Chapter 6
Anson found Greg’s office door open. Papers littered his desk, ignored as he typed on his laptop.
Anson stepped in. “You got a minute?”
Greg typed a few more words, then shut the laptop. “Sure. I had a feeling you’d stop by.”
Disappointment stretched in Anson’s chest as he took a seat across from the senior pastor. If Eric had exaggerated the board’s new initiative, Greg ought to be surprised by Anson’s visit. Then again, the meeting notes spelled out the ultimatum.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Pastors here get a vote on everything but questions about their own employment.”
“Well, sure, when they’re present.”
“I would’ve been, if I’d known someone put youth group attendance on the agenda.”
Greg’s salt-and-pepper beard framed a sympathetic smile. “It was a last-minute addition. I suggested we wait for this week’s meeting to make any decisions, but Eric made a compelling case. I was overruled.”
“What was his case?”
“That sometimes an outside perspective can see what someone closer to a problem cannot.” His pause seemed weighty. “For the record, I also voted for a less ambitious goal.”
A throb picked up at the base of Anson’s skull. “The board didn’t think they needed to hear both sides?”
“No one was thinking in terms of sides. Some of the board members are parents, so they have a pulse on the youth group. Attendance is down. That’s not up for debate.”
“The debate is what our response ought to be.”
Greg leaned into an armrest, skewing the cream-and-brown lines on his button-down. “What would you have suggested?”
“Continuing faithfully and trusting God with the numbers.”
“I don’t know that ignoring the problem is the answer. Goals give us something to aim for.”
The throb intensified to constant pain. “Is the answer less teaching and more games? Because that’s what Eric asked me to do when he described this plan on Monday.”
“You do tend to be on the disciplined side. It might not hurt to lighten up more.” Greg sat back and crossed his legs. “This shouldn’t require a major change. Doubling only requires each student to bring one friend. The board thought that was reasonable.”
“When was the last time every board member brought a guest to church?” Anger crackled in his voice, and he clenched his teeth, trying to get his emotions in check.
“They’re not practicing what they’re putting on me and the students.
And what are you going to do when Eric sets his sights on you, saying you need to water down your sermons to increase Sunday morning attendance? ”
Greg lifted a hand. “No one is asking you to water down the gospel.”
No—Eric wanted him to skip it almost entirely. “It doesn’t seem at all divisive that he addressed his concerns about the youth groups the one time the man responsible for the students was absent?”
“Conflict is hard for a lot of people. It could be that he didn’t want to offend you and wanted the board’s opinion on the matter before pursuing a solution.”
“Eric doesn’t have a problem with conflict.” If he’d wanted to avoid conflict, he wouldn’t have paraded into Anson’s office with news of the initiative.
Greg stacked the papers on his desk. “All I can say is that he seemed very humble in the way he talked it through with the board. As for the outcome, I suspect that if the board sees positive movement, they’ll lay off the whole thing, and the result will be bigger youth groups where you have the privilege of serving more kids. ”
“The meeting notes—and Eric—say the board will ‘take action’ if I don’t hit the goal. Did anyone discuss what the action will be?”
“I imagine a brainstorming session. But again, I don’t see much coming from it. If anyone even remembers to discuss the issue again at the end of the semester.”
“So, your advice is to lie low, do what I can, and hope everyone forgets?”
“Sometimes, the best solution is time.”
Anson sat silent. Stunned. Disappointed. Anger ratcheted the muscles in his back tighter and tighter. “I would like to add the initiative to this week’s agenda.”
“To what end?”
“To speak to the board’s concerns and have it repealed.”
Greg shook his head helplessly. “They won’t.
A couple of families left for Grace Evangelical, and the congregation that’s left is aging.
We added to this building in better times, and with membership dwindling, it’s a stretch to maintain.
Our budget has been tight for years, and we have some big expenses looming.
The original portion of the building needs a new roof, for one.
If the board sees a way to strengthen our ministries and bring in more people, especially younger people, they’re in favor of it. ”
“Students aren’t a gold mine.”
“Students have parents. While I agree that this plan won’t fix the budget issue, I do believe God will.
As He provides, this pressure will fade.
But if you dig your heels in and make them firm up their position, it becomes its own issue, something that won’t disappear no matter what happens with the finances. ”
Too tense to stay seated, Anson started pacing. “Kids think they have forever to decide about God. They don’t. Sharing the gospel with them is vital.”
Greg studied Anson for a few long beats. “The gospel is still paramount. If the board is at one extreme, don’t fight back by choosing the other. There’s holy ground in the middle where you can weather this storm.”
