Okay, not exactly true. She knew whathadgone on in the rest of the world…within the scope of church history. Ask her questions about first century Rome, the rise and fall of the Empire, the Inquisition and the role of evangelism, the philosophical beliefs of men like Tertullian and Polycarp, the causes and effects of the Protestant Reformation. But current events? She twisted the cotton fabric around her finger. Her knowledge consisted of about what Mila had just shared…which was the equivalent of a three-minute BBC highlight.
Mila paused a moment and eyed Amber. “Remember, this is simplified. There are many complexities that I will not mention now.” She licked her lips. “Anyway, Chancellor Angela Merkel relaxed the borders with Austria and has welcomed great numbers of those seeking asylum to find a new life here in Germany. The center’s role in this story is two-fold. We have workers who file the necessary paperwork for the refugees, and we help them assimilate in their new home.
“Part of that assimilation goal is where you and other volunteers that cannot fulfill the legal tasks help. The children, especially, are innocent in all these things, guilty only of being born in a country of such political unrest that the basic rights of life are not a given. As such, the center expects you to help these children by easing their fears. Research has shown the benefit of team sports, arts, and nature in such cases.”
Mila paused, and Amber scrambled to come up with an adequate reply. “I…I will do my best.”
Maybe not the most confident of answers, but it literally was the best she could offer.
Mila steepled her fingers, her gaze probing. She studied Amber for a prolonged moment before releasing a sigh. “You are young and do not seem like one who has suffered the worst the world has to offer. This is agutthing, although I fear your months here may open your eyes to things you have been sheltered from. The stories some of the refugees share…they will break your heart.”
A ball formed in Amber’s chest, pressing down on her sternum. A faint echo rang in her ears.
What do you know? You’ve lived a perfect little life. You can’t understand anything about what I’m going through.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Two months later, the slap of those words still stung. She’d been at the hospital accumulating volunteer hours for a clinical pastoral education course. Because of her gender, the hospital thought it would be a good idea to have her make rounds in the maternity and neonatal wards. The babies had been precious, their tiny fingers and toes adorable beyond words. Not to mention the sheer contentment on the mothers’ faces when they looked down on their bundles of joy.
But then she’d entered Carrie’s room. Seventeen and alone. No parents. No boyfriend.
No baby.
Amber tried to swallow past the lump.
Carrie had been right. Amber couldn’t understand what she’d gone through.
And if Amber couldn’t relate to people’s experiences because of her sheltered life, how could she ever hope to touch their souls? No one would trust her because she’d never walked in their shoes.
“Are you ready to see the rest of the complex?” Mila rose and nodded to a side door.
Amber forced a smile, feeling suddenly drained once again. “Can’t wait.” She couldn’t postpone the rest of the tour any more than she could postpone the inevitable moment of truth. Pretty soon Mila would see what Carrie and the naysayers from her classes did—that Amber was a fake and not equipped for a life of helping people.
Amber pushed down those thoughts, desperately seeking the assurance she’d once felt about service.
It was like groping in the darkness.
She pushed back her shoulders. Even those in the dark stumbled upon something eventually. If she kept seeking, surely she’d crash into some sort of answer.Right, Lord?
“Are you coming?” Mila called from the open door.
Amber lengthened her stride to catch up. As she stepped out of the building and into the daylight, she squinted against the sun’s bright rays. Dew glistened like beads on the freshly mown grass, and she was thankful for the combat-like leather ankle boots she’d worn. Her canvas low tops would have been drenched in seconds.
“Since the center is connected to the university, we have been given permission to use their fuβball fields in the afternoons. We have our own equipment shed where we store balls and other training material.” She raised her hand to block against the sun. “If nothing held them up, my husband and Seth Marshall should be wandering around out here somewhere. Ah. There they are.”
Amber followed Mila’s gaze. Sure enough, two figures loitered on a distant patch of grass in front of a soccer goal. The men shook hands, and then one kicked a ball out in front of him a distance before toeing it to a stop at the penalty line. He backed up several paces from the ball and then stopped.
“Oh, this will be good.” Mila laughed and shook her head. “Come on. I don’t want to miss Ben and his fun.”
Amber didn’t know how the woman did it, walking as if her feet were in tennis shoes and not four-inch heels. She dressed the part of a director—stylish pants suit and her short hair fashionable and trendy—but she spoke straight from the hip and didn’t hide in an office. Amber grinned as she nearly jogged to keep up with Mila. She liked this woman. A lot.
They pulled up on the sidelines, Amber’s gaze moving between the two men. Her pulse raced at the sight of the one with his toes on the goal line, knees bent and hands out at his sides. Athletic shorts revealed sculpted calves and hinted at powerful thighs. His jersey hung on a lean frame—one she remembered with distinct clarity from the game when he took off said jersey.
Her breath came in short bursts. So winded after a short jog? She needed to get her nose out of her textbooks and exercise more.
The man she knew to be Seth Marshall grinned. His lips pulled back to reveal a mischievous smile. Dark, thick eyebrows framed deep-set eyes. His hair was two shades lighter in color with a slight wave in it.
“Are you going to kick the ball or what?” he called out.
“Calculating my angle,” the other man answered.
