Coffee made? Done. Small breakfast pastries picked up from the local bakery set out? Done. Freshly printed and neatly folded sermon schedules laid out for our Sunday service set out? Done. Choir robes hung and awaiting their wearers? Done. Sunday mornings before service starts and coffee hour arrives leaves me feeling fulfilled in my heart. Knowing I am able to help my dad give his all during his sermons helps hide my guilt. Guilt of my late evening phone calls with my clients. Though my heart is full, my soul yearns for something I am still searching for.
As the members start arriving, my nerves start to unravel. The church members are amazing people but they are nosy and always trying to set me up with their grandsons or nephews. Blind dates are not my thing. When I find the one man for me, it will blossom organically. Not forced. Not awkward. Just pure passion. My soul craves it.
I’m able to hide myself in a corner of the room awaiting the time to move onto my dad’s sermon, avoiding the awkward conversations and digging into my love life, or lack of a love life.
I was on the phones late last night. Saturday nights are my busiest which is its own blessing and curse. Blessing because the money is worth it, curse because late Saturday nights calls for a sluggish Luna preparing Sunday morning services.
The choir sang beautifully and as always, dads sermon had his church members moved. ‘Hope’ was today’s sermon. The passage today was from Psalm 33:17-22 “A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save. (18) But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, (19) to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine. (20) We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield. (21) In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name. (22) May your unfailing love be with us, Lord, even as we put our hope in you.”
I was Steven and Laura’s hope. My name was used in his sermon several times. No wonder the congregation loves my dad. He’s transparent. He’s raw. He’s real. He lives what he preaches. I couldn’t imagine living a life outside of my parents love, embracing me during such a vulnerable time in my youth. I got lucky. Not often are kids able to exit the system. Most foster parents just accept kids into their homes for the checks from the state. Before I was placed with John and Laura, I saw it before my own eyes. All I had for myself was hope. Hope to leave the system. Hope for my biological dad to fix his broken path and come back for me. Hope for a life worth living.
As the sermon comes to an end, I make my way through the members and visitors thanking them for joining us on this beautiful Sunday morning. My guilt slowly rising as I replay my dads words during his sermon. I’m his and moms pride and joy. Their hope that had become a living reality. Their greatest blessing.
After an afternoon nap, supper with my parents and our own Bible study, I head to my computer to log into the phone system. Phone call after phone call, I quickly made many men’s night with my play of words and even got to experience my first call from a woman. Being raised as the preachers daughter, I slightly felt uncomfortable during the call but I didn’t and won’t judge her. I just hope she didn’t feel my unnerving.
Johnny was the last call I took last night. The sound of his voice was refreshing. I hadn’t heard from him in over a week, and I found myself wishing every evening that he was on the other end of the line. Playing an eager and horny Desiree is fun. I won’t and can’t lie about it. I guess I’m getting to that point in my life that my soul is asking for more. Unfortunately I do not believe I will be finding what my soul is searching for living here.
Tonight I go to bed replaying his words, while hearing his sexy accent. “Sogno che un giorno sarai mia”. Unfortunately for me, I don’t know what he said. I do believe my suspicions were correct though, Johnny is Italian.
[I dream that one day you will be mine]