Last week, we shared Chapter One of noted author Katherine Valentine’s newest inspirational novel.  Join us each Monday as we watch this incredible story unfold.

Sweet Dreams – Chapter Two

Emma stepped off to allow a man with a walker to pass and landed in a puddle of water that ran over the top of her shoes and was now working its way down to her toes. She had never felt more forlorn or scared in her life.

It’s the kind of dreary grey day when the wind seems to penetrate the very soul, Emma was thinking as she trudged downtown. The sidewalks were coated in a mixture of mud and brown slush. The few people who were out, walked hunched over, their heads tucked into their coats like a turtle in a shell.

She pushed her scarf up over her face, more to hide the tears than to keep out the wind.  Normally, she was not given to tears like many women. But lately, it took very little for her chest to tighten and her eyes to grow moist.

She had just finished her fourth job interview this week. With no computer skills and the technical savvy of a bushman, she had long ago given up any hopes that she might snag a job that allowed her to wear her own clothes. In fact, today’s job interview was as low as a woman over forty could go. But she had swallowed her pride and applied as a counter person at Shake and Eats. She had a son to care for.

A boy who was not much older than Benjamin wore a nametag that read, “Bobbie, Store Manager,” and made it very clear by his lack of attention that he was not at all interested in hiring a middle aged woman. His sights were keenly focused on the young blonde filling out an application at an adjacent booth. The girl wearing tight spandex pants and a sultry smile.

Emma seriously doubted that he had even heard her name or anything else that she had said about being reliable and knowing the importance of working as a team. After their short interview, he mumbled something about letting her know within a few days if she had the job, then hustled over to the booth, smiled broadly and apologized for keeping the blonde bombshell waiting.

As she walked along, the wind cutting across her face, she considered overriding her pride and accepting Arlene’s offer to use her spare room, at least until she could find a job. Any job. Maybe she should canvas her neighborhood and ask if anyone needed a housecleaner.  Her neighbors would probably love the idea of having ‘the fallen’ clean their house.

She was quickly running out of options and scared.

The bank had called this morning. They wanted her out by the end of the month. Where would she go?

Her search for an affordable place to live hadn’t gone much better than her job search. Landlords demanded two months rent and a security deposit in advance and an up front, non-refundable fee to run a credit check. Even if she had funds to spare, she wouldn’t have bothered. Her credit score was linked with Jerry’s.

So with no assets, a zero credit score and not having held a job in near twenty years, she was not what landlords considered a desirable tenant.

Oh, God, what would they do? She and Benjamin might soon be homeless.

A deep throated man’s voice interrupted her dark thoughts.

“You look like you could use some time out of this wind.”

A priest swathed in a bright orange stripped hand-knitted scarf, his face chaffed from the cold, was trying to pry a thin layer of ice off a set of stone steps. To his right a large sign read, “St. Gerard’s”.

“You know the church is often called a haven in the storm,” he said with a grin that lifted a set of jowls and emphasized the tiny nest of lines tucked in the corners of a pair of gentle brown eyes. She judged him to be around her age.

“Thank you, Father, but my car is parked a few blocks down. I think I’ll just keep going.”

“I have a pot of tea brewing,” he called. “And a tin of cookies baked by one of the our church’s fine ladies, although….” he did a quick checked to make sure no one was listening, then leaned down and whispered, “In all honestly, I wouldn’t advise the cookies unless you have a very reliable dental plan.”

She smiled. The priest took it as a sign of encouragement and pressed on.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Father Joe Lansing,” he said, leaning the shovel against the railing and covering the distance between them with one, lengthy stride.

He removed his glove and extended a hand.     She shook his hand. His grip was firm. His eyes were kind.

“The offer is made in the spirit of friendship, and if I might say without causing offence, you look like you could use a friend.”

She had worked so hard, not to break down.  Not to show emotion in public. But something inside suddenly broken. Frustration, hurt, anger and fear burst in a torrent of tears. She crumbled under its weight and collapsed onto the stone steps in a sobbing mass of despair.

