The Courage to Love
Autore
Donna Gartshore
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Chapter One
Claire Casey was rummaging in her purse to find the keys to lock up Love Blooms, the flower shop she owned in the small town of Living Skies, Saskatchewan, when she heard her cell phone ringing.
It was the middle of November, already getting dark out by the time she closed the shop, and the air was frosty.
She immediately abandoned the search for her keys and rummaged for her phone instead, praying that it wasn’t something urgent with her four-year-old daughter, Maggie.
Juggling being a twenty-eight-year-old single mother with being the business owner of a shop she hoped to expand was a challenge every day, and Claire was grateful that her sister, Rachel, who shared their apartment-style condo, was able to step in to do day-care pickups on the days Claire was running late at work and keep Maggie entertained until Claire got home.
Even though Rachel was home some of the time, Maggie still went to day care because Claire thought it was good for her to interact with other children and because Rachel needed time to look for work.
Her gratitude was tinged with guilt, because while she was grateful for Rachel’s current availability, she wasn’t glad of the reason. Rachel was currently unemployed. She was a talented artist but it was difficult to find full-time work in the arts.
Claire knew there had been a lot of speculating when she got pregnant and especially when she chose to keep Maggie and raise her on her own. There had also been surprise, because until then, Claire was never one to want to make waves or draw attention to herself. Her parents made it clear that they weren’t pleased with her taking this stand, although there wasn’t any doubt now that they adored their granddaughter.
All Claire could say was that being a Christian didn’t exempt anyone from being human and making bad choices, but she never thought of Maggie as a mistake. She loved her daughter and wanted to give her the world.
All of this ran through her head as she fumbled to answer her phone as quickly as possible. But the voice that said “Oh, Claire, I’m so glad I caught you” wasn’t Rachel’s. It belonged to Shirley Allen, a popular Realtor in town and a member of the book club Claire belonged to.
“Hi, Shirley, what’s going on?”
“Would you be able to pick Troy up from school and drop him off for youth group at the church?” Shirley asked, referring to her fourteen-year-old son, who was a freshman at Living Skies High School. “He stayed after school for basketball practice. I have to meet clients over an issue that’s come up at the house they’ve been looking at, and Bernie is away on another business trip. I’ve tried everyone I can think of and you’re the first one I’ve been able to reach. I’m so sorry. I know you must be anxious to get home to that little girl of yours. It wouldn’t normally be a bad walk for Troy, but he’ll have all his equipment and books with him, and all of this melting and freezing has made things a little icy.”
“It’s absolutely no trouble,” Claire assured her. “I’d be happy to give Troy a ride. I’ll give my sister a call and let her know.”
She didn’t mention that she hoped she wouldn’t run into the assistant pastor, Samuel Meyer. She had no complaints about his sermons when he was filling in for the main pastor, Liam Barker, at Good Shepherd Church. He was a dynamic, passionate and articulate speaker and there was no doubt that the youth group was flourishing under his leadership. But they had sat in the same town-council meetings, and for whatever reason, if she said something was black, Sam Meyer insisted that it was white. They just couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. He was especially dismissive of her wish to expand her flower shop and had made it abundantly clear that he thought the space could be put to better use.
But Claire knew what her own reasons were and she wasn’t about to be swayed from them. Not only did she want to be in the financial position to ensure that none of Maggie’s needs went unmet, she also considered flower arranging to be how she expressed herself creatively, and being creative meant so much to her, as it was a significant way that she honored the Creator.
In reality, Claire was aware she wasn’t in a position to push for the property when she didn’t yet have the funds to accommodate any significant changes, but she imagined a future where she could hire employees and have more time to spend with Maggie. Maybe Rachel could be one of those employees and put her talents to use to give the shop an artistic flair.
Claire had never relished looking to others for support. Her independent streak started when she was never part of a large and loyal group of friends at school, and was cemented by Maggie’s father taking off and by her parents making it clear they had no intentions of rescuing her from the burdens she would face as a single mother. She did not want to be obligated to a bank or anyone else for the funds, so she was saving as best she could.
She had been diligent in doing so and was getting so close to having the money she would need for a down payment. Putting up a fight for the property was her way of telling herself that she believed it would work out. She trusted that God was in on the plan.
