The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 16): The Valentine Dinner
Ξ October 6th, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |
The next day, Friday, Jeff was at work all day and said he’d try to be off by six and come straight to the dinner, where I would have clothes for him to change into and be ready for the dinner at seven. He felt bed about me having to set up and get everything settled and arranged by myself, but I insisted that I’d be fine. Aaron and Candi both had to work, but planned to be there to the dinner by seven as well.Around noon, I arrived at the church to set up my table. I unloaded the car, piling laundry baskets of dishes by the front door, then toted them to the foyer where the dinner was being served. Tables were set out and immediately my heart sank. Table after stunning table was decorated to the hilt. Absolutely stunning, detailed painted china filled every table. Elaborate flower arrangements, embroidered napkins, napkin holders (which I hadn’t even thought of), and endless assortments of various glasses and silverware filled each table. I had no idea. The tables were from a different planet than what I had stuffed into my laundry baskets. I didn’t even have matching dishes, let alone china. If I would have had any idea I wouldn’t have even . . . my thoughts were racing as I realized that tears were stinging my eyes. I felt paralyzed as I took in the scene. Women buzzed around, placing finishing touches on table, eyeing them from different angles, placing candles and little favors on each plate.
Taking a deep breath, I talked myself through each action to keep from crying. I hadn’t even wanted to do this stupid job and here I was, making a fool of myself. I looked around for an empty table and decided on one in the very back, shaded from the overhead lights. Perhaps no one will notice. I unfolded the tablecloth and smoothed it over the table, keeping my eyes down so I couldn’t look at the surrounding tables. Piece by piece, I laid out my dishes—scratched and chipped. It was almost comical. Where I had thought the dishes were simple and sophisticated, here they just looked childish. It was like putting paper plates next to expensive china. Holding my head up, forcing myself to be brave, I finished setting the table, putting out my little red centerpiece and placing the water glasses at each place. I stood back and took a deep breath. It looked horrible. Who was I kidding? I closed my eyes and prayed, God please help me. I feel like a fool. I feel so alone and stupid, please help me. I know you don’t care about china, you care about my heart. I want to please you by serving in this way. Please help me. Just then I heard a woman going around from table to table, exclaiming loudly as she admired all the exquisite china. “Ooh that is just stunning!” she’d say, and then, “Oh no—that is just too charming!” She kept making her way around the room. I kept my head down as she looked at the table next to mine, exclaiming how she loved the ribbons and beautiful crystal glasses. Then, I could hear her steps behind me. I kept my head down. I knew I couldn’t face her. She stopped briefly behind me. I prayed she’d just keep walking, but she stopped. I peered over my shoulder, up at her, and she must not have noticed me sitting there in the shadows. Her raised her eyebrows, scrunching up her face in disgust. Then she shook her head slightly, wrinkling her nose, then chuckled to herself and moved on. I lowered my head, the tears rolling down my cheeks. I knew I shouldn’t care, but it hurt. Here I was, a grown woman, but felt like I was in grade school all over again, rejected by the popular girl or made fun of for something I couldn’t help. I slid out of my chair, before anyone could see me. I couldn’t go out the front door because someone would see my tears, so I slid through the door into the sanctuary, slipping into the very back pew, hidden in the shadows. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face, weeping. Slipping my hand in my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jeff.
“Hey hon, what’s up?” I couldn’t speak I was crying so hard.
Finally, “I’m sorry, honey, this is so stupid.”
“Sauce, what’s wrong?! Are you hurt? Are you ok?”
“I’m ok.” I went on and told him what had happened. “I know it shouldn’t matter, but it still hurts. I feel like every single time I try to step out and serve here, I get kicked in the face. I hate this place.”
After he’d talked me back into a right state of mind, I wiped off my face with my sleeve and decided to just go home. I passed through the foyer without facing anyone, and heard Lacey, Steve’s wife, talking about her table and how she loved getting to use her China.
