Read Online Cherished by Kim Cash Tate - Free Book Online

you must be really into this. You’re looking up Bible verses now?”
    â€œHa, ha. And yes, I’m totally into this. Kelli can thank me when she takes off. Here’s my verse—‘All things are possible to him who believes.’ So those are our marching orders. We’re believing. Period.”
    Kelli had to smile. Stephanie was pulling her way outside her comfort zone, but bit by bit, she couldn’t wait to see what would happen.
    Cyd straightened and saluted. “Marching orders duly noted.” She put an arm around Kelli. “That was my other reason for coming—to be this one’s cheerleader.”
    A spot opened at the registration table, and the sisters walked up. “Hi,” Stephanie said. “We’ve got three Londons—Kelli, Cyd, and Stephanie.”
    The young guy flipped to the Ls and scanned the computer printout. “Sorry, I don’t see any Londons on the list.”
    â€œOur names were just added this week.”
    Stephanie leaned over the table. Kelli thought she might take over and search the pages herself.
    â€œHere you are,” he said. “Last page.”
    Kelli could see that their names had been handwritten.
    The guy handed them a conference packet, name badges, and a bag full of assorted papers. “Registration was limited this year,” he said. “Been closed for months, no exceptions. Guess you three were meant to be here.” He clasped his hands. “Better thank your lucky stars.”
    They smiled and left the registration table, and Stephanie bowed her head toward theirs. “Hear that? Meant to be here.” She winked. “I know who I’m thanking—and it ain’t no star.”
    â€œW E ARE SO THRILLED TO WELCOME YOU TO THE TWELFTH annual Christian Songwriters Summit. I’m Rita Miller, and my husband, Jim, and I are honored to serve as your hosts this weekend.”
    Kelli scooched her chair around to face the stage fully, leaving the remains of her lemon cake. Dinner discussion had been lively— especially with Logan at their table—but till now, she hadn’t thought much about the program itself. Seeing Rita piqued her interest. Kelli had noted the Millers’ names for years in the writing credits of popular songs. She’d pictured Rita Caucasian—and she was—but for some reason, she’d also pictured her youngish. Rita looked to be in her sixties, her graying hair cut short, dressed in a solid-colored top, sensible black slacks, and flat shoes.
    â€œ. . . and we’re excited,” Rita was saying, “because this conference has become a launching pad for some pretty impressive careers.” She looked down at a banquet table up front. “Monica Styles joins us for a special performance tonight”—cheers and applause rang through the ballroom—“and I still remember her smiling face when she came to the conference three years ago with a dream to break into this business as not only a songwriter, but a singer as well. Look what God did.”
    â€œWoooo!” Monica’s fist flew up in the air, which got others going. She looked even cuter in person, a petite twenty-three-year-old with dark brown hair that fell in layers around her face and extended down her back. Kelli loved that Monica couldn’t be pigeonholed. She was a young black woman who liked to blend many genres—pop, gospel, neo-soul, and even a little smooth jazz, all with lyrics that glorified God.
    Rita laughed with them. “But before Monica’s performance,” she said, “you’ll hear an inspiring keynote speech by one of our first conference attendees, Roger Sloan, who pitched songs and collected rejections for years—only to win a Dove Award last year!”
    Rita waited for the applause to fade. “Our conference theme is not a slogan. We prayed long and hard for God to give us our focus this year, and we hope you ponder the