Her Best Catch

Her Best Catch

Lindi Peterson

$12.95 March 2011
ISBN 978-1-61194-015-2

Debut Romance

Our PriceUS$12.95
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Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt

"You said it yourself, Ashton. You came to Sunday school looking for answers, and all you found was a girl who can't think past your last kiss.”

He smiles his gorgeous smile at me. "You can't?”

Allison Doll's mother is rebelliously turning fifty, her two best friends have started dating and a gorgeous injured relief pitcher named Ashton Boyd has joined her Sunday school class, rocking her world into confusion, heartache and temptation, places she hasn't visited in a long time, much less all at once.

But with the help of family, old friends she really hasn't lost, a new friend she really can count on, and God, she's going to find out whether she'll always be a girl waiting for life to happen or a woman who's ready to commit to her best catch.



"I enjoyed the character's voice very much and liked her quirky sense of humor...this book encouraged me. -- Tristi Pinkston, Families.Com

"Nice to read about a character who thinks there is value in a good reputation...quick, light, wholesome." -- Clari Dees, CDee's Bookshelf

"Reading this book was like meeting friends and having a grand life adventure!" -- Tammy Griffin, Tammy's Book Parlor

"It makes you smile, makes you feel good...A totally delightful book." -- Joyce Williams, Deco My Heart

"Once I started it I could not stop. This is a new author to me and her writing style just kind of grabs you and holds on. I could really relate to the characters and began to care about what happened to them." -- Jennifer Emprimo, Book Row

"...a story of faith, friendship, and fun." -- Ellen Feld, Feathered Quill

"...the story is dynamite! ...with a hot hunky hero and a funny heroine that makes you laugh out loud, you might want to read it more than once." -- Ane Mulligan, Novel Journey


They say fifty is the new thirty.

Which means in a couple of months when my mother turns fifty we'll be almost the same age. I really don't want to think about it. Especially since my mother's acting sixteen and I'm feeling more like forty. This year I'd like to avoid the whole birthday deal entirely.

But I can't. I'm throwing her a surprise party instead. Which is why I'm standing in Bubba Bob's Barbecue placing a really big food order even though I'm supposed to be meeting my best friend Velvet for lunch in less than ten minutes.

Oh, well, Velvet is always late.

"Thanks for all your help, Bob,” I say, shoving the receipt and my checkbook into my bulging purse. Bob stands there smiling as I dig in the aforementioned purse for my keys. I would like to say that I'm not normally this unorganized, but that would be a lie. And good Christian girls don't lie.

At least not intentionally.

Finally, I find my keys at the bottom (well, where else would they be?), and tell Bob thanks again before I make my way to my car which is the one luxury I allow myself since I have moved back home. Of course, I'm the only one who would consider an old Toyota Celica convertible a luxury. The car runs like a dream, and it's all mine. Only mine.

The fresh cut smell of onion grass flows through the open top, a sure sign of summer in Atlanta. Spring azaleas have dropped their pink, red or white blooms while the dogwoods languish in their glory.

I pull into the parking lot five minutes late and make my way into the restaurant. I get a table and settle in. Too bad my stomach can't settle down.

Velvet had a date last night with Trent. Our very best guy friend. The three of us have been inseparable since high school. And if things went the way Velvet thought they were going to go, I might just have to separate myself away.


I tighten my ponytail, probably out of nervousness. I pay more money than any sane human being should to have highlights, lowlights, shimmer and shine. My mother hates the fact that I pull my goldilocks into a ponytail almost every day. She threatens to toss my elastic bands into the trash. But she doesn't and I just listen to her talk about if she had my hair, blah, blah, blah. I like the ponytail. It's less fuss and trouble. And it stays out of my way.

Velvet does not wear her hair in a ponytail. She keeps her rich, dark brown hair which no bottle could supply cut in a chin length bob, and she always looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Which is where she is now, which is probably why I'm waiting. Her guy is always behind. Even when she's his first customer. I wouldn't put up with it, but she swears there's no one like Trey Haslow, the up and coming stylist in Atlanta.

A soccer game is being televised while the Mariachi band roams around playing music and looking for tips. My tip? Don't date your best friend.

I'm really wondering how things went last night. For Velvet to want to eat here, I'm thinking it wasn't so hot. Why else would she want to gorge on Mexican food? All these chips and rice and beans are a carbohydrate disaster. And Velvet always watches her carbs.

