Through Hammers and Verse: Revealing Love

By Meredith Deichler

Middle-school science teacher Kenley has been struggling to find a job back in her home state of Ohio. Still stinging from the most recent rejection, she must rise above her doubts about God's faithful love. She is headed to Mexico for a short-term mission trip, one that suddenly hands her unexpected responsibility, a leadership role that will pull Kenley out of the background and put her Spanish-language skills to the test.

Three days is not a lot of time.

For building houses and planting gardens.

For sorting and handing out donations.

For connecting through Vacation Bible School words.

Can three days be enough time for Kenley to overcome her uncertainties that God truly does listen to the prayers of the heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meredith Deichler
• Release date: Feb 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386439967

Book preview

THROUGH HAMMERS AND VERSE:

REVEALING LOVE

––––––––

By Meredith Deichler

To my family. Thank you for the incredible support you have given my dreams.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

June 2011

CHAPTER ONE

The miles roll on, adding up in two and three as I glance down occasionally at the odometer. Over three hundred miles since I slumped into the driver’s seat, the bright midafternoon sunbeams only frustrating me, the happy sky in direct opposition to my mood. I had shoved my sunglasses on and pulled out of the parking lot of Hoover Village Schools Board of Education with only my jumbled, disappointed thoughts to keep me company through the long journey.

My suit jacket lies haphazardly tossed in the backseat now even though I cannot remember pulling it off during the drive. The words exchanged with my parents in two short phone calls to relay the bad news also fail to surface in my memory. The last several hours are only a haze, and now I am cocooned by the darkness and my own misery. I am exhausted, having driven for over fourteen of the last thirty-six hours and all alone in the car without even the usual company of my whiny kitten.  Now there is not even the little adrenaline burst of looking ahead to the next possibility—Hoover Village Schools was my last scheduled interview. Either in person, by phone, or even through Skype, five interviews in the last seven weeks meant I always had the next one to buoy my hopes. Now my heart is as empty as my well of options.

I am debating if it is worth turning the radio on for the last minutes of the drive home when an electronic voice breaks the silence.

Jane.

My cellphone is nearly six months old, and I still have not decided if I like its habit of announcing to anyone in my vicinity who is trying to reach me. However, it does prevent the need to look down at the caller ID.

Headset already in place, I slide the phone open and hit the send button.

Hi, Jane.

Kenley? How are you? She is talking fast, which is normal, but also high-pitched, which is not. Something is wrong.

What’s up? I try to relax my voice, my throat dry after a day of avoiding my usual four bottles of water.

Jane is as perceptive as I am. Are you okay?

Yeah, I’ve just been driving for about the last seven hours.

Oh, wow! Was today your interview?

Yeah. I stop, not wanting to complain but realizing that nothing positive was going to come out of my mouth.

The pause hangs for a moment, and then Jane laughs dryly. Huh, that bad?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse interview and that’s saying something.

Oh, Jane hesitates, and then asks, Are you sure?

Positive.

Did they ask you if you like karaoke?

What? I half laugh the question in spite of my frustration.

Two years ago, I applied for an office job, and they asked me if I liked to sing karaoke.

What did you say?

No.

I laugh again. Did that help or hurt you?

I think it hurt actually. The man looked disappointed and said something about how the office supports a community feeling, and they go out to karaoke bars every couple weeks to get to know each other better.

I’m not sure that my co-workers' skills at belting out oldies or 80s pop rock is something I really want to know.

True, Jane agrees. So are you home yet?

Almost, last fifteen minutes here barring a mass deer crossing in the road.

So you’re not there yet?

No. I pick up on the same nervousness from the beginning of the conversation.

I can call you back in twenty minutes if that works for you, Jane suggests.

What’s wrong?

She sighs. I have got to learn to not be so obvious!

I shake my head even though she cannot see me over the wireless phone lines. Jane, I noticed it when I first picked up. What’s wrong?

Harry called me this afternoon at work and asked if I could meet him this evening for a cup of coffee. I assumed he wanted to go over things for our Vacation Bible School next week so I said sure, and we set a meeting time.

Okay, I was wondering when he would sit down with you and talk more about VBS, I say. I would really love to see any ideas he has that are off the script so I can prepare better myself. I know we told him to stick to the script as much as possible, but you know he is about going off on tangents.

I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about any tangents from Harry, Jane says slowly.

What do you mean? I think I ask the question even slower than Jane had just been speaking.

He’s not coming to VBS.

What?

He had something come up and won’t be able to come to Mexico with the team.

The stoplight ahead of me turns red, and I almost commit a major driving error as I only remember at the last moment that red means STOP.

I rub my shoulder where the seatbelt bit into it and try to focus on what Jane is saying.

