Read Online Falling Into Grace by Michelle Stimpson - Free Book Online Page B

a sweet, soft ballad about God’s love. Camille tried to concentrate on his voice, but the words of the song, “More precious than a mother’s love,” poked at her heart.
    She focused, instead, on counting the number of rows in each section and multiplying by the number of seats in each row. It helped that there were a number of peculiar hats to observe as well. Next, she tried spotting white or Hispanic people. There was maybe one per hundred people present who appeared to be of another race. Despite John David’s insistence that she join an African American church, he would probably be pleased that there was some representation of other ethnic groups here. The more exposure the better.
    The female alto boosted the tempo with an old-time call-and-response song. Camille was glad for the change of pace, but when that woman bleated out a long “Wee-eee-eee-lll, I turned it over to Jesus,” Camille had to stop herself from gagging. She sounded like an old billy goat caught in a barbwire fence!
    Yet, the people clapped and cheered her on. Are they not hearing what I’m hearing? It reminded Camille of those early Mary J. Blige songs, back when her untrained voice was equivalent to the scratchy whine of someone whose half-deaf aunt told them they could really sing. Like Mary, this alto on stage had exceptional music and soulful lyrics to smooth things out. Maybe, with some help, she could get better. Camille would have to pull her aside, give her some tips.
    After Goat Woman’s song, the praise team shouted and danced for a while. The band was clearly having a good time. Their heads nodded and their bodies swayed awkwardly—a sure sign they’d gotten lost in the music and no longer cared how they appeared to the audience. Camille appreciated seeing a band in “the zone” again. She loved tapping into the musicians’ groove, following the song wherever it led.
    Finally, the lone soprano gave a breathy speech, as though she’d just finished running a marathon. If Camille was going to keep up with this praise team, she’d need to build up some stamina.
    â€œHe is worthy!”
    The crowd echoed.
    â€œI said, He is worthy!”
    They heard you the first time.
    â€œOur God is an awesome God! He reigns ...” she sang.
    Camille’s chest sank. This girl could blow. She’d give any major female artist a run for her money, including the former leader of the Sweet Treats herself.
    Supersoprano Girl performed a medley of tunes, showcasing her ability across tempos and ranges. This was not good. Camille would either have to convince the man in the black suit that the praise team needed two sopranos or find some kind of way to push this girl back into a choir robe.
    Wait! Camille waited for a camera to display a full-body profile of the soprano on the nearest screen. She scrutinized the woman’s side view. Yes! She was pregnant. Very pregnant, actually. Once this girl had the baby, she’d be holed up for at least six weeks, and that was all the time Camille needed to work her way onto this elite praise team and into the spotlight.
    With a plan in place, the rest of the service was insignificant. The pastor’s words of encouragement were nice, but the call to fellowship was all Camille cared to hear. When the invitation to accept Christ was given, she pressed her feet back into her shoes. Any minute now, they had to ask for people who wanted to be members to come forward. Camille decided she might as well get up now to start the trek.
    â€œAnd if anyone would like to join our church,” the preacher announced, “meet us in the Mockingbird room, which is directly across from the bookstore, after church.”
    Camille stopped in her tracks. Mockingbird room? What kind of church doesn’t give new members the chance to parade before the congregation?
    She huffed in disgust and made an about-face and headed toward the exit doors. Mockingbird