Well, I can't say I'm really surprised. (And feeling a bit guilty because of the relief that thought brings.)

The it-might-be-a-date prospect didn't pan out, so I'll be here for Velvet. After all, isn't that what best friends are for?

I glance at my watch. It's only twenty after twelve, which means I probably have another twenty minutes to wait.

Have I mentioned that Velvet is always late?

But it's okay because I know this about her. I don't mind sitting here alone, eating a few chips and sipping my club soda with lime. It gives me time to mentally prepare for whatever news Velvet has.

She slides into the booth moments later surprising me.

"Hey, girl. You're early,” I say.

She looks at her watch. "Funny.”

The waiter immediately shows up and takes our order. Velvet orders a Taco Salad which makes me very nervous. I have never known Velvet to watch her carbs at a Mexican restaurant.

"Well,” Velvet starts. "Do you want to hear about last night?”

Here it is. The million-dollar question.

I now absorb several things. The huge smile Velvet has had since she arrived. The sparkle in her eyes. The I'm-the-happiest-girl-ever aura that surrounds her.

But the most significant thing is that she hasn't eaten a chip. Not even one.

And there is only one good reason why a girl would strictly watch her carbs. A guy. In this case, Trent.

So what does a best friend do when she's ready to receive news that has made her friend the happiest in a long time, but will not make the recipient of the news as happy?

Eat. Have the mouth full when the big announcement is given, that way she can half-smile, nod and hold up her hand after pointing to her mouth indicating she would love to rejoice with you, but it will have to wait until all food is chewed and mouth is empty.

Praise God there is a basket full of chips right in front of me.

"So, tell me all about it,” I say as I grab a handful of carbs and start putting them into my mouth, mechanically, one after another. (So much for mentally preparing.)

Before Velvet begins speaking, this dreamy look glazes her eyes and she does a shoulder shrug while holding her arms, like she's savoring the most precious memory ever.

I grab more chips.

"Well, I walk in and immediately smell something great cooking. It's some kind of Thai chicken dish which was fabulous. But before we eat, I scope the place out, jot down some decorating ideas, because of course, that's what I'm there for.”

Personally, I think she had her own agenda which had nothing to do with decorating.

She sips her water then continues. "So I lay out these plans and he's okay with them. He doesn't even ask how much it's going to cost. Of course, I told him I'll get him the best prices available since I have connections, so that's probably why he didn't ask.”

Probably, I think.

"Then we eat that fabulous chicken. Oh, I think I already told you it was fabulous, but it was the best chicken I've ever eaten. No lie.”

I need to mention that Velvet still hasn't touched one chip, while I've eaten half the basket. And she still hasn't gotten to the "good” part yet.

"So,” she says, sipping more water. "After we cleaned up from dinner, we sat on his back porch, on the swing, right next to each other. And Allison.” She takes this deep breath and I shove chips. "It was there.”

My mouth is really full trying to chew all these chips. It's taking way too much concentration so I can't figure out what she means by "It was there.” What was there? Lightning bugs? No, then she would have said, "They were there.”

Good grief, I can't even ask her because my mouth's too full.

Truthfully, I don't even think she notices my dilemma. She had seemed so intense seconds ago when she made the big "It was there” statement, but now's she back to her glazed look.

The waiter slides our plates in front of us.

"Hot, plate, hot plate,” he repeats. Like those big gloves he's wearing aren't a clue. "Don't touch,” he says as I attempt to turn my plate. Doesn't he know the tacos have to be on the far side of the plate?

I leave my plate alone. The food is way too hot to eat anyway. Besides, I am so full of chips that I can't imagine eating my meal.

Since Velvet hasn't said anything since her revelation, I guess it's my turn.

"What was there?”

She picks up her fork and mixes her lettuce and tomatoes in with her sour cream and guac. She doesn't eat.

"The best feeling ever. The one where you feel so drawn to someone. Like you're not close enough. Like there's some sort of electricity between you.” She stops, then smiles and stares straight at me. "I wanted to kiss him so bad.”

I am so full at this point I don't have one crumb in my mouth. And I'm expected to make some sort of comment. I know I am.

"Did you?” I ask, trying to rid my brain of the visual of Trent and Velvet kissing.

"No. I'm waiting for him to make that move.”

"So, you think he feels the same way?” I ask, because as much as I don't want to know, I have to know. We females are warped that way.

