Part 19 (1/2)

Good Girl Thoughts Worth Considering

1. Do any of Jezebel's personality traits match your own? Are you ever strong-willed, domineering, quick to criticize, eager to take charge, slow to relinquish control, sharp-tongued, stubborn, impatient, or unwilling to admit you're wrong...ever? Which one(s) do you identify with most, and why?

2. Jezebel didn't even try to curb her nature. What proactive steps could you take to keep the above traits from dominating your own life? If this isn't you at all, is it someone you know? How could you lovingly help him or her without resorting to the same tactics yourself?

3. How can the positive aspects of a more aggressive personality-leaders.h.i.+p, courage, boldness-be used for the cause of Christ as effectively as Jezebel used them for the cause of Baal?

4. Jezebel followed in her father's footsteps in wors.h.i.+ping a false G.o.d. Are there children in your circle of influence whose parents have a highly negative spiritual influence on them? What is your responsibility in such cases?

5. Was Jezebel truly ”beyond repentance”? Why or why not? At what point would a woman sin so grievously that she would be beyond forgiveness? Can you find biblical support for your answers?

6. Scripture says Ahab ”sold himself to do evil.” How did Jezebel ”buy him” away from his G.o.d? Why did Ahab allow Jezebel to rule over him? Did he contribute to his wife's wicked ways? If so, how? What could he have done to prevent his kings.h.i.+p from turning into the most evil one recorded in Scripture?

7. Think of a woman you know-publicly or personally-who is opposed to your faith, who has her heart set on tearing down Christianity. Would you be willing to pray for her heart to be changed? What would it take to change her att.i.tude? What would it take to change your feelings toward her?

8. What's the most important lesson you've learned from the utterly unlovely story of Ahab and Jezebel?

9.

OUT OF.

STEP.

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you,

will you join the dance?

LEWIS CARROLL.

One look at her father's beet-colored face told Michele all she needed to know. She gritted her teeth and prepared for the tirade.

”Young lady, you are not going out on a date with that...that...” The reverend's voice shook with intensity.

”That friend of the family? That talented musician?” Michele kept her voice steady and her tears at bay, smoothing her hands across her jeans to calm herself. ”You always said Dave was the most gifted wors.h.i.+p leader you'd ever met, Daddy. You haven't changed your mind, have you?”

Dumb question. Her father had changed his mind about Dave, their youthful minister of music, for one reason: Dave was good. Too good.

After years of being known as the biggest congregation in Oklahoma City, then suffering a steady decline in members.h.i.+p, Rockstone Community Church had suddenly started increasing in numbers...and in spirit. Something bordering on enthusiasm had tiptoed into the wors.h.i.+p services.

The reason was obvious: Dave. They called him ”The Music Man.” Week after week the time allotted for wors.h.i.+p grew from two hymns and a special number to four hymns, then six. Some weren't even in the hymnal. Because Michele's father was adamant-church was to last one hour and not a minute longer-that time was borrowed from his sermon.

The congregation was thrilled. The reverend was not.

Michele loved her father, despite his stubborn pride, his ties to tradition, and his refusal even to consider updating their wors.h.i.+p services. ”You don't have to come all the way into the twenty-first century, Daddy,” she'd teased him gently one morning. ”Even the 1970s would be good.”

He wouldn't hear of it. Wors.h.i.+p to him meant singing all eight verses of a hymn written by a long-dead composer, followed by the offering, an organ interlude, his forty-minute sermon, and a prayer of dismissal.

Eleven to noon, then off to Sunday brunch. See you next week.

Dave, however, put a wrinkle in her father's smooth style.

After an especially moving choral number one Sunday, the church accidentally broke into applause. When Mrs. Magruder shouted out a hearty ”Amen!” in the middle of one of Dave's impa.s.sioned solos, Michele knew the music minister's days were numbered.

She eyed the door, anxious to escape her father's angry countenance. ”Daddy, I gotta go. Dave is expecting me to meet him for a movie. I'll...see you later.” A tinge of guilt pierced her heart as she grabbed her jacket and slipped out the front door. She couldn't bear watching her father's bitterness and jealousy harden his heart to granite.

When she got home that night, another stern lecture awaited her. She was not to see Dave. Period.

She had to see Dave. Often.

The tug of war took its toll on her heart.

Michele stopped talking about Dave, stopped trying to convince her father to change, stopped pretending she wasn't falling in love with her Music Man.

It all came to a head one stormy Sunday afternoon.

The wide Oklahoma sky was packed with steel-colored clouds heavy with rain as she and Dave scurried across the parking lot of the Sooner or Later Grill, far across town from Rockstone's after-church crowd. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead. The storm was a heartbeat away.

Seconds later, squeezed into the same side of the booth, their backs to the entrance, they didn't hear the door crash open like a clap of thunder, didn't see the reverend come barreling through with his trench coat flapping, didn't know he was pointed like an Apache arrow straight at them.

By the time Michele spotted him, it was too late.

”Isn't this a pretty picture?” Her father was visibly trembling, his rage was so acute. ”After I forbade you to see him, Michele, you deliberately disobeyed me-”

”Daddy, I...I...” She felt as though a pipe organ had landed on her chest.

Dave leaped to her rescue. ”Reverend, this-”

”Enough!” The older man banged his fist on the table for emphasis, sending their water gla.s.ses dancing. ”My daughter may be eighteen, but she still lives under my roof. Your relations.h.i.+p-or whatever you call it-is over, effective immediately.” He pointed toward the door with a shaking finger. ”Michele, my car is in the parking lot. I expect you in the front seat within thirty seconds.”

She caught a glimpse of Dave's anguished expression as her father dragged her out of the booth and shoved her toward the door. ”No, Daddy!” Her sobbing pleas were ignored. Stumbling toward the door, her cheeks on fire, she rehea.r.s.ed the things she would say in apology when Dave called later.

He will call, won't he? Surely he would.

Dave braced himself against the corner of the booth, a dozen emotions vying for his attention. It took every ounce of self-control that G.o.d could provide to keep from punching the man's lights out.