Lacy’S Loves

By Stephen Mitchell

Lacy Gray is a 21-year-old college senior, a committed Christian and gifted multi-sport athlete from Pennsylvania, attending school in Northern California. Her beautiful new roommate, Renee Lajoie, from Louisiana, is also an accomplished athlete. Because of their dedication to sports, they have never had much of a social or love life.

Against all their beliefs and standards, they fall in love with one another. The story tells how God, through his amazing love and grace, worked in their lives to forgive their sin and bring them back to him; and then how he introduced Lacy to the right kind of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524687977

Stephen Mitchell

Stephen Mitchell's many books include the bestselling Tao Te Ching, Gilgamesh, and The Second Book of the Tao, as well as The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, The Gospel According to Jesus, Bhagavad Gita, The Book of Job, and Meetings with the Archangel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

M y name is Lacy Anne Gray, and this is the story of my life from ages 21 to 26. There’s a good reason for that limitation: during those five years, so much happened to me and through me that it took a book to tell it all. And even this is only a Reader’s Digest version of the events. I had enough material to write an encyclopedia!

I was born and raised in Shaumburg, Pennsylvania, population 23,817 (NOT Schaumburg, Illinois!), a just-barely or not-quite suburb of Pittsburgh, depending on your opinion of Pittsburgh. (I like Pittsburgh, but I think Shaumburg, at thirty-five miles east, is out of its direct circle of influence.) I was the youngest of four children and the only girl. My three older brothers were all married and had their own homes in the local area, so at this time in my story I was the only one of the children still living in my childhood home – well, at least during the time when I wasn’t in college in California. I was a surprise baby, quite unexpected, six years younger than my next older brother, and an answer to my Mama’s prayers; for she had always wanted to raise a little girl, and had thought she would never be able to.

We had what I guess would be called a normal, traditional family life, very stable and solid – no drugs, drinking, trouble, etc. – and we were generally content with our lot in life. Much of that was due to my parents. Arthur (Art) Gray, my Daddy, worked as a production supervisor for the Good as Gold Baking Company, where he had been for 38 years, ever since he had graduated from high school. As you can imagine, he was a steady worker and man, who took his second job – that of parenting four boisterous children – even more seriously than his first. He was not overly demonstrative but quiet, calm and patient; qualities he brought from work to his home and family. And though he seldom expressed it in words, we knew he loved us. He was much more sensitive, to his children and to God, than many fathers, and more than once I saw him with tears in his eyes, as he prayed for one of his children who was sick or hurt.

Since after age 14, I was the only child still living at home, I got all his affection; he called me his princess, and made me feel like one. A lot of me and my brothers’ values – integrity, hard work, honesty and dependability – were formed by living with and watching Daddy. One thing we could always count on: any time he could, he would be at one of our games, cheering us on. And a special treat and blessing: he read us stories at bedtime. He even made up some of his own, and those were the best of all.

Another endearing facet of Daddy’s personality (when it was not exasperating!) was his quirky – some might say, weird – sense of humor. For example, it was Daddy who convinced Mama to name my three brothers Cody, Jody, and Brody; and he made sure I had that extra e in my middle name (Anne instead of Ann) so that each of my names had four letters. And he was always making up awful puns and word jokes. Usually he would be the only one laughing at them, while the rest of us groaned. Example: what is the personality type of a cross between Lassie and a cantaloupe? Answer: melancholy (melon-collie – get it?), and that was one of his better ones (so now you can begin to sympathize with our suffering). Oh, and one which I actually liked: Did you hear about the burglar who became a poet? He went from bad to verse. And I just can’t leave out this one: What is the first name of Mrs. Darth Vader? Answer: Ella – you know, Ella Vader. Well, you get the picture; so there is no need to torture you further.

