The Color of Hope

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE





Stephanie and Teri held hands with Todd and Travis as the pastors took turns praying for friends and loved ones, especially Teri, for the service, for those in attendance, and beyond.

Teri looked them both in the eye when they were done. “When I had to make arrangements,” she said, “I thought I had nowhere to go but the funeral home. I felt like I might want to call on a pastor, but I didn’t know you. And I figured I had no right, seeing as we didn’t go to church. The two of you doing this just . . .” Her head dropped. “Thank you.”

“I think God went ahead and made these arrangements,” Todd said. “He knew what He had in mind. We’re humbled to be able to take part.”

“And we’re glad to have met you, Teri,” Travis said. “We hope the connection continues long beyond today.”

Miss Collins, an office secretary at the high school, walked into the classroom. “They said to tell you all it’s time.”

Teri reached a shaky hand toward Stephanie, and together they walked down the hall, past a line of people still filing into the gym. They both paused at the sight of the crowd and decorations inside, which they hadn’t seen, but someone guided them to the front row.

Todd went straight to the podium up front and looked out over the crowd. “People are still being seated in the back, but we’re going to go ahead and get started,” he said. He waited a few seconds. “One hardly knows how to begin a service like this. You have come from near and far to remember the life of a precious girl, Samara Renee Johnston. Many of you come with questions. That’s appropriate. Many are angry and casting blame. That’s understandable. Some are even angry at God. It’s okay to acknowledge that.” He paused. “When tragedy hits, we struggle with how to respond. And honestly, that struggle won’t end today. We’re not here to give you all the answers. We don’t know all the answers. We’re here to remember Sam’s life and to reflect on her death insofar as it sounds a warning as to how we ought to treat our fellow man. And we’re here to point you to One who has all wisdom and knowledge, whose understanding is limitless, and who is able to give peace and strength, even in times like this.”

Todd gestured to the robed choir members who’d assembled on his right. “In honor of Sam, we have reassembled the joint choir for New Jerusalem and Calvary Church, which we’re calling the Unity Choir. They will sing two selections for us.”

Stephanie listened with her eyes closed, needing her soul saturated.

After the second song, four of Sam’s classmates came forward. When they contacted Stephanie, she remembered them as the ones who’d been sitting with Sam at lunch one day. Stephanie had let Teri decide if they should be on the program, and she was quick to say yes.

Three of the teens read Scripture verses. The fourth had written an original poem encouraging people to be the one to look for the outsider or the loner in a crowd and to befriend them. After another choir selection, Travis came forward.

“When I first heard about the events that led to Sam’s tragic end, I was very angry,” he said.

Stephanie saw heads focus forward as people seemed to be surprised at how Travis began.

“Yes, I’m a pastor,” he said, “but I’m human. And I was angry. How could someone treat this girl this way?” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “How could others pile on, publicly humiliating and demeaning her? How could people be so sick?”

The gym was silent, the only sound a baby crying in the distance.

“But then I remembered my own sin sickness,” he said. “I remembered things I did in my past, before I knew Jesus, that hurt and demeaned people. And I remembered things I did after knowing Christ that I regretted.”

Stephanie could tell Travis was feeling this in a deep place.

He sighed. “A weekend like the one we just had puts our sin natures on blast. Like a siren, it lets us know something is wrong deep in our souls. It lets us know we are in desperate need of a Savior. And I’m going to tell you about that Savior . . .”

As Travis shared the gospel, Stephanie prayed silently that Teri and others would hear and believe. And then she started feeling jittery—one more song, and it was her turn . . .

She walked up with her notes and set them on the podium. Eyes scanning the breadth of the gym—and the news cameras—her nerves got the best of her. Lord, please help me. She looked down at her opening sentence, and it sounded stupid.

Looking out at the crowd again, she took a big breath and turned her notes facedown. She took the wireless microphone from its stand.

“I could say a lot of glowing things about Sam,” she said, “things like, she was so sweet and nice, so quiet and shy, so diligent and hardworking . . . But if you’re here, you probably already know that. So I think I’ll share who she really was. Because I found out one night.”

Stephanie walked away from the podium. “One evening when her guard was down, and she might’ve had a sugar high from too much sweet tea, Sam said, ‘You’ll never guess what I really, really want to be.’ I said, ‘If I’ll never guess, then just tell me what you really, really want to be.’ She grinned and said, ‘I’m too embarrassed to say.’ I said, ‘Sam. Say.’”