"I know he does. We're going out again tonight.”


"Yes. How many hours is it until seven o'clock?”

I look at my watch. "About seven hours.”

She's got it bad if she's counting the hours.

"It's going to be the slowest seven hours ever.”

"Do you think?” I ask, mimicking Velvet by pushing my food around on my plate.

"Oh, Allison. This is it, I know it. Trent is my Mr. Right.”

I smile, my throat feeling like a constricted mess as I blink back tears. I can't define the tears. I'm happy for my best friends, yet sad for my loss because the three of us will never have the same type of friendship that we've had in the past.

And right at this moment, I'm terrified of the changes this new relationship will bring.

Today I lift my spirits by curling my ponytail. It's what I call my dressy look. After all, I am going to church.

But before church is Sunday school with Trelvet. That's Trent and Velvet together. I have decided it's good for my psyche to lend my own small sense of humor to the situation while it lasts. It can't hurt.

As I walk down the hall to the classroom of young adult singles, wondering if things are really going to be any different, I'm surprised to see almost all of our female population in the hallway, huddled together like they're trying to decide the next big play.

After scanning the group quickly, I notice Velvet is not among the throng.

But I am not spared. As soon as I'm within arm's reach, someone grabs me and pulls me into the circle.

"Have you heard?” Emma Johnson asks, whispering.

Whatever news that has this group assembled is good news. There are smiles and giggles and clutching of arms.

"I mean, who'd of ever thought. In our Sunday school class,” Joanie Gables screams quietly. You know that voice people use that always ends up sounding like a squeaky mouse? Well, Joanie's voice always sounds that way.

I know they can't be talking about Trelvet. Can they?

"Allison, guess who is in our Sunday school room.”

As Braedyn Roth, with her mass of long brunette curls and white straight teeth, stops addressing me, there is a hush and all eyes are on me.

Can I buy a vowel? I am so lost here. I guess I've been so focused on Trelvet I've missed something or someone very important.

"Guess, Allison,” Braedyn repeats.

"All the guys?” I answer.

Giggles galore erupt and I'm feeling like an extra on one of those oldie beach movies.

"He is a guy, that's for sure,” Braedyn says. Then she stares me down with extremely serious brown eyes. "Ashton Boyd.”

Ashton Boyd. I run the name quickly through my brain. It sounds familiar. Maybe Braedyn's cute cousin from Albuquerque? But then why all the fuss?

"Okay. Great. And this is special because?” I ask.

A collective groan escapes the crowd. Now I really hope I haven't just insulted someone's relative. They start shaking their heads which only serves to enhance their colored pursed lips. Way too many perfumes are mixing it up, and I'm getting claustrophobic. Truthfully, I don't think I care who Ashton Boyd is. I'm much too overwhelmed by the Trelvet situation.

Braedyn looks at me like I've lost my mind. And I have, so she's right.

"Ashton Boyd, Allison. The drop-dead gorgeous, relief pitcher for the Atlanta Braves.”

The cliché ‘you could have heard a pin drop' certainly applies right now. I don't know what they expect me to do. There is one of him and who knows how many of us. I wonder if they are planning an attack.

The poor guy.

Hanging with Trent, Mr. Baseball trivia king, has given me an insight into sports. Especially baseball. And if I'm remembering correctly, now that Braedyn has clued me in, I think Ashton was, was being the operative word, a relief pitcher for the Braves. Right now he's unemployed, i.e., not a pitcher, i.e., not working, i.e., on any other male that would lend a bad stigma, but because Ashton is Ashton I guess it's okay.

Praise God I am saved from giving any response. Our fearless leader, Jax Rainwater whose dark good looks have caused quite a stir more than once, comes out to tell the roving pack it's time to start class.

I know he wonders if we are really going on thirty, because sometimes we still act like teenagers. Now being one of those times.

I hang back, taking my time, afraid of being trampled.

Jax stays behind and shuts the door after I enter. I spot Velvet across the room and she pats the chair next to her. At least she saved me my chair. I always sit to her right, and Trent rarely sits with us in Sunday school.

Today though Trent sits to her left.

"Morning,” I say as I try not to look at them. I can look at Velvet or Trent, but not Trelvet.

"Good morning,” Trelvet says. I'm serious. They spoke at the exact same time.

All the guys (except Trent and Jax) are crowded together. I'm assuming they are crowded around Ashton Boyd.