About my Mama, Nancy Gray: I’ve always claimed that she was one of the best mothers who ever lived. Not only was she good at her job of running a household and a great cook, but she loved her children and showered affection on us. She was extremely fair, and great at quelling disturbances, without being overly severe. You always knew where you stood with Mama. She was the one who kept discipline in the family, and she did a bang-up job of it. Daddy couldn’t have done it; he was too softhearted. Mama didn’t keep secrets from us – I mean, things we needed to know but which many parents hold back on, out of embarrassment or discomfort. For example, by the time each of us kids reached puberty, we all knew the facts of life, and were comfortable with them. This is another area where Daddy couldn’t have explained things to us, but Mama could and did. (As I found, there is a huge difference between knowing the facts of life and living them so as to please God. At least that was so for me, but I doubt that I am the only Christian young adult who has struggled with those issues.) Mama also got more done in less time than most people, and did a terrific job of almost everything she tackled. And she thought and acted younger than her years, while still possessing a home-grown wisdom far greater than anyone else I knew.

In addition to her other sterling qualities, Mama loved people, and really lived God’s commandment to Love your neighbor as yourself. Mama donated to worthy causes, even when we were short of money; she bought street people lunch and ate with them, just so they would remember they were valuable human beings. And as often as not, she would take them to the local mission, where they could shower and get a change of clothes and a clean bed for the night. I used to go with her on her missions of mercy, and some of her compassion and love must have rubbed off on me, as I still enjoy volunteering at our local mission in Shaumburg as often as possible. So many down-on-their-luck people on their way to or from Pittsburgh passed through our town that our little mission was almost always full, and Mama and I were often over there. One day a week she supervised all the mission’s activities, for there was no resident director. It’s such a great privilege to be able to meet people at the lowest point in their lives, and help them find the Lord and a job and be reunited with their families. Or, if that’s not possible, to at least offer them a cup of cold water as they pass by.

You see, all of us were (and are) Christians, and our faith really matters to us. All of us kids attended church and Sunday school faithfully, even when we grew up and moved away and began our own families. We all know and love Jesus, and do our best to live according to his example and rules. All my life I have read the Bible and prayed every day, except when I was rebelling against God, as you will see later in the story. We all try to make our walk match our talk. (I’m still working on this. I trust that I will continue doing so as long as I live, even though I know neither I nor anyone else will get it completely right in this lifetime.)

Well! Moving right along here…as to my social life: unfortunately, there isn’t much to tell, for I’d never had much of one. My height (I’m six foot three inches tall), though it helped me athletically, didn’t serve to help me make friends or attract guys (except, of course, the shortest boys in school). To be blunt, I never had a date during high school or junior college, and I had to attend the senior prom with one of my brothers! Surprisingly, though, this lack of social involvement didn’t bother me all that much. My life was full, with study and athletics and church and family life and school events. Basically, I was a happy, secure, content person, but in many matters I had never been tested. Soon enough, however, I would be…oh, how I would be. I was tempted in a powerful way and in an area of my life that greatly surprised and shocked me; in fact, one I had never even considered for a second…but more about that later.

I’ve titled this work Lacy’s Loves because my four loves have, in a way, defined who I am and how my life has unfolded. My first two loves I have already mentioned: God first, and family second. Sometimes it seemed as if the first two traded places for a while, but it always came back to God. My third and fourth loves, both of which changed my life in radical ways, will come into the narrative at their proper times.

Chapter 2

W hen I was 21 and a senior in college, I was attending Ancona State University in Northern California on a full-ride athletic scholarship, because due to my height and slim build as well as my ability and my drive to succeed, I was proficient in three sports – basketball, volleyball, and track. But running was my first love, especially distance running, and I had set several meet and state records in the 5,000 meter and 10,000 meter races and cross-country when I was in high school and junior college.

During my two years at Ancona State, because I was an athlete, I got to live in one of the houselets – small two-bedroom cottages built in 1946/47 for the World War II veterans attending school on the G.I. Bill. Despite their age and diminutive size and Spartan furnishings, these were considered very desirable quarters, and were much sought after by undergrads because of their privacy and quietness,

Each student had an entire bedroom to him/herself (I later learned that that was because the bedrooms were too small (about 6 X 8 feet) to accommodate two students, according to local building and occupancy codes). During my Junior year, my roommate was a senior engineering major who I never got to know well because she spent so much time in the library or lab. That was okay with me, as it allowed me to devote more time to my own studies: along with many other student athletes, I was a kinesiology major, and looked forward to a coaching career after graduation. Since I was a three-sport athlete, I knew it would be easy to get a job in a high School or junior college. My dream job would be to coach volleyball, basketball, track, and cross-country at Shaumburg High, my alma mater, since I knew the coaching staff so well and was locally famous for my athletic accomplishments.

