Monday Morning Faith Read Free Page B

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    His grip tightened on my arm. “I insist. Take a minute to relax, recover from the fall before you drive home.” He propelled me across the parking lot, ignoring my protests in a way that brought about a slow burn. Who did this man think he was? Maybe I didn’t want coffee.
    The cozy coffee shop embraced us. Aromas of fresh-brewed beans and warm spice muffins filled the air. Sam steered me to a table by the window as a young girl approached, eyeing Sam like a dieting woman eyes a supersized cheeseburger. “May I help you?” She didn’t look my way.
    Apparently the fall had rendered me invisible.
    â€œTwo black coffees, please.” Sam lifted a brow. “Cream?”
    â€œNo, just coffee.” I wanted a latte or hot tea, but I wouldn’t quibble. Mostly because I was afraid my tongue wouldn’t work right. Clearly, I was out of my element here. Coffee with a man. Not a common occurrence for me. And with him smiling at me that way, his hand next to mine on the table …
    The whole thing seemed almost too intimate.
    The waitress smiled at Sam and left while I searched my mind for something to talk about. My love life? Hardly. For one thing, it was nonexistent, unless you counted Harvey, Aunt Margaret’s candidate. For another, it wasn’t exactly a proper topic of conversation for a man I didn’t even know. Maybe sports. Then again, maybe not. Sports had never been a favorite of mine, so if I wanted to sound intelligent, that was out. I steered clear of politics on general principles. People could get too impassioned about their personal choice in candidates.
    So what did that leave me? I mustered a smile. “You haven’t left for Papua New Guinea yet?”
    Well now, that was clever since he was sitting across the table from me, clear brown eyes brimming with interest.
    â€œJanuary 15th.”
    Color flooded my cheeks as the date struck a chord. He’d mentioned it at our first meeting. I grappled for an intelligent response. “Why Papua New Guinea?”
    He picked up his napkin and polished a spoon. “I’m a retired surgeon. I’ll be running a clinic in a remote village, and I’ll be working with a couple of missionaries and their wives. We’re trying to break the communication barrier with these particular villagers, learn more of their ways, help improve their quality of life.”
    â€œAnd introduce the gospel?”
    â€œProbably not. We don’t speak their language or understand more than just a few basics of their culture. What we want to do is provide friendship, medicine, and health care in hopes that the people will begin to trust us. The gospel is still many years away for this tribe.”
    He bent forward, dark eyes intent. “What about you? Do you have a church affiliation?” Our coffee arrived. Sam thanked the waitress, then awaited my response.
    â€œI accepted Christ at an early age, but I’ve never felt led to the mission field.”
    He reached for the sugar. “Not everyone is. I’m sure you do your share of God’s work.”
    â€œI like to think so.” Often my work with the children at the library was a ministry of its own. In addition to my other duties, I took time to oversee story hour every afternoon. That was a library tech’s job, but I enjoyed watching those eager young faces come alive when I read stories of faraway, exciting places. I went on to explain that my actual “calling” was the care of my aging parents. Mom and Pop needed me, and I had dedicated my life to meeting their needs. “And I spend one Saturday a month at the hospital doing volunteer work.”
    Sam stirred sugar into his coffee and tested the temperature. “I’m a member of Sandstone. You might be familiar with the church?”
    â€œI know where it is.” Everyone knew Sandstone, the largest nondenominational congregation in Saginaw. I’d always