By the time I got back home it was four o’clock, so I ate a snack, stuck some spoons in the freezer and showered, then used my tried-and-true cure for puffy eyes—frozen spoons on my eyelids. By 5:30 I was out the door, arriving at the church at 6:00. Couples were already arriving, candles were lit, live music was playing. The foyer really did look stunning with the shiny glasses and elegant tableware. I felt tired and emotionally drained, but God had met me while at home, as I sang worship music in the shower and allowed Him to minister to my sad heart. It always surprised me how God gave me a quiet peace, an inner joy, when I felt the most sad and empty. I found my table, which wasn’t difficult to see as it contrasted those around it, and put my purse at my place, then mingled, hoping to find Aaron and Candi. They were nowhere in sight, but hors d’oeuvres were being served in the café so I speared some cheese cubes and some bruschetta and busied myself munching and pretending to be lost in thought. Finally, Jeff arrived, still in polo and khakis, and ducked into the bathroom to change his clothes. He emerged a different man, spiced with cologne and dressed in a red collared shirt and black pants with a pewter-colored tie. He was famished so I found him some snacks, which he munched noisily, as hungry men do. We stood and talked, me reassuring him that I was ok, while figuring out whom we should approach to make conversation with. As Jeff took the last bite of shrimp cocktail, a small balding man approached us and held out his hand.
“Fred Balmer. Are you the couple from Oregon?” Jeff shook his and I nodded and smiled.
“Yes, we are. Jeff and Kari Patterson. Pleased to meet you Fred.” Fred leaned in as if to talk in confidence.
“So, I hear you’re the one who’s into running the college ministry. That right?” Jeff paused, tilting his head slightly as he contemplated this blunt question. He answered slowly.
“Well, we moved down here to help with the college ministry, yes. . . but. . .we feel like God is moving us onto other things. Right now we’re leading a home fellowship and we’re just pretty much focusing on that.” Fred chuckled as if he’d caught us.
“Quit huh?” I could feel Jeff’s back stiffen a little beneath my hand.
“Excuse me? Well, no, really we just sense God has a new direction for us, that’s all.” Jeff remained gracious, with visible effort.
“Yeah, well, this place isn’t for wimps, that’s for sure.” He chuckled again as if he’d told a joke. “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ve decided that I’m going to go ahead and get this college ministry jump started. So, if you want to be involved at all, you just let me know, alright? It’s Fred Balmer—you can find my number in the directory.” And with that he saw someone he knew and was off. Jeff and I just stood there, still staring after him as he walked off, speechless.
“Did that just happen?” Jeff took a sip of his cider and shook his head. I closed my eyes and smiled.
“I love you, hon.” I leaned up and kissed Jeff’s chin, then nestled under his arm.
Just then Aaron and Candi appeared. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere. Can we sit at your table?” Candi was all smiles, looking beautiful as she hugged me.
“Of course! Let’s go—they’re about to get started.” As we made our way through the crowd, none other than Jack Brush appeared, standing in our path.
“Jeff, I’d like to talk to you.” He said in his most serious voice. Jeff waved Aaron and Candi ahead and I stood at Jeff’s side, linking my arm in his. “You know, you really need to branch out and meet new people. I don’t want your friends sitting at your table—make them meet other people.” Jeff started at him and for a moment I really thought he would tell him to mind his own business. But he didn’t. He nodded slowly.
“Ok, Jack,” and he led me off toward our table. When we arrived at our table, no one was there except the Seifers. Jeff told them what Jack had said and they agreed to mingle, finding another table nearby. This left us alone. All the other tables were filled, as people filed in and found friends, oohing and ahhing over the beautiful table settings. We sat alone, in the darkened back of the room. Finally, as the service started, a few stragglers, including the woman who was performing the special music for the night, came, saying something about all the tables being filled. By that time I was thankful for anyone, and told them we were thrilled to have them.
The singer, a very large woman with dyed golden hair who talked loud and told jokes about her husband, looked over my table and then looked at me and winked. “I like your table. It’s simple and sophisticated.” I somehow knew she meant it, and immediately I loved her.