Stephanie smiled, mostly to herself, remembering the moment. “Miss Quiet-and-Shy Samara Johnston said, ‘I really, really want to be the next American Idol.’ I said, ‘Sam! I didn’t know you could sing!’ She said, ‘Because I don’t sing. At least for people.’”

The audience chuckled slightly, as did Stephanie. “I didn’t want to alarm her,” Stephanie half whispered, “but I knew at this point we had a problem.” She smiled, continuing in her regular voice. “I said gently, ‘Sam, if you want to be the next American Idol, you have to sing . . . for actual people. So here’s what we’ll do. We’ll practice on actual little people.’

“So I assembled a three-judge panel of five-year-olds”—she stopped as she walked across the floor—“I bet y’all think I’m joking. Totally true story. I told Sam she could sing any song she wanted.” She paused again. “Now, at this point, honestly, I’m thinking it’s cute she’s got this pipe dream, but I’ve watched enough singing competition auditions, complaining, ‘Come on, nobody in this child’s life told her she couldn’t sing?’ So I was already formulating ways I could nicely respond . . .”

Stephanie put a hand to her hip, shaking her head. “Y’all. She bust out with her song, and she. Could. Sing. She could actually . . . sing.”

Emotion snuck up on Stephanie, and she paused a moment.

“I think there was much more where that came from.” She swiped tears. “I think Sam had many hidden talents and dreams that would’ve come out with a little coaxing and an overdose of sweet tea.” She laughed softly as more tears came. “It’s such a gift that many of those things were revealed in the pages of her journal. But nothing in that journal impacted me like what she wrote her last night on this earth.

“It was disturbing, rambling, and poignant all at once. The first words were, ‘I hate this world. I hate my life. I hate the pain.’” Those words gripped Stephanie even now. It took her a moment to continue.

“And she said . . . she said she’d read where Jesus said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world,’ and she wanted to be part of His world, His kingdom. And it seemed like she was getting on her knees as she wrote, telling Jesus to please save her, to please let her be part of His kingdom.” She swiped some more, but stopping the tears was fruitless. “The last thing she wrote was this . . .”

Stephanie went back to find it in her notes. “’Jesus, I want to live with You forever, and I want to go now. But I’ll try to hang on . . .’” She looked down at the podium for several seconds, then looked up. “Hours later she logged on to Facebook. And then she just couldn’t hang on . . .”

I don’t know if I can finish, Lord. This is so hard. She wasn’t even sure how to finish. She’d strayed from her message and wasn’t sure where to go from here.

Her eyes landed on a section of seating, and she headed that way. “This is where I first met Sam”—she stood by the row—“at a combined service of Calvary and New Jerusalem. It was Sam’s first joint service. In fact, it was her first church service other than when her mom took her as a baby. And she was looking forward to coming back. But the joint services ended because of a lack of unity.”

Stephanie walked slowly back up front, talking as she went. “The one time Sam went to church would be her last. She didn’t know if she belonged at the ‘black church’ or the ‘white church.’ She wasn’t sure she belonged at either.”

Back at the podium, she surveyed the crowd. “I don’t know if that bothers anyone else, but it sure bothers me. When we aren’t what Jesus calls us to be, it affects other people. If we can’t love enough, can’t be ‘one’ enough to worship with one another, it affects other people.”

Stephanie knew she needed to wrap it up, but her adrenaline was going.

“You know what else bothers me?” she said. “And I know I’m about to get in trouble, but I don’t care. In honor of Sam, I’m saying it—the fact that we even have a black church and a white church in this town bothers me.”

She was surprised to see a few people stand in agreement.

“They were founded like that in the 1800s,” she continued. “Have we not progressed beyond that?” She started walking again. “Where does the Latino family go who comes to town? Where does the Asian brother or sister go?” She paused. “Where does the biracial girl go? Call me crazy, but I believe we can change.”

More people stood, including teens, with a smattering of “Amens.”

Stephanie looked out at them. “I believe we can come together, not just today in honor of Sam—which is beautiful—but every day going forward, in honor of God. I’m crazy enough to believe that with God, all things are possible.”

Everyone stood now with loud applause. Stephanie returned the mic and gathered her notes from the podium to sit down—and her heart started racing.

Then she grabbed the mic again. “I think I want to do something crazy . . .”