"It's time for our opening prayer. Take a seat.”

Jax has to speak really loud to be heard over the buzz in the room. I hope having a celebrity in class doesn't disrupt things permanently.

Our chairs are set up in a semi-circle, and I'm wondering if there are going to be enough. Maybe having a celebrity in class will increase attendance.

As the group of guys disperse to find a chair, Ashton appears. Oh, my. He does have good face.

His brownish hair is a little long, like it could use a cut, but it looks great anyway. Not-too-long sideburns lend a rugged look to his very handsome features. I can't see the color of his eyes from where I'm sitting, but they're darkish, maybe hazel.

He's sitting in the folded metal chair looking very uncomfortable. His suit (nobody our age wears a suit to church anymore unless it involves a wedding or a funeral) is very nice, but looks stiff, like it doesn't want to be here. If the truth be told, Ashton looks like he doesn't want to be here.

Can you really blame him? I mean, he came to this young adult class, and the girls probably gave him a complex the minute they went squealing out the door. Then the guys obviously flocked to him, probably asking him too many questions he's probably been asked before.

When Velvet nudges me I realize I've been staring. But I'm not staring for the reasons Velvet probably thinks I am.

Yep, I'll admit on a scale of one to ten he's a ten and a half. Definitely pushing an eleven. But there's more to a good man than looks. There's substance. What kind of substance is Ashton Boyd made of?

Velvet takes my hand as Jax starts our prayer. The warmth of her hand during the prayer reminds me that above all we are sisters in Christ. Trelvet or not.

Jax finishes the prayer and we all focus on him. He sits at the front of the semi-circle, Bible in his lap.

"All right everyone,” he starts. "We're beginning a new book today. Turn to James. It's in the New Testament towards the back.”

People start to murmur, and pages rustle as everyone makes their way through the scriptures.

Braedyn flies across the room to where Ashton is sitting. No one has sat on either side of him (I guess there are plenty of chairs after all), and Braedyn has offered to share her Bible with him.

That is so sweet and hopefully sincere of her. He smiles at her as she introduces herself. His suit doesn't smile. Somehow it manages to look even more uncomfortable next to Braedyn's bright yellow sun dress and fluorescent yellow sandals.

Ashton and Braedyn aren't the only ones sharing a Bible.

Trelvet only has one Bible today. I wonder who forgot theirs. Or left it in the car on purpose.

"We have some new faces today,” Jax says. "Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves.”

I want to shout "Trelvet!” when it's Velvet's turn, but I don't. I sit there quietly like a good girl.

When Ashton speaks his name it's low, humble sounding, as if he's trying it out for the first time.

Then it's Braedyn's turn. "Braedyn Roth.”

I can't explain how it comes out but it's as if she wants to make it sound important. As if it's unimportant after the celebrity. Oh well, she has her issues. I have mine.

Jax has to settle everyone down again after the introductions.

I scan the text as he reads out loud from the book of James.

Pure joy. Trials. Perseverance. This scripture talks about something we know because we believe in the word of God. But it's hard to put certain scriptures into practice. I mean, joy in trials?

Would God consider Trelvet a trial in my life?

Next Jax is going to want us to share experiences. I can't share about Trelvet. Trelvet doesn't even know I'm struggling with the situation.

Of course there was the trial of my Dad dying. That was rough. Although it quickly became apparent getting my mom back on track had become a bigger issue than dealing with my loss.

"Okay,” Jax says. "Give me thoughts. What's going on in your heads?”

A sniffle here, a cough there, feel the silence everywhere.

This silence is so typical. Nobody wants to be the first to speak, but once someone does, watch out. Then no one will be able to finish a sentence because they're being interrupted.

Braedyn raises her hand. She always does when she wants to speak. Must be some leftover issue from elementary school. Maybe the teacher never called on her and she's never gotten over it. "What if you don't feel like you've had any trials?” she asks. "Would that indicate God thinks your faith is already where it needs to be?”

"Nobody's faith is where it needs to be,” Courtney Picklesimier says. "If that were the case, where's that person's growth process?”

"Maybe they need to grow in other areas,” Braedyn shoots back.

"This brings up an interesting question,” Jax says. "Do you guys think anyone ever achieves the fullness of God on earth? Can we reach the pinnacle in certain areas that involve living a Christian life?”

"Not in today's world.”

