The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (25 page)

The man certainly didn’t look like a lawyer. From the looks of the whiskers on his face, he hadn’t shaved in days, and he wore a leather vest over the hairiest set of shoulders I’d ever seen.

“P-pleased to meet you,” I said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m all dirty from hauling stuff out to the tents. Not to mention the mud from all this rain.”

Clarence laughed. “No problem. I don’t normally look like this myself. Now listen. I’ve got Patrick’s court date covered. I think things will go well.”

“You can practice law in Indiana?” I looked at his tattoo and decided anyone who tattooed Tweety Bird on their arm had to be on the good side of things.

“I live in Indiana. I’m a friend of old Atticus, here. When he rang me up and told me your quandary, I was more than happy to help. Don’t worry.” Clarence shook his finger at me playfully.

“I’ll try not to, but you know how mothers are.” I shook his hand. “I can’t thank you enough, I…”

Aaron shook his hand, too. “Yes, as my wife said, we’re terribly grateful.”

Clarence smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just pay it forward. From the looks of things around here, you do that every day anyway.”

The rain picked up and poured from the sky in sheets. The shower felt wonderful after a hot sticky day of hard work, but it was definitely going to make our plans for the day difficult.

“So much for a burnout pit,” Atticus joked.

“What’s that?” Aaron asked. Here I was a biker chick married to a man who knew nothing about bikes and bikers.

“Basically, Pastor, it’s when stupid biker dudes burn off the rubber on their back tire and ruin it. But boy is it a blast.” Atticus laughed his great bellowing belly laugh, slapped Aaron on the shoulder with great enthusiasm, and nearly knocked him over.

Aaron tried to laugh with gusto, too, but I could tell he had no idea what the joke was.

“Maybe the sun will come out,” I said. “So I can see you burn that rubber.”

I didn’t know what I was more concerned about—the smell of burning tires filling the street of Eel Falls or the mud that would get tracked inside the church. Tomorrow was Sunday, and there wasn’t going to be a whole lot of time to clean up. But I would stay up all night if I needed to in order to avoid Bernice and her minions.

Dear God, why do I care so much about what she thinks? Why should it matter?

Aaron and I headed to the front of the church to get something to eat in the food tent. I could hear Opal, Lily, and Reba’s laughter from where they stood getting wet and muddy over by the water balloon toss. I recognized Ex-Cargo, Gypsy, and Flygirl, our cell mates in North Carolina.

“I’m going to go join the fun, Aaron. C’mon.”

Aaron shook his head. “You go ahead, I want to grab a sandwich and get back inside to work on tomorrow’s service.”

“OK, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek. “See you later.”

The Lady Eels were having a great time supervising the water balloon toss. The biker’s passenger had to toss a water balloon over a crossbar and catch it on the other side without breaking it. Even with all the rain, riders and spectators seemed to be enjoying it.

Ex-Cargo nailed it but Flygirl’s balloon burst every time.

Gypsy coughed from laughing so hard.

“Asthma.” Ex-cargo coughed, and Gypsy tossed an inhaler from out of her saddlebag.

“If you’d stop smokin’ like a chimney you wouldn’t have that problem, girl,” Flygirl chastised her and slapped her on the back.

“I try! I try!” Timmy clapped his hands with glee. Mud flew everywhere, and Goliath barked and ran beside the bikes. He looked like a giant mud pie on steroids.

“No, Timmy, it’s too dangerous. You have to wait until you grow up.” I tried to wipe the mud from his face, but it was pointless.

“Aw, let him try,” Flygirl yelled, and bikers joined in and clapped. Timmy had fans.

“Hop on up here, fella.” A biker named SlowRide patted the back seat of Ex-Cargo’s bike.

“Helmet, Timmy.” I handed him a nearby helmet I saw sitting on the table with the water balloons. SlowRide helped him strap it on, and Timmy climbed on the back. Timmy grinned and looked silly with that muddy face, but everyone smiled at his enthusiasm.

Ex-Cargo started the bike. The rain slowed and fell like soft feathers on Timmy’s joyful face. He squinted to look up at the crossbar. He didn’t come close to throwing it across the bar, but he thoroughly enjoyed the mud bath and the ride.