Dinner was surprisingly painless. After we’d finished our final course and leaned back in a satisfied recline, the woman at our table rose and sang her solo on stage, then the speakers made their way to the mic. They were an extremely attractive couple, who looked in their early 30s but admitted to be nearing 40. They had a remarkable testimony and I immediately connected with them and hung on every word. After sharing about their individual salvation encounters, they talked about their experience there, in Santa Clara, at that very church. I hadn’t known that they had been a part of this church, so my ears perked up. They explained that he’d come on staff when they were first married, and that he was supposed to be the children’s, middle school, high school, and college pastor all at once. Plus he was in charge of maintaining the grounds. They both laughed at the absurdity of it. I shifted in my seat because I knew that they were still expecting people to have loads like that here. Then she interjected her part of the story.
“Yeah, and we actually lived here, on the church campus. Can you believe it? We lived in this horrible little apartment that was filthy and had no windows. I can’t even believe it now when I look back. I cried myself to sleep every single night I was so depressed. But you know, I guess we just had to get to the very bottom of life, while we lived here, before God could take us up and allow us to be used to our greatest potential.” I sat, shocked at her words. First of all I couldn’t believe she was so bold as to talk about how horrible the apartment was. But second, I was blessed to tears, just to hear someone else affirm that yes, it was bad. For some reason it helped, just having someone say, “Yes, it’s bad there, but yes, God uses it for good.” Her words, her simple words, spoke life to me. It encouraged me that I hadn’t made everything up—it had been hard, it continued to be hard, but it was ok—God was using it for good. All of a sudden, nothing mattered. The china, the hurtful phone call, the ridiculous man who pompously announced he was starting a college ministry—none of it mattered. God knew. God heard. God felt my hurt. He loved me. He understood. And He was using it for good. It was going to be ok. I closed my eyes and smiled, nuzzling up to God in my heart.
After the speakers finished, we made more conversation while the servers began taking dessert preferences and served coffee. As I sipped my water, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, to my amazement, stood Jenny, dressed in an apron and jeans.
“Jenny,” I said in surprise, “Hi. I didn’t know you were here. I haven’t seen you in ages.” She looked me in the eye.
“We have to talk.” She took my hand and I followed her to the back of the room. She explained that David was working but that she’d volunteered to serve in the kitchen. Then she was quiet for a moment and leaned closer. “Kari, please forgive me. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I had it all wrong. I see now. I see it so clearly.” She had tears I her eyes and I shook my head, not understanding.
“Sorry for what?”
“Kari, I had it wrong. I just did what they told me to do. When I interviewed you for that job here in the church cafe, you were right. You said what God showed you to say and I judged you wrongly. I was wrong. You said the right thing. There is an abuse going on here and it is so sad. I see it now. I see everything so clearly now. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m so sorry that that severed our friendship. Please forgive me.” I couldn’t even speak I was so amazed at her words. God had healed my heart, and I’d felt free from the pain I’d felt those months before, but her words were so sweet, I began cry.
“Of course I forgive you, Jenny. You were just doing what you thought was right. I love you.” I hugged her and she held me tight with her strong little arms. Then, she shared. She shared all that God had showed her, the things she’d seen while working there that were wrong. She shared how her heart was broken, how David and she were torn because his family was involved there so deeply but they both felt like they needed to escape, like they needed to move far away and find a new church home.
“We have to fight, Kari. We have to be willing to say when things are wrong.” She thought about her words for a moment before continuing, “Even if we lose our friends.” She smiled and I hugged her.
“I know, Jenny. I know.”
–
A week later, at church, Jenny pulled me aside. “We’re leaving,” she confided. I smiled and hugged her, promising her I’d email and pray for them both as they told their families and dealt with the conflict I knew they’d face. The following Sunday, during the sermon, Pastor Steve talked about backsliders, those who fall away from the faith.
“We even have some, in our own congregation, even family members, who forsake God and abandon ship, leaving church, filled with selfishness.” Jeff and I sat in our pew, listening. We didn’t look at each other, but Jeff squeezed my hand. That afternoon, as we sat over lunch, Jeff pulled out the Multnomah Seminary catalog.
“So, Sauce, I’ve been praying.”