That statement is made by Keifer Stark. Keifer is a good old southern born guy, with sandy blonde hair and a stocky build. He also has a good sense of humor and is a lot of fun when we go bowling, or have a party. Especially when we have a party because he always brings his guitar. He has a great voice and we usually jam out singing some really great praise songs.

Normally I'm pretty vocal in our discussions. But today I'm enjoying just listening. Trelvet isn't speaking either. In fact, I think I see them passing notes.

And our newest member Ashton isn't voicing any of his opinions. He's still sitting next to Braedyn, his hands folded in his lap, Braedyn's Bible resting partially on one of his knees. It teeters as Braedyn shifts in her chair, and Ashton steadies it with his hand.

I've caught him looking my way a couple of times, but he's probably scoping us all out. Wondering what we're all about.

It's kind of unfair. He's got all of us to wonder about, but we, as a group, only wonder about him. We all know the rest of us. We know we're just a group of adults trying to live right with the help of others.

What does Ashton want? Why is he here? Does he read the Bible? He must believe at some level. Otherwise he wouldn't be in our class. Or maybe he's searching. That would put him right in the middle of the group. Because we're all searching.

I glance at Trelvet.

Some of us have found something. Will that something later lead to nothing? Are they on their way to heartache?

And having someone in your life doesn't relieve you of having trials. In fact, your trials double, because you have another person to deal with. And then, if it ends, how devastating is that?

I'm not really sure if that's how I'm supposed to be looking at life, but it's how I'm choosing to look at it right now. Tomorrow, it may change.

Isn't that a girl's prerogative?

Our Sunday school class is made up of a group of diverse people. As diverse as we are individually, our schedule as a group can sometimes be rigid. We go to the same places the same Sundays after church. The first Sunday of the month we hit Pizzaly—the local Italian place. All you can eat pizza. The girls were way out-voted by the guys on this one. Oh well, it's a small sacrifice to satisfy one of their primal urges. Food.

The third Sunday it's Jax's favorite burger place, Brody's. The fourth Sunday it's Chi-Chi's. No further explanation needed. On the occasional fifth Sunday we hit Lo-Liens Chinese. Some people in the group aren't very fond of oriental food, so about four times a year is enough for them. When we go they order lot of appetizers, i.e., wings and ribs. Basically American fare.

Since today is the second Sunday we're headed to The Hot Spot. This is the female favorite. There's a salad bar, bread bar, baked potato bar, soup bar, and a dessert bar.

That's a lot of bars. We always joke around and tell the elders we're going bar hopping. The joke is really old now, but we still tell it and they still laugh.

Some things never change.

At the Hot Spot we all go through the buffet line, everyone paying separately. Except for Trelvet. I notice Trent takes out his wallet, while Velvet stands there, smiles and says something to him. Probably a thank you.

Velvet is polite. Like Trent.

If this two-day relationship continues forever, I guess they'll have very polite children someday.

The employees at the Hot Spot expect us every second Sunday. They always have several tables pushed together towards the back of the restaurant. I guess you could say we have a standing reservation.

I always sit next to Velvet. But today, instead of following me, she follows Trent. To the other side of the table. I set my tray down, and Trelvet sets their trays down directly across from me. Great. Now I get to stare at Trelvet while I eat. If I can eat.

Of course I can eat. There's really not a whole lot that prevents me from eating, and I manage to stay a size eight-ten. I wonder how long that blessing will last.

For some reason everyone takes all their plates off their plastic green tray. Not me. I like the boundaries the tray gives me. My food doesn't accidentally get eaten by my neighbor who wonders why he's eating something he didn't even choose. i.e., cottage cheese.

Since Velvet ditched me, Keifer sits on my right. His salad plate is piled extremely high, a disaster waiting to happen. And he has three loaded baked potatoes.

"Is anyone sitting here?”

I turn to find Ashton Boyd standing behind me, tray in hand, nodding to the empty chair on my left. He's apparently speaking to me. I suspect answering him would be a good move.

"No. It's kind of a free for all. We sit wherever.”

He carefully takes his plates off his green tray and places them neatly on the table. His salad is at a respectable level, and he only has one potato.

He's ditched the suit jacket and tie. His long sleeves are rolled up, giving a much more relaxed impression. I'm surprised, yet encouraged that he joined us for lunch. Usually a new person attends a few times before he or she ventures out with our group.

