The Whitney Chronicles. Judy Baer

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СКАЧАТЬ student who wants to be either an accountant or a pastor, no matter what it takes. Those two professions don’t seem to have much in common, but I know for sure he’d be a very trustworthy accountant. Right now, between classes and over-the-roaders, he’s fully occupied.

      Kim’s also a Christian. That makes all the difference.

      Mitzi was lying in wait for me as I left the office. She always does that on Tuesdays, when she knows I leave promptly at five. Otherwise she’s gone so fast that her desk chair is still spinning when we hear the door slam.

      “There are sooo many éclairs left that you’ll have to take them home.” She waved the open box holding five fat beauties, chocolate frosting glistening. Like she’d ever offer me anything useful, like help around the office. Oh, no, Mitzi was only generous when it served her depraved purposes, one of which is to make me weigh more than she does.

      “Thanks a lot, but I’m on a diet.”

      “No wonder there were so many left today. Then take them for your neighbors. You do have neighbors, don’t you?” She smiled sweetly.

      “Thankfully, yes. They did not all move away when they discovered I was living nearby.” Sarcasm is wasted on Mitzi, but it made me feel better. What on earth goes through that perfectly groomed brunette head of hers?

      “Well, I’m sure they’ll love these.” Somehow she managed to transport the box into my hands, pick up her purse and escape before I could argue. At least I’d have goodies to share at Bible study.

      As so often happens on the freeway, the drive to the church brought up the subject of Christian ethics. I’m a Christian. What does that mean in my everyday life? If I believe it, I have to live it. Every choice I make, every word I speak, needs to be done through that filter of faith. So here’s my question. What is it with rude drivers?

      As I left the parking lot, a woman shot up behind me and stuck the nose of her SUV into my back bumper. Even though the street was practically empty, she followed me as closely as she could without driving into my trunk.

      I’m a fanatic about being polite in traffic. It seems to me that’s where most people lose track of walking the Christian walk—or, in this case, driving the Christian drive. I’m no saint, but I usually don’t expose my sinful nature when I’m driving two tons of rolling metal.

      Anyway, this woman (definitely not a “lady”) honked at me when I didn’t turn fast enough for her. She had her nose in the air as she sailed around me without even a wave. I had several uncharitable thoughts but guiltily dropped back as if I’d been the one speeding and followed her to…the church parking lot.

      Now, what I want to know is this—if you profess to be a Christian, if you want to let God’s light shine through you—where do you get off being rude behind the wheel? Isn’t part of the Christian life about behaving as Christ would behave? Would He have run the light, tailgated until the person ahead of Him was a wreck, honked His horn and broken the speed limit—all to get to Bible study on time?

      I don’t think so.

      I’m going to buy a bumper sticker I saw last week for my rear bumper: Are You Following Jesus This Closely?

      That’s one thing I’ve learned since I found God and He found me. It’s easy to talk Christianity, but not so easy to walk it. Fortunately, I lost track of Ms. Speedy in the church. By the time Bible study was over, I even felt like praying for her. (“Oh, Lord, keep that nutcase off the streets….” Just kidding!!!)

      Ironically, I know lots of people who will spend hours at the gym so they can live longer—and then drive thirty miles an hour over the speed limit to make up for all the time they wasted doing it.

      Thoughtlessly, I ate one of the éclairs to soothe my nerves.

      I had four calls on my answering machine when I got home. Three from my mother—“Whitney, you forgot the dishrags I knitted for you out of scrap yarn.” (Now how did that happen?) “Whitney, do you want me to invite that nice young man from church and his mother over for dinner?” (As if she could even catch him!) And, “Whitney, I don’t know where my mind is these days. I’m so forgetful. Did I tell you that you forgot your dishrags at my house?”

      Menopause can be brutal. I know now why women over fifty shouldn’t have babies. They’d lay them down and forget where they put them.

      The fourth call was from Eric Van Horne. He’s a very special man in my life. We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know if a more good-natured man exists. We dated for a while, and I really thought Eric might be the one for me. He’s brilliant, but impulsive and completely undependable. I spent many nights wondering if he had actually asked me out and, if so, where was he? I knew from the outset that no matter whom Eric dated, she’d have to agree to take second place to his love for airplanes. News of an air show in a neighboring state would drive everything else from his mind. He’d jump into his car, sniff the air and head in the direction of jet fuel. And on Monday he’d remember we’d had plans for the weekend.

      Ardor fades quickly after sitting by the phone for a few weeks waiting for a call. Actually, we came to the decision together that until either I learned to love madcap spontaneity or he learned to be dependable and predictable, we’d just be friends. So far we’ve managed to navigate the bumpy waters of remaining friends and seeing each other socially.

      “Hi, Whit! Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Wanted to tell you about the great air show I attended. You should see my photos!”

      “I don’t know if I can stand being dumped for a crop duster again, Eric.”

      “What a kidder you are, Whit. I took a picture of a woman and the plane she uses for acrobatics. She reminded me of you.”

      “At least you thought of me.” I can’t be too hard on him. Eric is darling, but has what Kim calls “zero mac.” He enjoys life too much to be cool and is way too exuberant to be macho.

      Actually, that may be his best quality.

      The Bible verse that comes to mind when I think of Eric is Proverbs 18:24: “Some friends may ruin you. But a real friend will be more loyal than a brother.”

      Mitzi may be in the first category. Kim and Eric are in the second. While Mitzi spends the day making snide remarks about my age (as if she’ll ever see thirty-five again!), Eric called a second time to apologize for standing me up. He says he just “lost track of time.”

      Somehow, I believe him. I’ve known from the start that Eric has the attention span of a flea, a heart of gold and a bloodhound’s nose for airplanes, and I wasn’t going to change him no matter what I did. I’ve never gone into a relationship with that rehab-attitude. I take a guy for what he is, not for what I think he could become.

      Eric is actually a much better friend than he is a date. A girl could get old waiting around for a guy like him.

      I was too exhausted to cook supper, so I just heated a family-size ready-made lasagna in the oven. It was so big, I figured it would last me for days. Tasty, too. Then I started thinking about work. Ate a little more lasagna. As I put away the pan, I realized I’d eaten quite a little more. Now there’s just one measly portion left for lunch tomorrow.

      Tomorrow! I’ll restart my diet, seriously this time. I’ll count calories. To make sure I didn’t forget, I dug out my old calorie counter from previous diets.

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