Now, if only Pastor Sam would quit standing in the way. It disturbed her more than she wanted to admit that he was so dismissive of why she needed the flower shop.
But now was not the time to dwell on that and she made herself listen to Shirley.
“You’re the absolute best,” Shirley said. “I’ll text Troy and let him know to expect you and that I’ll pick him up from youth group. Thanks a million.”
“No problem. Happy to help.” Claire hung up, found her keys and locked up, then went to her car, which was parked behind the shop.
She walked carefully since, as Shirley had mentioned, the sidewalks were slick.
Before starting the car, she gave her sister a quick call and explained the situation.
“No problem,” Rachel said. “We’ve been making our Christmas wish lists and I’ll get supper started soon.”
Claire didn’t ask if employment was on Rachel’s list.
There were times when Claire allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to have a husband and a full-time father for her daughter. But Maggie’s biological father hadn’t been responsible enough to fit the bill and she wasn’t going to bring a man into their lives just for the sake of having one, regardless of what others may think. Maybe that made her a bit closed off, even a bit hard at times, but that whole ordeal had taught her to protect her own heart, and now she had a little girl’s heart to protect, too.
Meanwhile, she would focus on what God had provided for them and set goals to create a fulfilling future for herself and for Maggie.
As she often did, Claire let her imagination loose, picturing what an expanded flower shop could mean to them. She visualized a large, bright room, teeming with customers being helped by friendly and knowledgeable staff. Rachel’s artistic talent would enhance the beauty of all of the bouquets—maybe she could design her own cards and sell them there.
Claire also imagined a small section of devotionals in the shop, along with stationery and whimsical knickknacks.
Claire arrived at the high school and saw that the parking lot was jammed with cars, so she parked on the street a little ways away and headed toward the school. Students and some parents were milling about, the teens shouting things back and forth.
As she was walking across the parking lot, a snowball was hurled in her general direction and a youth came from her blind side, colliding into her as he twisted his body to avoid the hit.
“Watch it, fatso,” the boy said before darting off.
Claire’s heart froze like the ground below, preventing her from calling after the boy to demand an apology for his smashing into her. She breathed slowly, in and out, and prayed to remember that she was beautiful in the Lord’s sight, and that the boy who had so thoughtlessly insulted her was simply an immature youth who lacked guidance.
Claire had struggled with her weight for as long as she could remember, and in school there had been some taunts because of it, but with a lot of prayer and focus on the positive attributes she believed God had given her, she had learned not to let her size define her. She took care of her appearance, loved experimenting with hairstyles and makeup, and had developed a knack for choosing clothes that were stylish and colorful, bringing out the luster in her almost black hair and the shine in her aqua eyes.
Rachel, who was slim herself, had encouraged her and said, “It really bothers me when large women dress like they’re trying to hide themselves. You are a beautiful woman, Claire, and you deserve to show it.”
Claire also enjoyed regular exercise. No longer using the excuse that she wasn’t the athletic type, nothing in her recent life had surprised her more than realizing how much she actually enjoyed biking and walking when weather permitted. Lately, she had attended a variety of exercise classes at the local fitness center. The first time she had set foot into a class, she had held her breath and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to make herself invisible. But the motivation of the instructors, as well as seeing the variety of ages, shapes and sizes of other participants, soon helped her to relax and be proud of herself for taking the step.
So for the most part, she had come a long way from being the girl who had lamented throughout her school years that she would never be traditionally beautiful or sought after. But there were still setbacks that could momentarily devastate her.
But that was something that she and the Lord would have to hash out later. Claire pulled her attention back to the task at hand and scanned the now thinning crowd to find Troy. She spotted him—a tall, gangly boy—then called out his name and waved.
Shoulders sloping, eyes on the pavement, he ambled toward her. It struck Claire that he wasn’t surrounded by jostling, yammering friends, but maybe they’d just left while she was distracted by the rude boy who had smashed into her.
Troy put his things in her back seat and got into the front, buckling up his seat belt without being reminded.
“Your mom messaged that she’ll pick you up from youth group?” Claire asked.
He gave a brief nod.
“So how’s everything going?” Claire asked after a few seconds of silence. She didn’t like the approach of drilling kids about their days, but didn’t want to be unfriendly, either.