I'm encouraged because I hope this means he's interested in interacting with people who are trying to live a Christian life. We fail and fall, but continue to learn and try to grasp the incredible mystery of God.

Ashton sits and we are very close in proximity. I can't help but wonder what the name of his cologne is. It has a clean scent. Like he just stepped out of the shower.

Behind us I swear there is an almost cat-fight going on between Braedyn and Joanie. Who will win the coveted spot next to our celebrity?

I'd gladly give up my seat—shoot, I could probably sell it—but I don't want to call any more attention to the situation. You'd think we didn't have eight or nine single guys in our group.

Isn't this a blow to their ego? I would ask Keifer, but he's too busy demolishing his food.

I guess Ashton is used to attention. I mean he's probably done countless interviews, been on TV, and I'd bet anything he has a fan club.

Maybe I'll Google that information and email it to Braedyn.

Actually I should be grateful to Braedyn, who won the cat-fight and now sits proudly next to the celebrity baseball player for the second time today. She's keeping him so occupied that he's not bothering me.

Not that I wouldn't like to converse with him. Today I'm just not in the mood. The group has picked up on the fact that Trent and Velvet are now Trelvet, and the hopes for a successful couple coming from the group have been raised again.

We've only had two successful couples come from our class. Both couples married then moved out of state.

Omigosh! There's another good reason for Trelvet to part ways. They can't move. I mean what would I do if Velvet didn't live within driving distance to Chi-Chi's?

I pick up my water glass, prepared to down half of it pre-meal, to suppress my appetite. Keifer's elbow goes wild in an apparent attempt to save his leaning salad of Pisa and slams into my arm which knocks my water glass totally out of my hand. It sails at a ninety degree angle into Ashton's chest, then falls into his lap.

Note to self: always remember to push chair as close to the table as you can.

Braedyn screams, then gives me an evil look, like I flung my glass into celebrity baseball player's lap on purpose.

I glare at Keifer who's still trying to salvage his salad, probably unaware of the damage saving his lettuce has caused.

Ashton keeps repeating everything's fine as he takes the napkins that are being offered to him from around the table.

Braedyn is desperately trying to help him dry off, poking her napkin at him, but not actually touching him.

"I'm so sorry,” I finally say. "I didn't mean to,” I add, rolling my eyes towards Keifer.

Ashton looks at me, smiling the most incredible, sincere smile. His gaze indicates he's not mad. In fact I think he's in some ways enjoying this episode.

He rolls his eyes toward Braedyn and shrugs his shoulders.

The lower part of his torso and his lap are soaked. He excuses himself and heads towards the men's restroom. I'm surprised Braedyn doesn't follow him.

"Allison. What are you doing?” Braedyn hisses when Ashton is out of earshot. "He'll never come back.”

Does she mean to church or from the bathroom?

"It was an accident.” I shrug my shoulders. "Keifer here is the one who should take responsibility.”

Keifer has now figured out the consequences of saving his salad. He promises to apologize to Ashton when he returns from the restroom.

"Braedyn,” I say. "You wouldn't be this concerned if my water had landed in Keifer's lap.”

"Well, duh,” she intelligently replies. "Keifer is Keifer.”

"And he's a human being. Just like Ashton.”

"You just don't get it,” Braedyn says.

Such animosity between Christian Sunday school participants. Although Braedyn's not really mad at me and I'm not really mad at her. This is just a level of frustration between two women that will pass.

Ashton returns, his light blue shirt looking dark blue in places just like his gray slacks look black where the water spilled.

"Allison's really sorry,” Braedyn blurts out before Ashton even settles back in his chair.

"It's okay, really,” he says.

I believe he's sincere. He's got an aura about him which leads me to believe what you see is what you get.

"We normally don't treat our new members this way,” Braedyn tries to joke.

The joke would have hung flat in the air but for Ashton's response.

"You mean I wasn't just baptized?”

I smile. Our celebrity has a sense of humor.

"Besides,” he adds. "I'm persevering. You know, finding joy in my trials.”

Impressive. Not only can he make a funny joke, he remembered the lesson and put it into practice.

That's more than I do on any given week.

Way to go celebrity baseball player. Good for you. Good for Jax for leading us in ways we need to go.

And kudos to God for giving us guidance and grace.

I see where we are with God's grace. i.e., fighting, arguing, jealous, depressed.

And wonder where we would be without it.

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