He said something really important came up at the last minute and now both he and Molly can’t come.

Both of them? Still thrown by hearing that Harry won’t be coming on the trip, I am also caught off-guard that his wife will not be joining us either.

Both of them.

So who’s in charge of the Bible lesson? I blurt the question out but realize the answer almost immediately. Oh crap.

You can do it, Kenley. You are good with kids, you know Spanish, you know the stories.

My Spanish is not the greatest! I am wailing. I know it is not fair to Jane but I do not want this responsibility.

You have the script to help you. None of the rest of us could do this, Jane’s voice is soft but insistent, and the tone shuts me up.

I sigh. It’s just a really big deal to get the Bible lesson part right. Everything else we do in Vacation Bible School is secondary, all to build the relationship between us and the kids. The Bible lesson is to build the relationship between the kids and God, our whole purpose for being there. If I mess up—

It’s still God’s job to speak in the hearts of those kids, Jane finishes. Our job is to go and be available to be used as part of His plan. If you let Him, He will work through you and pull these kids closer to Him even if you don’t get all the words right.

I sigh again but nod, more to myself than her. So did he give you the book with the English script at least?

He’s giving it to Molly to drop it off at Elaine’s apartment tomorrow along with the art supply stuff that she has done and the stuff she doesn’t have done.

My irritation at Harry leaving me more work extends to include his wife. That she doesn’t have done?

Harry said Molly wasn’t able to get everything put together yet, and since she wasn’t going to Mexico now, she was hoping we could finish it up.

I manage to stifle a groan and ask the obvious question. So when are we meeting?

Are you free Friday or Saturday evening?

Saturday for sure, Friday I don’t know.

I’ll check with Elaine, but I think Saturday we’re all free. We can put some music on and have a work session. Hey, we can celebrate the end of your school year!

Only one more day at that point and it’s just a teacher day.

Okay, I will text you when I know a time, Jane promises.

Thanks.

The phone clicks off, and I sit silently for a moment. A glance at the odometer shows three more miles have passed. I look back up at the road, my eyes moving slowly from the bright numbers on the dashboard to the long black surface ahead.

Except this time it is not only the dark asphalt that drifts into my vision. Bright lights flash directly into my eyes, my pupils flying open in protest at the intrusion.

What the..? The question falls from my lips and then pauses as my dulled mind catches up with a second beam of bright light. The other driver is flashing his high beams at me, and it is not to warn me of roadside grazing deer or a cop ahead but for my car’s position. I am in his lane!

Fifty-five miles per hour eats up road rapidly. My heart rate doubles instantly, the beating humming in my ears; I can feel it in my hands where I am suddenly gripping the steering wheel. I jerk the wheel to the right. My body slaps against the seatbelt as my car bumps solidly into the shoulder at a sharp angle. I can feel the gravel skittering beneath the wheels, wheels that seem to be trying to go in two different directions at once. Thin branches with bushy leaves reach out toward the passenger door, and the thwacking of limbs against the car’s side breaks through the pounding of my heart. In that moment I hear a scream—my own voice, though whether it is an impassioned prayer, a swear word, or just a cry of fear, I can’t tell.

Suddenly the wheels find solid footing, and the car straightens. While my mind had been registering all the frightening details of impending collision with a tree trunk, my hands had been desperately trying to counteract my first wild swing of the steering wheel, and thanks to the wide shoulder, there had been enough time to compensate.

The brightness fades as the other driver zips past, his silhouette briefly visible, an arm gesturing wildly, maybe even profanely, but I forget about him as my heartbeat softens, my life no longer in danger. I realize that my arms hurt. They are nearly straight, held in a stiff position as I grip the steering wheel. I take a deep breath and force my elbows to slowly unbend. Another deep breath and I notice with surprise that the car is still rolling along—slowly but definitely moving—in the shoulder. My eyes dart to the odometer, a reflex more than anything. A half mile since my last check. A half mile since the beginning of my near accident.

I shake my head in disbelief, gratitude seeping into my tired body. I may have spent the last two years job hunting my way out of Maryland, but in this moment I am grateful to be on this two-lane road. At least in this county bordering the Chesapeake Bay, they know how to build their shoulders right. Some engineer certainly earned his pay tonight, one more accident avoided.

With a roll of my head from side to side to relieve the tension still tightening my muscles, I then check my rearview mirror. No traffic approaches, so I pull back onto the main road, my dad’s driving advice speaking to me from a long-ago lesson.

You never want to drive on the shoulder or the berm of the road any more than absolutely necessary. You might pick up a nail or some other sharp object and get a flat tire.

