Brother Cramer and chocolate cupcakes have made all the difference

       May 15, 2011
        I’m in sweats and a giant t-shirt, blasting music in the kitchen as I scrub counters. I grab another Lysol wipe from the container and dance over to a new counter.

“All my life I’ve been good, but now, what the hell?” Avril Lavigne is my life right now. God, her music—this song in particular—just makes sense.

This is what Sunday mornings have become for me, when everyone else is at church. I pause for a second, sighing. I know I clean when I’m upset, and maybe that’s why the kitchen is spotless every Sunday. Or maybe it’s a guilt thing, or maybe both.

Knock, knock, knock!

I freeze mid-wipe. Who would be—

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

But there it is again.

I toss the wipe into the trash, steal into the front room, and peek out the peep-hole.

Brother Cramer??

What is he doing here? I have to do a double-take, but there he is in his beaten and worn Sunday suit, chocolate cupcakes in hand, cheesey smile on his face.

My stomach grumbles; I realize that I’ve skipped breakfast. It’s so loud, when I’m trying to be so quiet and not let him know I’m here. But then, where else would I be, if I’m not at church?

My stomach grumbles again.

Ding-dooooooong!

Sighing at my stomach for giving me away, I dare a quick glance in the mirror on the wall. I frown at my messy bun, mascara still all runny from crying last night, in all my sweat and glory.

Ding-dong!!

He doesn’t give up, does he? I take a deep breath and open the door.

His smile brightens.

“Moca!” His “adoring” nickname for me. I’m still not convinced it doesn’t mean “booger”.

He steps around me to give me a hug, somehow weaseling his way in the front door.

“Where’ve you been?” Right to the point.

“Um..” I realize I don’t have a response, but he interrupts, saving me the humiliation of answering.

“Well, listen, if you’re not at church next Sunday, I’m gonna come to your house and drag you to church in your sweats!”

I’m not sure if I’ve misheard him, or what. He’s still smiling huge.

“Alright!” He shoves the plate full of cupcakes into my hand.

He’s abruptly serious. “Listen, Jess, we’ve really missed you.”

I take that with a grain of salt. Soo many people have told me that. But when I look up to meet his eyes, I’m surprised. A fierce determination blazes, making me more seriously afraid of his threat. But it’s what is behind the determination that catches me off guard. A softer fire burns beneath, a warm flicker of care, of hope: love.

“I promise things will look up.” He hugs me again, on his way out the door.

“Th-thank you.” I manage.

“Better eat those before your parents get home!”

And I do—I eat myself sick off those—sick with relief, with love, with all I’ve been missing.