“Bernice is going to throw a fit about this lot being torn up.” I pointed toward our feet.

The Lady Eels stood in a soup of mud and blades of floating grass.

“You worry too much,” Reba said. “Stop it.”

“I can’t. You have no idea the trouble one person can make. I’m reminded on a daily basis that this land was donated by her ancestors.”

“There’s the operative word,” Lily chimed in.

“Ancestors?” I asked.

“No,” Opal growled. “Donated.”

By the time all the relays were over, everyone was covered in dark muddy goo. We sat under the big white tents scraping the glop off our legs and arms with plastic knives. It was delicious to feel alive and living in the immediate present. I smiled thinking of how soft our skin would feel tomorrow.

When I went into the church to use the restroom, my heart fell. Participants had tracked mud all through the foyer, down the stairs, all through the fellowship hall, and out the door that led to the back lot. The carpet was fairly new—donated by a family in memory of their loved one, and I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me that night before I went to bed.

“God,” I prayed. “Please give me the strength to do it.”

I also noticed a nick in the woodwork by the door. Apparently, someone had tried to carry something too big through it. Normally, I never cared about marks on the walls. Living with Timmy meant living with plenty of marks on walls. But my eyes were trained to see such things at church where people took pride in the building.

Norman wouldn’t be happy because Bernice would make him come over and fix it. Why a little nick mattered in the whole scheme of life, I didn’t know. But for some reason, in their world, nicks and mud and imperfections of any kind mattered a whole lot.

I studied the notch and thought about Reba’s advice. I decided to ignore my anxious feelings about Bernice and enjoy myself. I went back outside to hang out with the bikers under the tents. We played cards, told stories, and swapped testimonies for hours. Finally, when it was time for the band concert, the rain stopped, allowing an open-air concert like we’d planned. I just hoped they’d stick to their promise of quitting at midnight. If they didn’t, I’d get a call from the mayor in the morning.

While people got ready for the concert, I started to straighten up in the food tent. Atticus gave me a shove toward the open flaps. “Go home and take a shower and clean up purdy for that preacher of your’n.”

“Are you saying I’m not presentable?” I knew I looked a mess. My face was smudged, my hair was matted, and my clothes were stained with some of the darkest, richest soil on God’s green earth—Indiana corn-growing mud.

“I ain’t touchin’ that one with a set of ape handle bars. I learned a long time ago those kinds of questions have no right answers.” Atticus’s loud booming voice carried far, and the entire tent laughed. “But I know you’re tired. Go on home. We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Besides”—he pointed to Timmy—“I think someone’s tired.”

I looked over to where Timmy sat on Atticus’s bike. He’d fallen asleep draped over the gas tank.

“Can you keep an eye on Daniel and Patrick for me?” I asked. “You know, keep Patrick out of jail and all that?”

“Count on it,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ve got pizza coming in about thirty minutes.” I handed him a check made out to Pedro’s Pizza. “Here’s the check. Opal!” I yelled across the tent. “Atticus has the check for pizza. Make sure he doesn’t go out and buy himself another bike with it.”

“Got it,” Opal said.

“What do we need pizza for?” One of the bikers, Kickstand, approached me from across the tent. “We got tons of food here.”

“Yes, I know, but I also know you guys party all night, and I don’t want you waking me up raiding my refrigerator.” I heard laughter as I made my way to Timmy to rouse him and take him home. No wonder bikers liked to hang with bikers. People who rode motorcycles were simply some of the most pleasant folks one could ever meet.

In or out of the church walls.

35

After my shower, I rushed back to the rally. My wet hair dripped on my T-shirt and my feet ached with fatigue. I didn’t bother with makeup. I had a church to clean.

By the time I got there, not only was there no mud on the carpets, but the tents were bussed clean and a group of bikers were hanging out in the kitchen, doing dishes and visiting while the band played outside.

Outside, another group of them raked the lot and planted new grass seed by the light of tractors and combines farmers had brought to the rally to provide light for the concert. Some of the bikers pointed their bike lights in other areas where they helped with clean up.

“Wow.” I walked to where Lily sat a table sorting plastic cutlery in the fellowship hall. “How did they know to have seed ready to plant?”

