The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,34
feel like I can finally relax.”
“I’ve got a few years ahead of me, in that case.”
“Your Eli is turning into quite a handsome young man. I saw him Sunday and, from a distance, I mistook him for his father at first. You’ll have to shake the girls away with a stick.”
“Hmm. He does a pretty good job of that himself. Anything that comes too easy, he’s not very interested in. And Jed . . . well, I can’t remember the last time he had a girlfriend.”
“You’d better find some wood and knock on it, Beth. If you’re right, then all I can tell you is, luck like that won’t last forever. It wouldn’t surprise me, though, if you’re wrong. There might be more to those boys’ love lives than they share with their mama.”
She laughs, and I join in. I’m used to these talks. Until I had children of my own, I never understood how much parents live vicariously through our kids, how we project ourselves into their lives. When they grow old enough not to want to share the tedious details of their daily experience, the effect on us is similar to being suddenly weaned off a strong narcotic. You start pumping them for information, for concrete detail, anything that will help you visualize their existence apart from you. And you end up in silly conversations about your teenagers’ love lives.
By a quarter past ten, there are twenty-two ladies gathered round, some on couches, some on chairs, a couple sitting casually on the armrests. Stacy takes a break from doling out refreshments to offer up an opening prayer, then Peggy Ensign raises her hand.
I sigh inwardly, cutting a glance at Nat, who gives a microscopic shake of the head.
It was Peggy Ensign who gifted me the Jesus fish.
“Before we get going,” she says in her singsong, schoolmistress voice, like she’s speaking to a roomful of children whom she suspects of being a little slow, “I’d like to make an announcement for those of you who didn’t make it to my Sunday school class this week. There have been some ominous developments in the courts recently that it behooves us as Bible-believing Christians to take a stand on.” She pauses to dig through an oversized tote, producing a stack of stapled handouts. “I printed some things off so everybody could follow along.”
Stacy plops down on a side chair, conceding the floor.
I haven’t read an etiquette manual in years. (Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever read one.) Maybe the rule about not discussing religion or politics at the dinner table no longer applies. Over the years, though, our study group has evolved an etiquette of its own, classifying certain topics as off-limits for the good of the group. No arguments about homeschool vs. private school vs. public school. No speculation about the End Times or the best Bible translation. Generally speaking, if it’s a topic the evangelical world at large is divided over, we tend to steer clear—not just for the sake of harmony, but out of respect for those with differing views.
Unfortunately, this etiquette was never written down, or even voiced aloud. It had more to do with good manners (and a few awful experiences early on) than premeditation. And Peggy Ensign, like the men Stacy was just describing, doesn’t know how to take a hint.
She’s only been a member of The Community for a couple of years, but she volunteers tirelessly for every church program, teaches a Sunday school class, and generally makes her presence felt. She wields an awful lot of influence. If Peggy’s not happy, the staff hears about it from above. As a result, she pretty much runs roughshod over anyone less vocal or more well mannered.
At Rick’s behest, I once tried to have a heart-to-heart talk with her, hoping to help her fit in a little better. Big mistake. What I discovered surprised me, and left me feeling conflicted.
“I’m not like most of you,” Peggy confided. “I didn’t grow up a Christian. Most of my life, I didn’t even believe in the existence of God, let alone love the Lord. When I got saved, I made a promise to not have anything to do with the secular world anymore. I won’t expose myself to any of those influences any longer, and I can’t understand why any of you would want to.”
Where I might look at The Community and think our problem is that we’re too evangelical, too conformed to a comfortable subculture that scratches our