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The truth was, I still couldn’t look myself in the mirror.
    I’d caved.
    And soon I’d be the laughingstock of the town. I started to think perhaps this might be a small glimpse of how the virgin Mary had felt, holding in a secret, waiting for the town to suggest she’d lost her mind as well as her morals. Not that I’d had any heavenly visitors declaring my sacrifice a divine plan, but in my small way, I hoped to be an example. A servant. Someone who extended her hand—or rather, her fin—for others.
    I sipped my coffee, a raspberry chocolate mix from the newest gift shop in town. Why aren’t those brews ever as good as they smell?
    I put down my cup, making a face. “Let me get this out into the open. I like hospitality. I think it’s a good thing. I’ve made coffee cake for after-service fellowship three times a year for the last fifteen years. I’ve faithfully supplied my tuna casserole to the church potlucks every quarter. It’s just that I don’t have any desire to command a troupe that doesn’t need a leader. Gretchen and her gang have run the Christmas Tea since the early 1900s. It’s the same thing every year—Jane plays a few hymns; we have a reading and then the buffet of Swedish meatballs, lefse, Jell-O salad, bread pudding, and Russian tea cakes. Everyone loves it, and my policy is, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
    â€œBut what if it is broke?” Mike sipped his coffee, looking at me over the rim. “What if God has bigger plans for you, and the tea, this year?”
    â€œHave you and He had a conversation about Gretchen’s meatballs?” I stood, grabbed a broom, and started on the floor.
    Silence bled into my sweeping.
    â€œWhat if we have?”
    I stopped, looked at Mike, who’d turned away and stared at his reflection in the dark window. A dusting of snow from the roof blew across the porch light as the wind kicked up.
    â€œOkay, I have a confession to make. I thought you needed something to spice up your life, so I . . .” He turned toward me, and his expression mirrored the time he’d backed my car into the trailer, leaving a hefty dent. “I volunteered you for the position.”
    His words went through me slowly. In nearly thirty years of marriage, Mike had never volunteered me for anything. Not a carpool, not a shift on dispatch, not a teaching position at VBS. Even when he served as an elder in our church, he’d refrained from suggesting anything that might take my time away from our family.
    â€œI’m sorry; I didn’t hear you.”
    Mike set down his coffee. “This stuff is awful. Please don’t buy it again.”
    I took his cup, tossing the contents into the sink. “Repeat yourself.”
    â€œI hate the coffee—”
    â€œVery funny.”
    He sighed. “Okay, I’ve been watching you. And since the kids left, you seem . . . busy. But not yourself. I know you miss them, and I thought maybe using your incredible ability to get the job done for good in the church would help both you and our congregation. I thought you needed a change.”
    I hadn’t missed his use of the word incredible . But I narrowed my eyes at him.
    He swallowed. “The thing is, it’s not about the fact that you make amazing cookies. Or have always organized this family like a drill sergeant.”
    â€œI know you mean that in the nicest of ways.”
    â€œIt’s that maybe God has something in store for you this year. I don’t know what it is, but I just . . . well, I wanted to help.”
    I had no words for that. There were times in our marriage when I didn’t understand Mike. Like the time he took up wood carving and made us a homemade headboard. Or constructed a remote-control airplane from scratch, crashing it on its maiden flight. Or even invested in exotic fish, finally filleting them and serving them up