“That doesn’t disqualify you from God’s love, from my friendship, or from admitting you’re beautiful.”
“Tell that to Edward. What would he say if he saw you in here, with me?”
“Edward isn’t my God or my conscience. My father and family have moved on, Ginger. Seems your mama has moved on, too. But you’re stuck as the trailer fire girl. So let’s put a big bucket of water on that fire by confessing your beauty.”
Stuck. Isn’t that what she confessed Saturday morning, standing in the muddy meadow? But she’d never give Tom the satisfaction. Ginger gestured toward the door, willing him to go and leave her be. “You can go, Tom.”
“Not unless you say it.” He didn’t respect her space at all. He came up to her and swept his fingers over the scar on her neck. Ginger nearly buckled at his touch.
“Why do you want me to say it?” Her voice wilted as she spoke.
“Because I want you to combat the lie in your heart with truth.”
“If you get the burned girl to say she’s pretty, do you earn a gold star from God?”
“Man, are you really so cynical? Ginger, I like you. I always have and I’ve always seen a beautiful woman—”
“Who allowed himself to be intimidated by his friends?” She used the courage he admired to push back.
“I was seventeen. Give me credit for maturing a little.” He walked to the front door, flung it open. “You want me to defend you to Edward Frizz? To Rosebud?” He ran into the middle of Main Street. “Hey Rosebud, Alabama—”
Ginger dashed to the door. “Tom, no, what are you doing?”
Arms wide, head back, Tom shouted, “Ginger Winters is a beautiful woman. And I don’t care about her scars! I don’t care what her mama—”
“Oh my word, stop. Get in here.” Ginger steamed into the middle of the street, hooked him by the arm, and dragged him to the shop. “You’re making a fool of me.”
“You? I was the one doing the shouting.”
“You are so infuriating. I don’t get this. Why does any of this matter to you?”
“Remember the end of the movie The Proposal? Drew says to Margaret, ‘Marry me because I’d like to date you.’ ”
“Y-yes . . .”
“I’d like you to believe the truth about yourself, so then maybe, if you decide you can give Jesus a try, you’ll let Him in, and see yourself as you really are from His perspective, incredibly beautiful.”
“What does that have to do with the movie?”
“Because, then, if you’d have me, I’d like to date you.”
Her tears spilled. “I can’t risk my heart with you. With God.” What was she doing before he started all this beautiful nonsense? Oh yes, painting. Ginger picked up the paint tray. “I think you should go.”
“Say it. ‘I’m beautiful.’ ”
“I’m not playing, Tom. Go.” She walked to the back room, trembling, with barely enough strength to hold herself upright.
“Will you come to church on Sunday? Please.”
“I said, go, Tom, just go.”
She hid in the dark corner until she heard his footsteps echoing across the shop, then fading away out the front door.
Slowly she sank to the floor, cradling her face against the top of her knees, running her hand over her scars.
Horrid. Ugly. The opposite of beautiful. She’d cried oceans of tears mourning that reality, and no one—not God or Tom Wells Jr.—could ever convince her otherwise.
On Sunday morning, Tom sat in the old parsonage parlor, sunlight streaming through the window, praying through the swirl of excitement and peace in his soul.
First Sunday morning in his own church. He never, ever thought this would be his reality, his passion, but at the moment he knew he was in the right place at the right time.
For such a time as this.
His sermon was ready. His notes typed into his iPad. Alisha had the worship band prepped, arriving at nine for their pre-service rehearsal. Above all, his heart was ready.
If it was only Tom, the band, and the Holy Spirit who showed, Tom would consider the day a huge success.
If Ginger showed, he’d mark his first Sunday with a miracle.
He’d thought about her all weekend, prayed for her, for himself. Had he crossed lines, demanding she declare she was beautiful? Was it too intimate? Too romantic when he had no freedom to pursue her?
It was one thing for a believing man to have affection for a non-believing woman. It was another thing entirely to woo her heart, defraud her, then brush her aside.
He didn’t want to be that man.
If he was going to pastor this church, he had to find a wife who believed. Who could run this race with him.
He didn’t care if she played the piano, led a Bible study, or managed the women’s ministry. But he cared for her to be surrendered in wholehearted love to Jesus. To kick Tom’s butt when he needed it.
Lord, here’s my heart. My thoughts of Ginger. Have it all.