Continuing down Route 260, I roll my head again and wiggle in the seat. Now that the tension is fading, I can feel the soreness of having spent nearly seven straight hours in the driver’s seat.  I shake my head, remembering college days when I drove this length without really noticing the toll on my body. I joke with my students about being ancient, but over the last year or two there have been moments when I have been able to tell that I am now much closer to thirty than twenty.

I refuse to think about the phone conversation or the near accident as I pull into a parking space in front of the townhouse and go to my trunk to pull out my overnight bag and my school bag. Just a handful of papers left to grade, something to like about the end of the school year. Each summer I hated saying good-bye to my kids but the papers were another story.

I walk up the three concrete steps and pause at the door to rifle through my purse for my house key. I push aside a small monthly planner, my wallet, two pens, and lip gloss before my fingers hit the right chain. I flip past the mailbox key and slide the house key into the lock.

Oh good, you’re back! I was hoping you would make it in before too late. Leigh Ann is sitting at the wooden kitchen table, her laptop open before her. Spying a thick book sitting next to my blonde roommate, I guess that I caught her in the middle of grad work.

Hey. I walk toward our other kitchen table, a round glass one where we usually eat. I pull a cushioned metal chair out and drop my bags onto it.

So not a great interview? Leigh Ann reads the droop to my shoulders as well as my two older sisters can.

I shake my head.

How was traffic? She easily changes the subject.

I stick my tongue out. I have been living in Maryland for six years and still cannot figure out why so many people feel the need to drive circles around DC at night on a weekday! I was doing fine on time—squeezed past Pittsburgh, avoided problems in Breezewood, got past Frederick—and at 8 PM, I hit the beltway, and all forward progress snarls to a stop.

Leigh Ann looks sympathetic. Where 270 connects into 495?

I swear every time that spot is my Achilles heel of driving.

Was there an accident? Construction?

Nothing that I could see. Just the freeway gnomes conspiring against me.

Leigh Ann chuckles. Well, I might just trade you those gnomes for a few fifth graders with the stomach flu.

My mouth drops open. You didn’t have a kid...

Two, not one, two, Leigh Ann is already filling in the blanks of the story from her elementary classroom.

You had two kids throw up today?

In the same five minutes. And then one of the mothers called me later to ream me out for it all.

Oh my.

Yeah. Leigh Ann raises an eyebrow. So you see, me staying up to wait for you to make it safely home is partially selfish. I needed someone to talk to and share a glass of wine.

Where’s Malorie? Despite my mental exhaustion, I had noticed the empty parking space for our third roommate on my way indoors.

She texted that her boyfriend surprised her with an invite to the Melting Pot to celebrate the end of the year being so close. So how much wine do you want?

I open my mouth to remind Leigh Ann that out of the three of us in the house, I am the one who is the least likely to drink wine, that most alcohol tastes too bitter for me, but she waves a hand to hold off my protest.

I stopped at the winery near your school to pick up a bottle yesterday. One of my friends from the gym recommended it. It’s supposed to be sweeter. How about this? I’ll pour you a third of a glass so if you don’t like the wine, it’s not a problem.

Not waiting for my answer, Leigh Ann reaches up into the cupboard for the two thin-stemmed glasses, and I smile. Only two years ago we were complete strangers when I joined her and Malorie in this townhouse. Now I think of the two women as another pair of cousins, closer to me than most of my blood related ones. I bite back a sigh as I think about how the late summer brings with it the break-up of the household, Leigh Ann to Tennessee and her fiancé, me to a house of my own either here in Maryland or farther away in Ohio.

Leigh Ann has carefully attached a corkscrew to the bottle. Her eyes watch the cork gently rise and there is a pop. She lets out the breath she had been holding. We do not ever speak of the shattered bottleneck incident of November 2010, but it is never far from mind when opening wine in our household. Now onto the easier task of just pouring, Leigh Ann picks her story up.

Allen has gone to the nurse every day for the last two weeks and every time she sends him back ten, fifteen minutes later because nothing is really wrong. This morning he asks to go the nurse and I finally told him no. He sits in the back of the room and pouts for the next half hour. Except for the thirty seconds where he tries throwing crumpled paper wads into the back trash can and I continue to ignore him. We line up for to get ready to go to gym class, and Trianna suddenly grabs her stomach and says that it really hurts. Now you know Trianna never gives me any problems. I start to ask her if she needs to go to the nurse. Allen immediately calls out that isn’t fair. I give him a look and turn back to Trianna just as she leans forward and throws up.

Right in line?

Leigh Ann nods. Luckily, Jake Ryan was in front of her, and I swear, that kid is going to be the 100-meter state champ in track when he is a freshman. I have never seen anyone move that fast in my life, but he got right out of the way.

So no one got thrown up on?

Leigh Ann sighs as