see Cynthia and Lewis again on Thursday. Too often new members came with old problems.

Nevertheless, the church was moving forward—despite formidable opposition from some. But simply adding to the roster wasn’t enough. His long-term goal was retention, of old members and new.

I have the problem. George Wilson, the twelfth member of the team, strategically waited to report last.

On to the heavy lifting.

George and Brenda Wilson were also relatively new to WABC, but a little different. He’d recruited Brenda for her musical gift. Revamping the music ministry proved to be a herculean task, even for a minister of music with Brenda’s skill. The modernized music ministry had successfully attracted an active group of thirty-somethings to the church. And he still hadn’t returned all the calls from yesterday complaining about the new young adult choir. Brenda’s husband came with the double portion blessing of executive-level leadership skills. And just like the Owens, the Wilsons had a challenge in their marriage. Unlike the Owens, the Wilsons were working together to save their marriage.

Lori Reed, George started, and a murmur raced around the table. After taking in a measured breath, George continued, She’s tried the welcome team, the beautification committee, and everyone knows what happened yesterday.

Lord, I heard those senior ushers got a little raw, Pearl Johnson chimed in.

Not the senior ushers, LuBertha Greene, Olive Jones, the church clerk inserted.

Pearl shook her head. I feel terrible. All this because she was kind enough not to ask me to walk.

The conversation digressed for a moment into the usher’s behavior and Pearl’s medical progress.

We’ll all continue to pray that you are soon made whole. Bradley smiled, then tapped his foot against the dull hardwood floor. As soon as this meeting was over he had a hot date with the pot roast Pearl brought him for dinner.

There’s more of an update concerning Sister Lori, George continued when the conversation ebbed.

Bradley’s breath caught in his chest.

Lori auditioned for the praise team this evening.

Well? Bradley perked up.

Brenda just sent me a text. That’s not going to work out.

Bradley sighed. What to do? What to do? I’m at a loss for where Sister Reed might best serve. Any suggestions?

Fifteen minutes of general discussion yielded no strong recommendation. While the team discussed options, Bradley scanned his spartan dining room. Apart from the ugly pea green drapes left behind by the previous pastor, there wasn’t much in the space beyond the extra-long dining table. If he was going to host meetings here, he should fix-up a little. He tapped his foot twice. He wouldn’t know how to begin decorating the castle of a parsonage, and he wasn’t about to hire anyone to help. When it came to maintenance, the Trustee board took great care of their investment property in a highly desirable subdivision. How had Deacon Steele put it? The church provided the house. It was the first family’s duty to make that house a home.

Rev. White slid his booted foot against the floor. He could at least wax the floors. Decorating could wait until his mother visited in a few months for his first anniversary. She’d help him spruce the place up. No, Juanita White would take charge of the project, all the while reminding him how it wasn’t her job. He withheld a chuckle and returned his attention to the meeting.

There’s always a need in the nursery. Deacon Greene pushed back from the table to make his usual suggestion for all young women in the church.

Bradley usually let Greene’s conviction that all young women should be assigned nursery duty as a training ground for motherhood slide. Tonight, his foot kicked in annoyance at the old-fashioned idea. Was childcare all they could offer? He racked his brain for where else Dr. Reed might best serve. There just wasn’t much call for a chemist in the ministry.

What about my committee, Pearl offered.

From her joining testimony, Lori Reed desired to render service of some substance. He shook his head no to a place on a symbolic committee. After another round of what-ifs, the team couldn’t come up with any viable options. If the board had approved the partnership with the local school district for an academic tutoring ministry, he would offer that. But it was going to take a few more contentious meetings before that was approved.

All right, Bradley signaled for an end to the discussion. Thank you, Deacon, for the suggestion, he conceded. George, get her on the nursery schedule and when you offer the assignment, be extra encouraging. And, Bradley’s foot paused mid-sentence, at this point, I think I should also speak with her. She’s a regular at Bible study. Bring her by the office Wednesday evening. We want to make sure we keep her motivated and encouraged.

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Late Monday night, Lori pulled on her lab coat, eager to begin an uninterrupted eight-hour shift in the lab. Safe inside the sterile steel and white laboratory, she exhaled. Most people would describe the environment as cold and aseptic, but she found the space serene and comforting.

After donning a hair net and safety glasses, Lori caught a glimpse of her reflection from the highly reflective glass wall they used to write out equations and formulas.

Too much white, she laughed. The story of my life.

As a white-skinned African American, too white summed up most of her adult experience. At first sight, her skin color caused some black people to brand her as an outsider or the enemy. Most white people didn’t know how to interact with her, once they learned her ethnicity. She’d had a difficult time finding her place in society since she left Bossier City, Louisiana. Lori sighed as she remembered what happened yesterday at church. She hadn’t intended to create any confusion. It wasn’t right to ask the disabled church mother to walk the offering plate.

When she had Sunday dinner with the Wilsons, they discussed why her action caused such a stir. As her sponsors, the Wilsons worked so hard to help her fit in at the church. She was so sorry about how things had played out so far, she gave in and finally accepted Brenda’s invitation to audition for the praise team.

At the audition, Brenda insisted she sang well enough to get by, but Lori refused to throw off the harmony of the group. Every member of the praise team could knock the lights out with their voice. She’d be a weak link and stick out like a sore thumb. Ha! Lori laughed out loud. I don’t think I’ll add not joining the praise team to my string of unsuccessful attempts to serve at WABC.

Why was it so hard to find a place to serve? But more importantly, when would people like LuBertha Greene accept that she was African American and welcome her into the community?

Even so, she