Grounded (39 page)

Grace was so drained by the emotion of the concert, it took her thirty minutes to pull herself together before she could go to the meet and greet. The room was packed—more than the usual twenty. Grace tried to speak at least a word or two to each person who'd come and autographed their programs or the CDs they'd bought. Several of the fans—mostly young women—gave her a hug and whispered, “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

But as the room thinned, Grace noticed a young woman—maybe nineteen or twenty—who'd held back. She looked as if she'd been crying. Grace went to her and put an arm around her. “Are you okay?”

The young woman started to nod—and then shook her head. Fresh tears spilled down her face. “I … I don't know if God can
forgive me. I've done something … something …” She couldn't finish. Sam appeared right at that moment and slipped the girl a wad of tissues.

Grace led the young woman to a set of chairs and they sat down. “What's your name?” she asked kindly.

Several sniffs. “Ashley.”

“Ashley, why don't you think God can forgive you?”

“Because I … I did something terrible. And I can't undo it.”

Grace's stomach clinched. She'd had that same awful feeling after she'd left the clinic.
It's done … I can't undo it now
. “Did you have an abortion?” she asked softly.

The girl's eyes flew open. “How … how did you know?”

“Because when I was even younger than you, I did too. And I couldn't undo it. No way did I deserve God's grace.” She took the girl's hands. “Have you told anyone? Your parents or … ?”

Ashley shook her head and started to cry again.

“Oh, Ashley …” Grace's heart ached. The girl was carrying her burden alone. Just as Grace had done.

She talked to Ashley earnestly for another twenty minutes, sharing some of the things God had been teaching her. If only she knew someone who could really help this girl …
wait
. The brochure Michelle Jasper had given her! She motioned to Sam who was waiting discreetly at a distance, then sent her to her dressing room for her tote bag. When Sam returned, she dug out the brochure and gave it to Ashley. “Call that number. This ministry is located in Chicago, but I'm guessing they could tell you someone to call and talk to here in Seattle. Promise me you'll do that?”

Ashley nodded, and before she left, Grace prayed with this young woman who so needed to experience the gift of God's grace.

Finally the room emptied. “Whoa.” Sam sank into a padded chair. “Do you think this is going to happen at every concert?”

Grace shook her head. She hardly knew what to think! If only she'd brought more of those brochures. There must be a half dozen sitting back on her coffee table. But even that might not be enough …

“Sam. What time is it?” She didn't usually wear her high school watch onstage.

“Uh … ten thirty. Why?”

“Ouch. That's already twelve thirty back in Chicago.” Too late to call the Bentleys for the Jaspers' phone number. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed 4-1-1.

Sam stared at her. “What are you doing?”

“Calling information. I need my next-door neighbor's number. I'm going to call Michelle Jasper first thing tomorrow morning and ask her to overnight a hundred of those brochures to me at our next stop.”

Even though it was late when she got to bed, Grace set her alarm for six thirty the next morning—eight thirty Chicago time—and called Michelle Jasper.

Her neighbor was surprised to hear from her. Michelle didn't even know why Grace was traveling, so Grace briefly filled her in about the concert tour.

“Oh my! I had no idea!”

Grace knew that was more her fault than her neighbor's. “But the reason I'm calling …” Without going into a lot of detail, Grace told her young people were coming to her concerts who needed services like the ones in the brochures she'd left at Grace's house—including the postabortion counseling. “But we're moving from city to city each day, and I don't know who to refer them to. I thought if I gave them a copy of your brochure, maybe they could call and get a referral.”

“Of course! In fact, I think there's a directory of crisis pregnancy centers around the US on the Web—I'll have to look it up, though.” But in the meantime, Michelle promised to overnight a couple hundred brochures to Grace. “Except tomorrow's Sunday,” she noted. “Where will you be on Monday?”

Monday! That was two days away! “Can you hold on a moment?” Putting the call on hold, Grace ran into the bathroom to consult with Sam who was staring bleary-eyed into the mirror.

Sam shook her head, as if trying to wake up. “Uh … I think USPS Express Mail delivers 365 days a year—including Sunday. Tell her to check it out. Here … I'll give her the address of our contact people in Portland.”

Grace handed off the phone to Sam, who arranged with Michelle Jasper where to send the brochures. When the call was finally over, the two women looked at each other. “Okay, which is it?” Sam yawned. “Do we go back to bed—or go to the pool and get in some laps?”

They went back to bed. After all, they wouldn't be able to sleep in tomorrow, because they'd need to check out early and get on the road.

But that night at the theater, another girl—this one looked about fifteen—came to the meet and greet all distraught. Gave her name as Janeece. She'd just taken an at-home pregnancy test and it was positive. She was afraid to tell anyone, even her boyfriend. She knew he'd pressure her to get an abortion.

Grace felt so helpless! She wished she had a copy of the directory Michelle Jasper had mentioned. But she had Sam take Janeece's phone number and promised they'd have someone contact her who knew where she could get help.