Huddle up like a kid during a tornado drill? Retorts burned in Anson’s lungs, but Greg wasn’t the problem. Not the whole problem, anyway. He didn’t deserve to be berated, and Anson didn’t want to damage their relationship by venting more of his frustration.
“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.” He let himself out.
At least they agreed on one thing: this was a storm.
Birds twittered overhead as Blaze stepped into the park at the heart of the town square. She checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a text saying her pick-up order was ready. Nothing yet. She slid the phone into her pocket again and smiled at her favorite of the Many Oaks oaks.
The park contained all twelve of Iowa’s native oak tree varieties. Early officials had marked the biggest of each with a bronze plaque. Nine of those original prized oaks remained standing.
Blaze’s favorite was not one of the survivors. With a one-hundred-year lifespan, the chinkapin oak would never measure up to its towering neighbors. She tapped a leaf as she passed under a low branch, then continued down the paved path.
She inhaled the scents of warm earth and greenery. Movement and fresh air renewed something in her that she hadn’t known could break until she’d landed her promotion. Spreadsheets had nothing on the rush of matching a client with the perfect car.
As she walked, the trees gave way to the clearing that housed the gazebo.
With flowering vines twining through the lattice, the gazebo had drawn Blaze and her friends to stage many a pretend wedding.
Boys had always been in short supply, so they’d argued over who got to wrap up in the lace tablecloth and who had to don the black jacket.
If the white paint were refreshed, the gazebo would still make a great wedding venue, provided the couple could limit the guest list to—she surveyed the area to estimate the size, but her gaze landed on Anson, coming up the path.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing, wary gaze fixed on her like the boys who stumbled across the wedding game and wanted to avoid the theatrics.
He hadn’t moved to Many Oaks until years after she’d quit that childish game, but she doubted he ever would’ve taken her hands, looked her in the eyes, and promised to love her forever.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who won over boys like him, even for five minutes of pretend.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
He motioned toward the gazebo. “Meeting Sydney.”
Her phone pinged. Hopefully dinner was ready. “Don’t worry. I’m just passing through. As you know, I have other places to be on Wednesday nights.” She stepped toward him, meaning to return to the restaurant the way she’d come.
Anson remained in the middle of the walk. “How is Mercy?”
“It’s a sprain. The crutches will be short-lived, but in the meantime, they bring some nice perks.”
“Such as?”
“Tomorrow’s her first day of middle school. She was nervous about finding her way around, but kids on crutches get a helper during hall passing, so she’ll have a guide.” That fact alone had taken Mercy’s anxiety about middle school from a nine down to a five.
“I’m glad it’s not serious.”
“Me too.” She pulled out her phone. “Dinner’s ready, so I’ll get going.”
He didn’t step off the path, so she did. Compliments of the hot, dry week, her heels didn’t sink into the grass.
“Thanks.” Quiet and gritty, his voice halted her.
She glanced over her shoulder at him.
A flash of apology crossed his face. “Thanks for coming directly to me when you had a problem, instead of … not.”
She hadn’t meant to talk to him about the problem, only about her proposed solution.
His mouth settled into a tight line.
“You seem upset.”
The frown deepened. “Not everyone is as forthcoming as you. It’s easier to solve problems with direct conversations.”
She’d never seen him like this. What was she supposed to do? Try counseling a pastor? She rested a hand on a cocked hip and quirked an eyebrow. “You have problems?”
He laughed once. “I do.”
She ordered her curiosity to take a hike and lifted her chin with a teasing smile. “I didn’t think those kinds of shenanigans were allowed. You run a tight ship, Marsh.”
He shifted as though someone had poked him in the spine, and his line of sight fell to the dusty pavement. “I shouldn’t have said what I did the other day. You’re doing a great job with Mercy.”
“I shouldn’t have been so hurt. You don’t know us well enough to say one way or the other.”
He stole a sidelong glance at her.
The statement wasn’t fair. He could observe her and Mercy and guess whether she was a decent guardian. Why hadn’t she just taken the compliment?
“You still want to be a leader?”
That was one compliment she wouldn’t pass up. “Yes.”
He focused on her, forehead creased. “You think Philip can change The Signalmen’s schedule by next week?”
She had no idea, but next Wednesday was Rooted’s opening night. Philip could do without her one night if it meant proving her reliability to Anson. “I’ll be at youth group.”
“Sounds good.” He put his head down and continued toward the gazebo.
“See you at the show?” She was pushing her luck, but she’d come this far. “Since Rooted doesn’t start up until next week?”
He peered at her over his shoulder, then shook his head. “Probably not.”
The likely reason why—Sydney—rounded the gazebo from the direction of the community center. The woman smiled a kind greeting.
“Good night.” Blaze took her win and hurried away.