“S’okay,” Troy mumbled in a monotone.
Okay, so clearly he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Claire wondered if there was something wrong but, then again, teenage boys weren’t exactly her area of expertise. Still, something about his posture and solitariness as he walked toward her car niggled at her. Maybe she could find a way to tactfully talk to Shirley, not to alarm her, but to make sure everything was good with Troy.
There was no more conversation exchanged for the remainder of the drive, so Claire was relieved that it was a short one. She pulled into the church parking lot, turned off the engine and got out.
“I’m good from here,” Troy said.
“I’ll help you carry your things in,” Claire said, opening the back door and gathering his textbooks and notebooks, while he tussled with his gym bag.
She noticed that Troy lengthened his strides, making sure to keep a few steps ahead of her, which amused her, though she held her breath for a moment when his foot skidded on an icy patch. Clearly, he didn’t want to be seen with her by any of his friends.
Good Shepherd Church was the church Claire attended, although it wasn’t the church she had been raised in and she suspected that her leaving her childhood church still hurt her parents’ feelings. But she loved the worship and praise music at Good Shepherd, as well as the Bible studies offered there.
As she juggled Troy’s books and followed him down the long corridor to the fellowship room, where the youth group held their gatherings, she heard the unmistakable timbre of Pastor Sam Meyer’s voice and she inwardly braced herself.
Troy stopped suddenly and turned. “Okay, we’re here,” he said, grabbing his books from her in a rather unceremonious manner. “Thanks for the ride,” he added hastily, as if he could hear his mother’s voice in his head prompting him.
“You’re welcome, Troy,” Claire said. “Enjoy your evening.” She had just turned to walk away when a boy who looked about the same age as Troy burst out of the room, with Sam close behind him.
Every time she saw Sam, she immediately and regretfully registered that she found him more attractive than she wanted to find a man with whom she constantly clashed wills.
He wasn’t much taller than her height of five-nine, but he had a comforting solidity about him and carried himself in a way that made him seem taller. His light brown hair was always cut short, combating its tendency to curl, and his hazel eyes could change from probing to gentle in a split second.
He was not classically handsome, by any means—his expression was often serious. But when he did smile it brought a light to his whole face and made Claire want to get to know him better, until she reminded herself that they didn’t get along at all, and she detested the way he made her second-guess her own motivations every time he ever-so-calmly pointed out how the property beside her shop could benefit the larger community.
She waited for him to question what she was doing there, even as it struck her as funny, in a kind of pathetic way, that she was already prepared to argue with him.
But as it turned out, he was completely oblivious to her presence, which stung a little, although she didn’t know exactly why.
She didn’t recognize the boy who had stormed out and assumed that he must be from another high school, possibly one from a nearby town. To his credit, Sam Meyer’s youth group had a reputation for being fun, thought-provoking and a safe place for the local youth to explore and share their faith.
But with his face contorted in agitation and his shoulders hunched, the boy seemed to be having the opposite of fun.
“Jason,” Sam said, his eyes etched with lines of concern. “What’s wrong?”
Jason threw him a baleful look.
Sam raised his hands in a befuddled gesture. “I seriously don’t know,” he said. “Even though I was in the room, I didn’t see or hear anything, but obviously something has upset you. Can you tell me what it was?”
The boy jammed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.
Claire noticed that Troy was mirroring the hands-in-pockets, shoulders-slumped posture, and if not for the fact that the other boy was clearly troubled, she might have dismissed it as teenage boy who was going through a phase.
Which made her wonder again if there was more to Troy’s sullenness.
She knew that she should just leave, since it was none of her business, but she couldn’t make herself do it. For whatever reason, she had never been good at walking away from a problem.
She was also a little too curious to see how her nemesis, Pastor Sam Meyer, would handle whatever was going on.
It had not been a good day, Sam thought, and apparently it wasn’t in God’s plans to make it any better.
Then he corrected himself. All days came with a variety of events and he did his best not to label them good or bad. Because for someone who coped with depression the way he did, it was all too easy for the labels to fall on the bad side.
He knew that wasn’t something that people who weren’t plagued with depression could readily understand. As a matter of fact, people who did suffer from it could vary greatly in how the symptoms manifested themselves.