As Grace fell into her bed that night, she prayed for Ashley and Janeece. Why were these girls coming out of the woodwork on
this
tour? The theme of her previous tours had touched on the culture of premature sex—except her upbeat message had been to save sexual intimacy for marriage. They were “worth the wait.”

But … it didn't take into account that many young people had already messed up. What then?

The package from Michelle Jasper arrived at the big church in Portland while they were setting up Sunday afternoon for that night's concert. Sam suggested putting the brochures out on the merch table, along with a little sign that said, “Take one. To find a crisis pregnancy center or postabortion ministry close to you, call this number.”

Grace grimaced. “I hope Michelle knew what she was doing when she gave me permission to give out their number. I think she's just a volunteer.”

“Why don't you call her again, see if she found that directory. Maybe we could print it out and make it available … never mind, I'll do it. Barry's waving at you. You need to do a sound check with the band.”

How Sam managed it, Grace didn't know, but her assistant had copies of a CPC directory stacked on the table alongside the brochures before the concert. “Your neighbor said it's not complete, but she included a Pregnancy Helpline number.”

No one spilled their hearts to Grace after the concert the way Ashley and Janeece had in Seattle, though she noticed that several of the fans who came to the meet and greet afterward to give her hugs and get her autograph were clutching copies of the brochure or the directory—or both. Later, as they were packing up, Sam said at least a quarter of the brochures were already gone, and almost all of the photocopies. “At this rate, our supply isn't going to last the whole tour.”

Grace tried to think as she followed Sam out to the enormous tour bus idling in the parking lot. No hotel tonight. The trip to Redding, California—her next concert—would take at least seven or eight hours. “Guess we need to call Michelle Jasper again in the morning. We did tell her we'll reimburse her for the Express Mail postage, didn't we?”

Barry tried to keep the postconcert wind-down on the bus to a dull roar so Grace could get some sleep in the back bedroom. But it wasn't the laughter and good-natured fights over the last few pieces of pizza that kept Grace awake till after midnight. Wrapped in the comforter on the big bed that took up nearly the width of the bus, she stared at the tiny blips of light sneaking past the room-darkening shades as the tour bus headed down Interstate 5. She was a singer—not a social worker or a trained counselor. Yes, God had given her a message—a message that was still at work in her own heart. But when it touched the lives of the young people who came to her concerts … what then?

O God, I'm still working on understanding your grace myself! What do I have to offer these kids?

She hadn't even had a chance to talk to her folks yet … or her fiancé. Or ex-fiancé. Whatever Roger was at this point.

Or her agent. Didn't Jeff Newman deserve to know the story behind her new theme?

But as the noises quieted on the bus, Grace seemed to hear a Voice in her spirit.
“Just do what you've been given to do, Grace. Sing about my grace. Love on the hurting fans who turn to you. Tell them you understand. Point them to people who can help. And point them to me.”

Redding … Oakland … San Francisco … Fresno …

The concerts seemed to be going well. Michelle had sent more brochures. But even with hotel nights on the shorter runs, Grace was tiring fast. So was everyone else. Barry always took time before a show to get Grace and Sam and the band together to pray, and that helped to ease the familiar frustrations and irritations that arose from having to deal with a new venue each night.

Grace was no longer surprised when one or two or three young people would hang back at the meet and greet, and then share a sadly similar story. Pressure to have sex. Or they'd bought into the “no big deal” myth themselves. But afterward, struggling with guilt. For some, an unplanned pregnancy. Feeling scared. Alone. Overwhelmed. An abortion. Secrets. Depression. Even thoughts of suicide. One girl had cut herself and had scars on her arms to prove it.

Grace had told Sam about the inner Voice that told her to “just do what you've been given to do,” and they'd prayed about that together at least once a day.

But there was one other thing that worried them both: Grace's voice was starting to weaken and she often woke up with a sore throat. By the time the bus drove into the parking lot of the Embassy Suites Hotel in Los Angeles at noon on Friday, where they would all stay for two nights, Grace was drinking hot honey-lemon tea and sucking Slippery Elm Lozenges nonstop.

Sam made Grace crawl into the hotel bed as soon as they got checked in while she unpacked and sent some of Grace's clothes out to be cleaned, pressed, and back by four o'clock. Grace didn't protest. The comfy bed and pillows felt sooo good. At least the tour was almost over. Bongo Booking had scheduled her at Azusa Pacific University that night … a large church on Saturday night … and a reprise of one of her songs at the worship service—same church—Sunday morning.

And then … home. The Southwest Chief left Sunday evening from downtown LA, and they'd be home by Tuesday afternoon.

Though at this point, Grace almost wished she could fly home.

No. She still had a lot of thinking and praying to do. The train ride would give her time to unwind.

Grace dozed on and off all afternoon, skipping the usual afternoon sound check, which Barry agreed to as long as she got there an hour before the show. Eating a light supper at four, she felt good, ready to go when she and Sam showed up at the auditorium at six. And Barry's prayers for her voice and her general health when they did their preconcert prayer circle strengthened her spirit too.

The concert went well. Her voice held out—though Sam nearly drowned her with hot tea during the break. “You're gonna make me have to pee during the last set,” Grace complained—which set them both off laughing.