Page 13 of A Taste of Grace

I pictured one of Aunt Nita’s elder friends with grandkids around my girls’ ages, reading Bible stories and singing sweet songs to my little angels. They would spend the night with an elder who knew how to raise Godly children and teach my girls how to be respectable young women.

“I should have known my main girl wouldn’t let a brother down.”

“You know it, nephew.”

We laughed in unison.

More than any other family member, Aunt Nita got me. From my wild playboy days to my ascension as pastor of the largest nondenominational church in the region, she saw every side of me, even the ones that weren’t always holy. Over time, she had become more like a friend than an auntie, always having my back. She was my safe space, my wise counsel with keen discernment. She didn’t judge me when I slipped up as a new pastor but directed me to the Word of God for final instruction. Her unconditional love and reverence for God motivated me to love Him more, too.

“I just want to do right by my girls,” I spoke the words like a scared little boy, revealing my insecurity about a role I didn’t expect to hold without a woman by my side.

“As you should. You’re a wonderful father, baby. Don’t let the enemy plant seeds of doubt in your brilliant head.”

I smiled at Aunt Nita’s praise.

“I appreciate that. They deserve the best. I’m only one person, though.”

For the past five years, I raised Hannah and Esther alone, engaging in more tea and princess parties than I could count. As a burly guy with a linebacker build, I learned how to tap into my feminine side, though, watching countless social media videos about how to shampoo, condition, and style Hannah’s fine hair and Esther’s coarse hair. I messed up more times than I cared to admit with my mother and auntie gently coming behind me so my girls wouldn’t leave the house looking like little circus clowns. They deserved the world, but I didn’t have the capacity or skills to give them everything they needed.

I sighed, slightly frustrated and guilt-ridden. It would only get harder as they approached puberty.

“God won’t give you more than you can bear.”

“Just say a prayer that the girls won’t run over Grace.”

Aunt Nita laughed again.

“Stop worrying.”

“I’ll try. I’ve already fixed dinner and cleaned them up for bed. All she’ll need to do is entertain them, keep them alive, brush their teeth, and put them to bed before I return.”

“That’s all?’

“Auntie’s got jokes.”

“I forgot to warn Grace about your obsession with to-dos.”

“It’s called order.” I huffed.

“If you say so. But seriously, with your entrepreneurial mind, have you given more thought about transferring your guide to a caregiving book for little girls?”

“No, ma’am. When would I have time to do that?”

It was my turn to laugh. I was meticulous about my daughters’ routine by necessity. Otherwise, our household would fall apart. I had to set a firm foundation so they could become independent earlier than their peers. They had to be if we were going to stay sane.

“If I had a helpmate, I might be less anal, but since I don’t…” My voice trailed off.

“Grace is on her way. Have fun tonight, Caleb. Remember that ministry isn’t all business. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“Perfect words from a perfect auntie. Thanks for looking out for us. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

I disconnected the call and walked to the full-length mirror in my master bedroom. I frowned at my reflection as I considered how many more Friday movie and pizza nights I would miss with Hannah and Esther because I decided to answer the call of God on my life.

Please, Lord, protect my daughters and let them lead full lives in my absence.

I hated to leave my girls alone with a stranger, but I couldn’t miss tonight’s fundraising event for the local homeless shelter.My father was one of the shelter’s biggest donors, so I had to continue the advocacy he started before his death.

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