Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

Shaun smiled, but shook his head. “She’s fine. Marisa bought a bunch of stuff while they were in Omaha, so she’s set. I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I’ll add her to the prayer chain.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

Brenda was an example of why he loved this ministry so much. They all cared about each other. It was like working with family.

Though that wasn’t always a good thing.

He greeted their resource director and their accountant, the only other two staff members currently in. Savannah insisted on letting people set their own hours, within reason. “No point in making people drag themselves here at nine if they’re completely unproductive until eleven,” she’d say, and as long as things got done properly and on time, Shaun supported that. Monday mornings held one small exception: the ten a.m. staff meeting. It was Shaun’s favorite part of the week.

He turned on his computer and opened the blinds a fraction, letting in slivers of the blinding August sunshine. He unloaded his briefcase, thanked Brenda when she appeared with a cup of coffee, and then sat down to orchestrate his day.

A quick look at the calendar reminded him of the two speaking engagements Savannah had early next week. It was a good thing she tended to get over illnesses quickly. It would kill him to cancel those gigs, knowing how well they paid. Thank goodness she never took anything the week after a tour.

He pulled out the receipts Marisa had given him and began to separate Marisa’s from Savannah’s. He was grateful for Marisa’s thrifty nature and Savannah’s Scottish roots; there were never receipts for steak dinners or fancy designer water. He itemized Marisa’s reimbursement report and set it aside for her to sign later. Before itemizing Savannah’s report, he pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and rummaged through it a moment, then pulled out a receipt for a haircut dated the week before Savannah had left for the tour. He added in the receipt from this morning’s gas purchase, crumpled them all, then smoothed and crumpled them again before examining them for legibility. Three of the totals were now much more difficult to decipher. He itemized everything on the report, changing a couple 3's to 9's and one 5 to an 8 before photocopying all the receipts and attaching the copies to the reports.

His conscience twinged, but he tried to ignore it.

He spent the remaining forty-five minutes preparing his notes for the staff meeting, and at just a few minutes before ten, left his office for the conference room.

Brenda had already placed a platter of donuts in the center of the table and flanked it with a pitcher of water and a pot of coffee. Shaun opened the window to let in some air and took his place at the head of the table. The other staff trickled in, each of them asking about Savannah as they entered.

“The tour went very well. I’ll give a quick rundown of the numbers and what we need to do for follow-up in a minute,” he said when the meeting officially started. “And thanks for all your concern for Savannah. She’s still feeling pretty sick, but you guys know how she is; she’ll bounce back quickly. Darlene,” he said, turning to their resource director and resident prayer warrior, “would you please open us in prayer, and ask for healing for Savannah?”

“Certainly, Shaun.” The staff joined hands and Darlene brought them all to tears with her praises and supplication like she always did. Shaun allowed himself a peek at the others as she spoke, reveling in the community he and Savannah – and God, of course – had built over the last decade. Knowing the dividends coming in from the conference boosted his spirits even more.

When “Amen” was finally uttered, Shaun launched into the agenda as napkins were dabbed to cheeks and the donut platter passed around. “Final numbers from the conference aren’t in to me yet, but from Savannah’s book table we netted nearly 25% more than we did on the last tour, so that’s a blessing. She prayed personally with about thirty-four women to receive the Lord, and with nearly eighty to rededicate themselves, and Marisa prayed with a bunch too.”

“Amen” rang out from multiple people at once.

“So, Brenda, you’ve got your work cut out for you there. Let Marisa know if you’ll need some help following up with those women; she’s on vacation this week but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping with those when she comes back.

“Alright then, moving right along…” Shaun exhausted the agenda in less than the usual hour and led them in prayer again before everyone left for their cubicles. He caught the new accountant, Nick, before he could leave. “Here is Savannah’s reimbursement report. I meant to do this at home this weekend so Savannah could sign off on it, but I forgot to bring home the form. You can call her if you want to go over it, or I can take it tonight and have her sign it.”

“Oh, not a problem,” Nick said as he scanned the report. Shaun had counted on him saying that. “I’d hate to bother her when she’s feeling so lousy. I’ll just ask you if I have any questions.”

“Great, Nick. Thanks.” Shaun went back to his office, high on the feeling of a meeting well run and the knowledge that checks from the conference book tables would soon be in the mail. His to-do list for the day was long, but he was energized now to tackle it. He woke his computer monitor from sleep mode and pulled up his email. Time to pare down that inbox.

Six new messages sat at the top, but it was the third that caught his eye and made his gorge rise. No, please. Not again. He clicked away from the list of new messages, bringing up instead a page of the oldest of the 264 emails he needed to sort through.

She would have to wait. He couldn’t handle that right now.

SAVANNAH AWOKE FROM HER NAP on the couch feeling worse than when she’d first laid down. She whimpered as she sat up, every joint and muscle screaming, and dragged the quilt up over her shoulders. A soap opera now played on the TV, and she changed it over to the country music video station just to have something on in the background. She really needed something to eat. And some water. Definitely some more water.

She slowly rose from the couch, quilt still clutched around her, and hobbled to the kitchen to refill the giant water bottle she always carried. The can of soup Shaun had left beckoned to her from the counter as she waited for the bottle to fill. What she really craved was her mother’s homemade chicken noodle soup, the recipe for which she had once memorized but now could scarcely remember. At one time she’d made that soup nearly once a month, freezing some for when illness might strike, and bringing the rest to the person whose illness had inspired her to cook it in the first place. The sorry can of soup wouldn’t cut it, but she was in no shape to attempt reawakening her culinary skills at the moment. She sighed and pulled out the can opener from the utensil drawer.

Once the soup was ready she sat back down on the couch with a steaming mug of it. The heat barely seemed to permeate the chill in her fingertips. She stared at the television, letting video after video play without comprehending anything. Her mind was elsewhere – assessing every body system, cataloging every pain and complaint, and thanking God that she didn’t have to go through this often.

The dregs of her soup were stone cold when the doorbell jolted her from her thoughts. She ignored it until the sound of familiar laughter caught her ears. Her girlfriends. She’d forgotten about their lunch.

She set down the mug and shuffled as quickly as she could to the front door. The faces of her friends fell in unison when she opened the door. “Oh, hon,” said Mary. “You look like death warmed over.”