She supposed that if she was to have a total mental collapse, outside a Catholic Church was as good a place as any. Emma had been raised a Catholic, but hadn’t been to Mass in years which suddenly struck her as ironic. The Church she had abandoned was the Church which was now offering her repose.

“My dear lady,” he said. “There, there. I’m sure it’s not as bad as all of that.”

She looked up, tears streaking her face. “It’s worse. So much worse than you can ever imagine.”

“Would you like me to call someone?” he asked, helping her to her feet. “A friend or relative, perhaps?”

His genuinely concerned touched her deeply.  She shook her head and tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry, Father. I…er…there’s no one.”

He pointed towards the church doors and smiled.  “I beg to differ.”

She looked up.  “I’m afraid that He’s not much interested in my problems, either.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I figure that if He cared, He wouldn’t have allowed my life to shatter.”     There was a hard edge to that comment that surprised her.  Did she really blame God for all of this?

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

“I have?”

“It just so happens that shattered lives are my specialty,” he said, taking her arm and steering her up the steps.

She was too weak and dazed to protest. She followed meekly.

“Be careful here. They’re might still be a piece of ice. I haven’t salted yet.” He opened the thick, wooden door and stepped back to allow her to enter. “Mind if I ask your name?”

“Emma. Emma Smith.”

“Well, Emma Smith, let us have a nice cup of tea and try not to break any caps on those cookies.  I always find that everything seems a tad better when there’s food involved. And as you can see.”  He patted to his pouch.

Emma liked this self-effacing man of God and began to find, if not a ray of hope, a ray of comfort.

He led her into the sanctuary and through a side hallway that connected the church with the rectory. They passed the church secretary, who smiled and nodded as though interruptions were commonplace.

“I turned off your teapot,” she admonished, calling after him as he buzzed by. “If you’re not careful, one of these days you’ll burn down the place.”

“Which is why the good Lord sent you to watch over me,” he countered, making the woman shake her head and smile.

Father Joe’s office was to the right off another long corridor. A bank of tall windows flanked the south wall and looked out over a dormant rose garden that encircled a statue of the Blessed Mother.

“Make yourself at home while I fix us a spot of tea as my Irish grandmother used to say. How do you take it?”

“Just plain, please.” While Father Joe went about making the tea, she studied the walls which were covered with crayoned pictures.

“Be careful. It’s hot.” He handed her a mug then motioned to a set of chairs. “Those are from my little friends down at the shelter.”

“Really?”

“You seem surprised.”

“They’re living in a homeless shelter, yet their pictures are so colorful and…happy.”

“Children live in what St. Catherine of Siena termed, ‘day tight compartments’,” he said, blowing steam off his mug. “They’re seldom plagued by our adult worries. Elm Street Soup Kitchen and Shelter is one St. Gerard’s outreach missions. It’s run by a core of very dedicated volunteers who work very hard to make certain that our guests are as comfortable as possible.”

“I’m afraid that if things don’t turn around for me soon, my son and I might soon be your newest guests.”

With those words, came a new jolt of fear. This was real. They might actually have to live in a homeless shelter. She glanced back at the wall, wishing she could be like those children and not worry about tomorrow. But she had a son. It was her business to worry.

He offered a plate of cookies with heavily blackened edges. “Please, take one if you wish, but I warned you, do so at your peril.”

She declined.

“Smart choice. Mrs. Finley hands me a new batch every Sunday after Mass,” he said, setting the platter on a side tale. “For which I add another Hail Mary to her penance.”

Emma laughed out loud. Father Joe wasn’t like any priest she had ever met before.

“So, tell me, why might you have to live at the shelter?”

She felt heat rising, reddening her checks.  She would never get over the embarrassment of her plight.

“My husband disappeared, along with a quarter million dollars from the bank he used to manage and our joint accounts.  Now, our home is being foreclosed on and I have just ten days to vacate and find a new place to live with no money.”

“I see…” He grew quiet.

“I need a miracle, Father,” she concluded, certain that none would be forthcoming.