Then came my senior year, and that is pretty much where this story begins. I knew I was going to have a new roommate, and I was just a bit nervous, wondering if we would get along. I arrived at the houselet first, and was setting up my room when I heard a knock on the door. When I answered it, bingo – there was my new roommate! I helped her bring her things into the houselet; then we sat down in the living room to get to know one another better. I found that her name was Renee Lajoie (pronounced La-joy: she explained that her name had been Americanized because the true French pronunciation is difficult for English-speakers), and she was from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. She was a junior, one class below mine, and she also had a full-ride athletic scholarship, in tennis. She explained that she had been State champion her last two years in high school, and rated in the top three in Louisiana in Junior college. She was super-excited about being on the Ancona State team, because they had a great reputation for producing top-notch tennis players. The coach had told her he was going to start her at fourth singles because there was a vacancy there, and he was impressed with her record.

As to her appearance, Renee looked to be about 5 foot 8 and probably weighed more or less the same as me – about 145 lbs. But while I was just plain skinny, Renee had a beautiful figure. And she was easy to look at: Auburn hair, which she kept up in a kind of spiral bun on top of her head; a creamy complexion, with just the obligatory sprinkling of freckles over her very shapely nose, and gorgeous green eyes, which often seemed to twinkle when she was particularly happy. Her mouth was generous in size, without being too large; her teeth were pearly-white, and her lips would never need Botox: they were full and lush and when they curved in a smile, they invited you to smile too.

Renee was friendly and easygoing and good to talk with, and we had a great getting to know you session – we looked up at the clock and found we had been chatting nonstop for almost two hours! We still had a lot of moving-in things to do, so we took a break and worked on that. Then about 7 p.m. we were both feeling hungry, so I asked her if she’d like to go out for dinner, Dutch treat. She agreed with that, so we headed over to Manolo’s, the big Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks from campus.

You’re going to love this place, I promised; the food is great and the prices are right, and Manolo and his wife circulate around the tables getting to know their customers. I come here pretty often.

I hope I’ll like it, Renee answered; I’ve never tried Mexican food. There aren’t many Mexican restaurants in Baton Rouge.

Well, tell you what, I replied, if you don’t like it, I’ll pick up the whole tab; but I’ll bet you will.

Just then, I spied Manolo coming from the kitchen, and he was headed our way. I waved him down and he came right over.

Manolo, this is my new roommate, Renee Lajoie. She’s from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and has never sampled Mexican food before. I thought maybe you could fix her something just a bit special so she can see and taste how good it is.

I will be glad to do so, Manolo replied. And may I say how very fortunate you are, Señorita Gray, to be assigned such a beautiful roommate.

I grinned and thanked him. His comment made me look again at Renee, and I concluded that he was right; she was very beautiful. I know it may sound silly, but that made me feel good – kind of happy to have such a lovely roommate.

And it made me reflect briefly on my own looks. I’m very pale – never can seem to get tan, even when I try. And like many very tall, thin women, my features are angular rather than rounded. My eyes are sort of pale blue, and my hair, which I keep cut short, is naturally blonde. I really don’t use makeup; it’s always seemed to me to be a waste of time. If a woman isn’t beautiful enough on her own, makeup just accentuates what isn’t there. Renee used a little; just some lipstick and foundation and a touch of eyeshadow. She really didn’t need even that. But following her example, I started using a bit of light lipstick. I admit I liked the effect, but that was enough for me. I guess if you had to rate my looks on a scale of 1 to 10, I’d come out maybe a seven – not ugly, but no raving beauty either. (One person, however, who we’ll meet later on, had a more positive opinion about my appearance.) Renee, on the other hand, would certainly be a 9 ½, if not a 10.

