Down from the Cross by Joyce Livingston Page B

is a gentleman with a fine personal reputation, one of which he is very proud. If you decide to allow me to ask him to do this for our church, and if he should accept the invitation, I can assure you he will give the performance of his life. Keene never does anything halfway. He would never do anything to embarrass the church, the board, or me, and especially not himself. Please pray about this and consider it carefully before making your final decision.”
    She walked out the door with a feeling of euphoria, knowing she had done the best she could. God had answered her prayers and steadied her heart and mind. She had to smile to herself. Getting the church to approve was only the first step. If they agreed, convincing Keene to do it—even if his contract and agent would allow it—might be more difficult. “But,” she said aloud with a renewed confidence, “God can do anything!”

    The next morning, right at nine o’clock, the phone rang in Keene’s office.

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    The caller didn’t need to identify himself. Jane recognized Pastor Congdon’s cheery “Hello” immediately, and her heart soared.
    “We did it, Jane. It took the board another two hours of discussion, but finally they voted unanimously to ask Keene Moray if he would take over Jim’s part in
Down from the Cross.
It’s up to you now, but I want you to know each man on the board will be praying for you.”
    She gripped the phone tightly, her heart racing. “Oh, Pastor Congdon, I don’t think I slept a wink last night. I just kept praying over and over that God would have His will in this.”
    “Well, we’re only halfway there. He hasn’t said yes yet. You can be sure our prayers will be with you while you approach Mr. Moray.”
    She thanked him for his call then slowly returned the phone to its cradle, all the while smiling and already considering the possibilities if Keene agreed to accept their invitation.
    “You’re chipper this morning,” Keene said, pushing open the door to the office and entering, carrying two glasses of orange juice from the kitchen. He placed her glass on the desk then glanced at the phone. “Who called? I heard the phone ring.”
    I can’t ask him yet. I have to pray about this first. The time has to be just right.
“My… my pastor.”
    He shrugged. “Oh, I was hoping Brian, my agent, would call. I need to talk to him today.” Pointing toward her glass, he said, “Drink up. You need your vitamin C.”
    “Thanks, Keene.”
    She watched him move through the door, amazed at his thoughtfulness.
Lord, even now begin preparing Keene’s heart for what I’m about to ask him.
    Fortunately, the work she had planned for the morning was busywork, requiring only repetitive hand motion and very little brainpower or concentration, giving her time to pray for the task she believed God had given her.
    For lunch, Keene sent her to a nearby carryout to buy fried chicken dinners. By the time she returned, he had set plates and silverware on the little kitchen table and added ice to their glasses. She quickly fixed a pitcher of iced tea then sat down opposite him, noting he had been unusually quiet most of the morning.
    “Something wrong?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t prying. She lifted her head after sending up another quick prayer.
    He spread a napkin across his lap with a deep sigh. “Not really. Just one of those down days. Nothing you need concern yourself about.”
    She reached across the table and cupped his hand with hers. Despite the warmth of his skin, cold chills crept up her spine. “Anything I can do?”
    He scooted the bucket of chicken toward her. “No, I’m just a bit down. My mom died three years ago today. I wasn’t even with her when she died. I was in Japan, singing at some meaningless concert. I’ve… I’ve never forgiven myself for not coming home when she asked me to.”
    In all the weeks they’d been together, she’d never seen him like this, and she wanted to do something—anything—to take