“Wow indeed.” She smiled. “They’ve done rallies before. They know what’s needed at the end of a large crowd of people messing things up.”

“What was I worried about? They’ve done everything.”

“You listen too much to Bernice.” Lily pushed a lid onto a box of knives.

I scanned the fellowship hall. “I realize that now. Have you seen Patrick and Daniel?”

“Atticus has them outside with him, cleaning up the grill. Where’s Timothy?” She situated the box of knives in the cabinet and returned to sorting forks and spoons.

“Sleeping. Aaron’s at home with him. I gave Timmy his shower, and he went straight to bed—willingly. You and I both know that doesn’t happen often.”

Lily nodded.

I walked into the kitchen to offer my help. “What do I do now?”

“Go home. Go to bed.” Everyone in the kitchen, including Trace and Reba, waved me out. I was too tired to protest. My legs and feet throbbed with exhaustion.

It was like a dream to see church folks mixing with bikers, helping one another, and enjoying one another’s company. Of course, some of the church members were too shy or uncomfortable to come out and spend time doing biker things. But most of them would be at church in the morning, and I was happy so many turned out to help today.

I went home and left the clean up to Atticus and his bunch outside and Lily and her gang inside. Atticus promised to bring the boys home. I fell asleep on the couch and never heard the boys come in.

The next morning, I awoke excited and nervous for the day ahead. I noticed someone had covered me up with my favorite blanket. I loved waking up like that.

Today we’d host the biggest crowd ever on a Sunday morning. There were twice as many bikers as we had at the bike blessing weeks before. I didn’t know for sure what to expect, but I prayed Norman and Bernice would behave themselves.

“Please, Lord, keep them quiet today.” I prayed again for them, just as Aaron asked me to.

The sanctuary filled up, and the deacons were thrilled to be digging chairs up from the basement to seat people in the back behind the last row of chairs in the sanctuary. Bikers spilled out into the foyer, and the most enthusiastic members of our church stood along the walls for the entire service. Somehow, I never bumped into Bernice.

We sang beautiful praise and worship music together, and it was a sight to see strong, burly, rough-around-the-edges bikers with their hands in the air, submitting to their God. I got goose bumps and sang and played the piano with a thankful heart. The music was all the more beautiful, not because we sounded good, but because of Who we sang to.

After a few announcements, Aaron began his sermon.

“Some of you folks are nothing but a bunch of posers.” He pulled on a leather jacket he’d borrowed from Trace and a doo-rag and sunglasses. I wanted to roll on the floor laughing. The congregation roared. My nerdy husband was no more a biker than I was a prissy-type of pastor’s wife.

“You bikers all know what a poser is. A poser is someone who says they’re a biker but don’t really live the biker lifestyle.” The bikers hooted at my husband and clapped. Even though they knew Aaron didn’t ride, they treated him with the utmost respect.

“Well, I’m going to tell you something you may not know. Many Christians are posers, too. They’re a bunch of fakes. Some Christians no more shine for Christ than dirty chrome can glint in the sun.”

Aaron had everyone’s attention. No one moved, and no one made a sound. Even the children who remained in the service today to see all the bikers sat quietly.

“I know many of us are posers in the kingdom of God because if we weren’t, we’d experience rejection. We’d be rejected the same way a number of bikers here are when they wear their leathers in public.

“Isaiah 53:3 tells us that Jesus was despised and
rejected
of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…when He walked on earth as a man, fully human, we esteemed him not.

“Jesus was no poser. He wasn’t some random guy Who came to earth and pretended to be the Messiah. He
is
the Messiah. He was fully God. And yet, He was despised and rejected, misunderstood and judged unfairly. Jesus promised that if we follow Him, we too, will experience rejection and even hate.

“In the book of John, Jesus said: ‘You didn’t choose me, I chose you, and ordained you…if the world hates you, know that it hated Me before it hated you. You see, if you were of the world, the world would love you: but because you’re not of the world, and because I’ve chosen you out of the world, that’s why the world hates you.’”

Usually, Aaron’s sermons lasted a lot longer, but today, because people stood during the service, he invited people to the front to pray after he preached for fifteen minutes.

At first, no one moved, and then, with tentative, careful steps, three people from our own congregation approached Aaron for prayer. One of them was Patrick.