To start with, he would have to say that he could happily get through a day without the morning phone call with his widowed mother. Oh, he loved his mother and couldn’t help but admire her. Hilary Meyer was always a force to be reckoned with. Widow of Clarence Meyer, the former esteemed leader of one of the largest churches in Vancouver, British Columbia, she was a whirlwind of activity and accomplishment—leading women’s Bible studies, singing solos in the choir, heading up charitable groups and community activities, serving on every conceivable board. The list seemed endless.
All of this made Sam’s role as assistant pastor, at age thirty, at a small-town church somewhat less than impressive, at least by the standards he had grown up with. His mother reminded him of this, in her ever-so-tactful way, almost every time they talked.
His mother was not the kind of person to whom he could explain how his depression made clinging to his faith difficult. She wasn’t the kind of person who believed that depression was anything other than something that some self-discipline and a brisk walk could cure.
The truth was that his struggles weren’t something that Sam really discussed with anyone. Who needed to know that it was a constant battle for their pastor to face each day? That he believed the Bible was true by sheer will and years of study, and not because he could honestly say that he carried the joy of the Lord in his heart.
Who would want him to teach their children or listen to the occasional sermons he delivered when the head pastor was unavailable, if they knew that the disease he battled often made every word he spoke feel like a lie?
It was difficult to keep up the facade of unquestioning faith in a small town like Living Skies, where he imagined that everyone, let alone a pastor, felt like they were under some scrutiny.
So he had made it a goal to receive a call from a larger church, not only to please his mother, but also because he hoped he might find some release in burying himself in busyness and greater demands...in a place where he might be able to keep people from getting close enough to ask too many questions.
In the meantime, however, he did genuinely care about the kids who attended the youth group. He found their questions, their almost brutal honesty, even their doubts, invigorating. He wanted to help each and every one of them to recognize and grow into their full potential. He was especially grateful for anything that pulled his thoughts out of the gray sludge they often struggled to escape from.
So for two hours every Wednesday night, he ignored the fact that he probably had more struggles with his beliefs than any of them.
His day had begun with yet another reminder that his goal to pastor at a large church was still far out of reach, and was now ending with a teenager who had stormed out of youth group, for reasons he was still trying to figure out, and who was now grimacing at his phone. Then, to top it all off, Claire Casey was standing about a foot away from them, trying to feign disinterest and failing.
He guessed she had given Troy a ride. He knew that Claire was friends with his mother, but that didn’t explain why she was still there. Or what it was about her that always made his senses go on high alert.
Sometimes, and he couldn’t explain why, he had a sense that she knew he was hiding something. She had a way of studying him across the table at the town-council meetings, with an expression that was solemn and thoughtful...and worse than if it had been openly critical.
Here he was with a puzzle to unravel, but without even trying—or wanting to—he registered that she was wearing her almost black hair up in a messy bun, her red coat brought a flattering glow to her cheeks and she smelled fresh and flowery, as if her skin was naturally scented by the flowers that she sold.
But he had no idea what to do with any of these thoughts. It wasn’t like he was about to pursue a serious relationship with a woman whom he could hardly be in the same room as without an argument brewing up between them. In fact, with his struggle to get his life and career on a track that he wanted, he wasn’t eager to pursue a serious relationship with anyone. There was no doubt that Claire was an attractive woman with those aqua eyes and glossy dark hair, but her stubbornness in the whole property thing and that way she had of looking at him grated on his nerves.
“Is there something I can help you with, Claire?” Sam asked, in his shaking-hands-after-church voice, which made her grin, once again giving him the uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t get anything past her.
“I gave Troy a ride,” she said, with her tone implying that she had every right to be there. She did, of course, which only made him more frustrated with the situation.
“I see that, and here he is. As you can see, I’ve got a bit of an issue here...” Wasn’t it enough that he had to deal with her constantly challenging him at the town meetings? Could he not get a reprieve from her here at church?
“Okay...” She darted a meaningful look between him and the two boys. Troy was now on his phone.
“Okay?” Sam repeated. His fixed smile made his face feel like hardened clay about to break.
