Page 14 of A Surefire Love
“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 ratchetedthe 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“To speak to the board’s concerns and have it repealed.”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 twitteredoverhead 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 stillmake 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.”
