Georgia on Her Mind(67)

“Exactly.” I take a sip of my soda before all the ice melts.

“So, what are the cons?” Adriane comes in with a plate of crackers, the peanut butter and jelly jars and a knife. To my starving eyes, it’s a king’s feast. My stomach screams, “Feed me.”

“The cons are working a gazillion hours a week. Stress. Starting over with a new company, new friends and new church. Did I mention stress?”

I slide to the edge of the couch. “I’ll be married to the job. My friends, my love life, my relationship with God, everything will take a backseat. At least for the first few years.”

“That should tell you something.” Adriane puts peanut butter on a cracker.

“What do you mean?”

“Plenty of good Christian men and women run successful, high-powered businesses and maintain a deep, personal relationship with God. But listening to you, there doesn’t seem to be grace for it. Not in a Chicago kind of way.”

I twist my lips, thinking. “I never thought of it like that, but…” Adriane brought the forest into view. I can see it now instead of the trees. So does that mean I don’t move to Chicago?

Pillow to my face, I mutter, “Nothing feels right.”

“What about your dad’s offer?” Adriane asks.

I move the pillow away. “It’s a consideration. And very generous. Nice money. Be my own boss.”

I tell her all about Drag, aka Peter Tidwell, taking my résumé to his father.

“So, that’s a possibility. I always thought Drag was a druggie on the lam.”

I shake my head. “We all did, but he’s on his way to being a communications exec.”

“You can never tell a book by the cover,” she says with a glint in her eye.

“Said like a true author.”

Adriane waves the knife at me. “Exactly. That’s what I mean about Eric. What if there’s some hidden layer?”

So we’ve come full circle. I knock her leg with my foot. “Stop. He’s marvelous. Fabulous. If you have any concerns, you’re going to have to go to the Lord with them. And talk to Eric.”

She makes a face. “I hate when you’re right.”

I laugh. “Okay, now tell me what to do with my life.” I’m half kidding, half serious.

She answers without hesitation, with authority. Downright freaks me out. “Return to Beauty.”



Return to Beauty? How did Adriane conclude that from our pros and cons conversation? And so quickly. Her words haunt me the rest of the night and all day Saturday.

I continue my fast, prayerfully going about my weekend chores. I mull over the Lord’s verse to me the past few months, “…beauty for ashes.” Couple that with Adriane’s profound statement, Return to Beauty, and I’m befuddled.

I can’t put my finger on it, but these two ideas are the same, but different. That’s right, the same but different. Clear as mud.

On one hand, I understand Jesus is the beauty in the ashes of my life. But do I literally return to Beauty, Georgia? Do I get a city for my recent ashes?

That is the million-dollar question.

Mrs. Woodward calls in the afternoon to tell me she bought a new refrigerator and it just arrived.

“Come over, dear, and see it.”

I rush across the street to celebrate with her.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Her hand rests on her pearl necklace, her eyes bright.

“If you’re into refrigerators, yes.” I wink down at her.

“Do you mind?” Mrs. Woodward motions to the piles of frozen food, meats and vegetables on her counter.

“No, not at all.” I arrange her refrigerator while she tells me stories of her youth. Another time, another era, Mrs. Woodward would have been a spunky member of the Single Saved Sisters.

With the kitchen all cleaned up, she makes tea and we sit on her davenport, talking about my Chicago interview.

“Well,” she says with a light pat on my knee, “I shall miss you if you go.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

I hate goodbyes.



Lucy telephones around five Saturday evening. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” I fill a tumbler with water.

“Eating yet?”

I hesitate a moment to consult my spiritual barometer. “I’m ready for dinner.” The fast is over.

“Chinese? Pizza? Salad?” She knows me so well.

But I don’t want Chinese. “How about Wendy’s?” See, the last food I hear mentioned during the fast is always the first one I want when the fast is over. Speaking of that…did Adriane eat all the crackers?

“We’ll meet you at the one by your house. Six o’clock?”

We hang up. I take stock of my refrigerator and decide I need to make a supermarket run. Diet Cokes are running low and ice cream sounds like a yummy late-night snack.

I check to see if I need anything else, like toilet paper. I’ve been caught on that one before. I’m about to dash out the door when the phone rings again. I reach without checking caller ID.

“I’m making a run for ice cream.”

“I like double chocolate chip mint.”

I steady myself against the kitchen counter. “Dylan, hi.”