“Not all of God’s answers involve miraculous intervention like manna dropping down from the sky, or angelic visitations,” he told her. “Many of God’s responses begin with ordinary people that He sends across our path.”

“Like you?” she asked, smiling.

“I bet you think that our meeting was a coincidence.”

“Wasn’t it?”

It was his turn to smile. “Our janitor went home sick today before he had a chance to shovel the church steps. Now, I knew if I left it undone that slush would turn to solid ice by morning, and I couldn’t risk an elderly parishioner falling and breaking a bone. So, I grabbed a shovel and while attending to the steps, I saw you.”

“So, you’re saying that God arranged our meeting?”

“Something like that.”

“Excuse me Father. I don’t mean this to sound rude, but why?”

“No offence taken. I don’t have an answer to that. Maybe He knew you needed someone neutral to talk to. Maybe He had hoped that you might find comfort here. If I might ask, what religion are you?”

She nodded. “I was raised a Catholic, but I kind of drifted off during college.”

“Maybe God decided to send one of his most charming men of the cloth to woo you back to the fold with jaw-breaking cookies and a mug of weak tea?”

He set his mug aside and grew serious. “Right now you’re consumed with fears and worries of how you’re going to fix this problem. How will you find a job? Or a place to live? Or the money for groceries. Am I correct?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“But what if you were to begin an outrageous experiment. The Bible says that God is a provider of those who diligently seek Him. What if you were to return to the Church and daily prayer? What if you were to ask God to bless you richly so you might bless others richly in His name?”

Emma was having a hard time processing a God that wanted her to achieve that kind of success. She had always thought that the most we could expect from God in times of trouble was a comforting word, or the hope that when we died our sorrows in this life would be over.  But a God who activity sought our highest good, then joined with us so we might enrich other lives?  That would take some readjusting. Yet this priest, this man of God was telling her that it was possible.

“It’s a bold prayer,” Father Joe admitted. “And not for the dilettante. Only those who are truly committed to seeing this experiment through should make this contract with God. But I promise you this, Emma…” His eyes grew earnest. “If you will offer up this period of suffering and trial to God for His glory, you will enter into a realm of joy so fulfilling that you’ll awaken each day filled with unexpected ‘God-incidences’.”

“What’s a ‘God-incidence?”

“That’s when God replies to our needs by sending a series of seemingly random events that helps propel us towards the answers we seek.”

“Like sending your janitor home so you would shovel the church steps and just happened to be there when I passed by so you could offer me tea and cookies?” she said, half jokingly.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to blame the Lord for the cookies, but…yes.  I believe that’s exactly the way He set things up. Think on the series of events that had to take place for me to be out front at the precise moment that you appeared, without, any of which, could have mucked up the deal.

“Our janitor could have decided to go home ‘after’ he had shoveled the walk. I could have been called away to the phone. You could have decided to park your car elsewhere.”

Emma was slowly catching the wisdom behind Father Joe’s theory.

“I guess my question is, ‘what comes next’?”

“Ah…that’s the exciting thing about turning your life over to God. You never know when He’ll pull a rabbit out of His hat.”

“But how will I recognize His leading?”

“By just being open. God speaks to us throughout each and every day. Through chance meetings, like this. Through books, newspaper articles, movies. I once had a woman tell me that when she needed retirement funds for her husband that God sent her the idea for a book that sold enough copies to answer her needs. God’s ways are infinite.

“So, Emma Smith. How about handing your troubles over to the Lord, instead of carrying them around by yourself? You never know where He might take you. Besides, you have nothing to loose and everything to gain.”

Join us next Monday for the next chapter of Sweet Dreams by Katherine Valentine.

Sweet Dreams – Chapter One

Copyright 2009 Katherine Valentine

Katherine Valentine’s widely read novels explore God’s response to our prayers in times of need. They include:  A Miracle for St. Cecilia’s; A Gathering of Angels; Grace Will Lead Me Home; On a Wing and a Prayer; The County Fair and The Haunted Rectory. All can be found in major bookstores and on-line.