When the food came, Renee’s first few bites were kind of tentative, but before long, she was packing her enchiladas and tacos away with great gusto. I saw Manolo again and gave him the double thumbs-up to thank him for his special efforts. After dinner, I drove Renee around town in my old Ford Fiesta (I know there is a newer version, but mine was the former generation from the 90’s), giving her a mini-tour of Ancona, before heading home to the houselet. Ancona is pretty small for a college town, so it only took a few minutes. I made sure to swing by the old Reynolds mansion on a hilltop overlooking the campus. It is a huge, highly decorated Victorian structure, reportedly boasting eleven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, and just chock-full of beautiful art and antiques. The Mrs. Reynolds currently living there was over 90 years old and the last surviving member of her family, and was kind of a recluse, rarely leaving her home for any reason. She and the mansion would have occasion to be in my story, but not for a while yet. Renee found my explanation fascinating, and mentioned that she would like to meet Mrs. Reynolds sometime. She got her wish, but in a way that neither she nor I could have predicted.

Upon arriving home, Renee thanked me for taking her to Manolo’s and for the mini-tour, and we both prepared for bed. It had been a long day, and we were pooped. Before heading for my bedroom, however, I picked up my Bible and read for ten minutes, just like I always did back home in Shaumburg. Renee noticed me reading, but didn’t say anything.

Chapter 3

N ext day, practice began for our athletic specialties. At Ancona State, student athletes must compete in a second sport other than the one for which they received their scholarship. I opted for cross-country, and Renee, not knowing which sport to choose, went along. I was glad; I thought it would be fun to be on the same team. Actually, though (I don’t really know why I thought this), I figured that anyone on a tennis scholarship wouldn’t do too well at cross-country – it was just too different.

As I mentioned, distance running was just about my favorite activity, so cross-country was a perfect fit for me. It’s considered a minor sport, so being good at it doesn’t get the same kind of recognition as regular track. But I loved it, and with my thin body and long legs and competitive drive, I was good at it. Renee, however, had never run competitively. So in the early mornings, I took her to the track and we trained. And what do you know: she was fast! Tennis, I recalled, requires a lot of running and stamina, so Renee had no problem keeping up with me. Of course, I wasn’t really extending myself, but our workouts were solid and kept us in shape.

Cross-country works like this: you start and finish at the same place, so the course is kind of an irregular loop; but in between you just follow the course as it is laid out along the natural topography and contours of the land. The designers always make sure that, if possible, there are some hilly and difficult parts. Most of the courses are about 3 miles or 5 kilometers long. Each team should have at least five runners, because winners are determined by adding up the order of finish of the first five runners on each team, converting them to points (e.g.: first place would be one point, second would be two, and so on.) Then the points are added up, and the team with the lowest total wins. Ancona State usually did well, and was ranked as one of the top three teams in the conference. Twice in the past ten years, it had won the title. (Note: a growing number of conferences are now scoring by time, which can produce somewhat different results. But points were how it was scored while I competed.)

Now, as noted, I had the perfect physique for distance running, and Renee didn’t; but she had the strongest competitive spirit of anyone I’ve ever known, even more than mine. She always gave it all she had, and then she dug down and found a little extra somewhere. As she got better and better at running, our practices became crazy fun. I always won, but that gal really pushed me! I had never had such a good friend before. We started doing everything together: shopping, studying, cooking, hiking – being with Renee just made me feel happy. And I guess she must have felt the same about me.

When the actual cross-country season began, our first meet was with two conference rivals. Neither one had a real good team and Ancona State did, so everyone figured it would be a blowout. They were right: we took five of the first eight places, and Renee and I finished 1 – 2, several yards ahead of the next finishers. And that’s how it continued throughout the season, until people started calling us Ancona’s 1 – 2 punch! Eventually we won all our meets and the conference title. That’s as far as things go in cross-country; there is no state or national competition.

I don’t want you to think, though, that every meet was an easy win. Interestingly enough, our hardest victory was over our cross-town rival, Father Rimini College, a large Catholic school that was locally known as the Notre Dame of Northern California, due to its strong emphasis on major sports – you know, football and basketball. Ancona State, curiously, even though it was quite a bit larger than Rimini, didn’t have a football team, and seldom could match up to Rimini in basketball, but we were pretty even with them in cross-country and track and field. The previous season, I had helped Ancona win over them in both sports by the narrowest of margins, so they were gunning for revenge on the school and me: for if I had not competed, they would have won two conference titles that they lost by just a hair. Their cheering squads and athletes were really making a lot of noise about beating us badly. (And believe me, any school that will send cheerleaders to an away cross-country meet has