Claire narrowed her eyes and indicated with a head tilt that they should step away for a private conversation. About the last thing he needed was to stand in even closer proximity to her. He had a hard enough time keeping his focus on the matter at hand when she was around. He really didn’t enjoy their bickering at meetings and being so unmovable in his stance. But he wanted something more for that vacant space than just flowers. If he could just get Claire to think about the bigger picture, surely she would see he wanted to accomplish something good.
Many churches were sponsoring refugee families from war-torn countries or countries with political strife. But what happened to these families once they were settled? Sam wondered. Yes, there were some follow-up visits and some assistance in finding doctors and dentists, getting the children settled in school and so on. But his heart ached for their fear and loneliness, knowing they’d had to leave behind everything that was familiar to them and, undoubtedly, many loved ones as well.
He had a dream of creating a space where they could gather, reinforce their own community bonds, while also becoming part of their new community: a place where they could continue to learn, not just how to take a bus or fill out a job application, but learn that life could be filled with endless potential.
So, the property wouldn’t just be for the newcomers, although they would be the valued center of things, but would be open to all who were willing to share, teach and dream, and become a diverse community together.
To his way of thinking, it would actually be a perfect fit with the popular Wednesday-night classes that were currently offered at the church. Volunteers would offer their skills to do everything from lead a Bible study to encourage the class through preparing a gourmet meal. These classes had, in fact, become so popular that the attendance was rapidly exceeding the space available at Good Shepherd, and what could be better, Sam thought, than to gather old friends and newcomers who could become friends and putting them in an environment to socialize and learn from each other?
But he also wanted it known that it wasn’t his goal simply to echo what the church was already doing, or limited to those who all believed the same thing. His vision was for an open-minded, openhearted safe space.
Also, although he was always quick to tell himself it was far from being the only or most important reason, some of the larger churches he had applied to had expressed some interest, but had also indicated that he needed to be able to give some examples of larger projects he’d been involved in, so that they could be assured he was capable of leading a church of their size and scope. He had to forge ahead. He simply could not let them know that his depression made him question his abilities to lead on a daily basis.
All he wanted now, though, was to attempt to salvage what remained of his day.
But it was clear that Claire had no intention of going anywhere until she’d had her say, which was so typical of her, so he told Troy and Jason, “Sorry, guys, I’ll just be another minute.” He followed Claire a few steps away, looking anxiously over his shoulder at Jason, who was shifting from one foot to the other in an agitated manner.
“I suggest you talk fast,” Sam said under his breath. “I could have a mutiny on my hands soon.”
“I’ll get right to the point, then,” Claire said. “I think someone posted something online that upset Jason.”
“What do you mean?”
And why are you getting involved in something that doesn’t concern you?
Sam grimaced and scratched the side of his face.
“Online. You know...social media, the thing that too many people are addicted to these days.”
Sam didn’t point out that he had seen her advertisements for Love Blooms on social media, mostly because he wasn’t about to admit that he’d been looking.
“Look at them,” she persisted.
Sam looked, only because he knew Claire would persist until he did, and could see the way tension radiated from Jason as his eyes flicked over whatever was on his screen, shoulders hunched and mouth set in a rigid line.
“All the kids look at their phones,” Sam said, reluctant to admit that Claire had a point, even though he could clearly see the boys weren’t happy with what they were reading. “Which is why I usually suggest they try to put them away during group. Troy’s looking at his phone as we speak.” A troubled expression crossed Claire’s face, as if she wanted to add something about that, but then decided not to.
He wasn’t going to push her on what it might be. He just wanted her to go away. He counted on familiar routines and ways of doing things to help combat the inner battle about his own worthiness to teach, and having his nemesis hovering around definitely wasn’t helping.
“That’s true,” Claire said. “But Jason is obviously upset. I suggest you get him away from the others and try to find out if he’s the victim of online bullying.”
“So...you think I can ask him something like that,” Sam said slowly, “and he’ll just up and spill his heart out to me?”
He shook his head. This woman really didn’t get it.
Except...sometimes he was afraid that she did.
Claire’s striking aqua eyes widened and her arms folded into a pose he recognized all too well.
He sighed. Why was it that whenever he was around her he always acted in a way he wasn’t proud of?
“I do understand what you’re saying,” he said. “And I think it’s great that you’re so concerned.” He hoped that she could accept that; he wasn’t just brushing her off with empty words. “But,” he added, “I’ve been dealing with youth and counseling people for quite a few years now and I’ve found that approaching people in such a direct manner often just scares them away.”
“You mean like not dealing with the problem at all might do?” Claire’s mouth, which was so wide and lush when she smiled, had narrowed into a straight line as she nodded toward where Troy now stood by himself.
“Oh, this is not good,” Sam groaned, pounding his fist on his chin. “Troy,” he said as he strode toward the boy, who looked about as comfortable now as someone who’d been unceremoniously dumped onto another planet with no guarantee that the aliens were friendly. “Did Jason say where he was going?”
“I think he called his mom to come get him.”
Now other kids had started to spill out of the room, wondering what was going on. Sam found himself scanning their faces to see if he could pinpoint who might be the type to post something that would hurt Jason. Then he gave his head a quick shake. He was frustrated at himself for allowing Claire to get in his head. He should have been firmer about insisting she leave, church open door policy or not. He had a group to lead and she wasn’t part of it.
Although, mostly, the more he thought about it, he was afraid she might have a point, and that irritated him more than anything. But even if it was true that someone had said something hurtful, there was nothing to say it was anyone in the youth group. He just couldn’t see that mean-spiritedness in any of them.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
Dear God, please tell me what I should do.
Then he noticed that a group of the girls were clustered around Claire, whose vivaciousness and sparkling smile made him think that she must save being ornery for him. They were asking her eager questions about her shade of nail polish and where she’d bought her earrings, jolly snowmen that dangled from her ears.
It was just one other way that he and Claire were so different: she was outgoing and exuberant while he, away from the pulpit or youth group, was mostly reserved. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about people, but it took such energy, sometimes all he had, to battle down the constant barrage of thoughts—the thoughts he knew weren’t from God—that he wasn’t good enough and that he would never be able to make any real difference.
Sam knew how his depression impacted him. He also knew that others could be so badly affected by despondency that they literally couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. He credited his faith, ongoing counseling and medication, which all combined to help him cope as well as he did. He knew and could accept, on some level, that depression was a disease like any other, and that society was finally working together to try to remove its stigma. But society had a long way to go and he still found himself unwilling to share much about his own struggle with it.
All of this didn’t make it easy for him to fulfill his mother’s wish of him marrying and one day making her a grandmother.
At first, he had been busy getting educated and trying to make his mark in the church, while keeping what he was sure others would consider the liability of his depression under wraps. Now he simply didn’t think it would be fair to any woman when he had his own issues to deal with.
If and when he ever did get married, he assumed it would be to someone like his mother—who was quiet, elegant and organized—and certainly not to someone like Claire, whose unrestrained laughter filled the hallway. Sure, he could acknowledge on some level that she was attractive, but she definitely was not his type.
He checked the time. The boys were busy now with their own conversation and he was relieved to see that Troy had joined them. He preferred a much more organized evening, but he tried to press down on his unease by telling himself that it wasn’t the end of the world for the kids to go with the flow, as long as they were together and having fun.
Once again, Claire’s suggestion about what might have happened came back to trouble him. He just didn’t know what he was going to do about it. Maybe the next time the teens gathered together, he could instigate a discussion about it—not point any fingers, of course, but just try to get a general sense from them how they used social media and what they thought their responsibilities were.
Yet, even while he considered these options, resentment flared toward the woman who was a thorn in his side at every turn, it seemed.
Claire’s phone rang. She answered and murmured a few words, then clicked her phone off and put it back in her purse. She looked slightly anxious.
“This has been fun,” she said to the girls, “but I’m sorry. I really have to go.”
Sam was slightly taken aback by the wave of concern that rushed through him.
You want her to leave, remember?
But he followed after her.
“Is it your little girl?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”
She stopped and looked at him with a slightly wary expression on her face, like she expected judgment from him for being a single mother. Despite everything, he did admire her for being strong enough to do it on her own and wished that he could tell her that, but they didn’t have that kind of connection.
Then she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes.
“If you’re so concerned,” Claire retorted, her eyes spitting fire and her color flaring to red, “then stop getting in the way of me trying to provide a good life for her.”
She turned without another word and left.
Standing there, pondering Claire’s parting words and fearing there was some truth in them, Sam felt far too alone.
