The charred skin fell off of the chicken, mocking Jenna Owens for her failure, as she laid the glass tray on top of the tiled island counter. She threw the oven mitts beside the tray and propped herself up on a barstool. She laid her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her palms, cupping her cheeks. After a frustrated huff, she narrowed her eyes at the burnt remains of a chicken that had died in vain because of her incapacity to make her husband a good dinner.
A few months into their marriage, and Jenna had already convinced herself she was possibly the worst wife in the world. How was Max putting up with her? The poor guy had roped himself into a lifelong commitment with her, and there was no way he could get himself out of it.
The creak of a door indicated Max walking out of his office studio, where he would often shoot and edit videos for his podcast, Mad Max Missions. He had been there for hours, and Jenna had wanted to surprise him with rosemary chicken, but that wasn’t how life turned out. Then again, life rarely turned out the way Jenna wanted.
Max sauntered into the kitchen, heading for the fridge, when he spotted his wife still staring straight at the block of charcoal that had once upon a time been a clucking chicken.
Jenna didn’t flinch from her position. “Hello, husband.”
“Hey, wife.” Max snickered. “What did you do, Jen? Burn dinner with your laser vision?”
“That sounds a lot cooler than what actually happened.” She pouted. “Let’s stick with that story.”
“Only if you first tell me what the actual story is.”
“You married someone who can’t cook a decent dinner. I was going to make rosemary chicken, but now—” she knocked on the chicken with her knuckles “—we just have to make do with this meteorite fragment.”
Max laughed. “I like the sound of meteorite fragment.” He walked past her to get something from the fridge. “It might give us superpowers.”
“What superpower do you want?” Jenna asked as her husband moved around the kitchen behind her.
“Hard question,” Max said. “You have to give me time to think about it. How about you?”
“Invisibility, because I’m super embarrassed right now.” Jenna pressed her finger against the glass tray. “Ow.” It was still hot. Served her right for failing in her mission.
“You? Embarrassed? Didn’t think that was possible.”
The sound of something liquid being poured into something made her thirsty. “Can you give me a drink, too?”
“Sure.” Max laid a glass of orange juice next to her before pouring himself another glass. He then leaned his elbows on the counter, so he was standing beside her, their shoulders touching. “What are you embarrassed about?” He pointed at the burnt dish. “That?”
Jenna kept her chin propped up with her one hand before she pulled the other glass closer with her free hand. She nodded at Max before taking a few gulps of the orange juice. “I can’t make a decent dinner.” She patted his clean-shaven face with her hand. “You’ll starve, because you married me. Poor you.”
“Where’s all this drama coming from?” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he drank from his glass of juice. “I’m fine with what you’ve been making so far.”
“We can’t live our entire lives together eating pancakes and spaghetti.”
“Or boxed mac and cheese.”
Jenna wrinkled her nose. “See what I mean? I want to do better.” She pouted. “You deserve better.” She sighed and returned to her original position, staring the dead chicken down. “I get so easily distracted whenever I try to make food, and I also forget random ingredients. Like salt. So many dishes need that to taste good, apparently.”
Max chuckled as he stood to his full height, dwarfing her as he finished his drink. He then embraced her from behind and leaned his chin on top of her head. “What is going on with you, Jen? Why are you letting this get to you so much?”
“Did you know Serene cooks all their food herself? They can afford to hire a chef, but she does it all, because Nolan prefers her homemade cooking.”
“She cooks only for herself and her daughter right now, so it’s not as impressive as you think it sounds. Serene’s buttered fried chicken is amazing, though. Have you tasted it?”
“You’re not helping.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Do you know I once overheard Mrs. P tell Nova she wouldn’t touch anything I cook with a ten-foot pole?”
“When?” Max asked, the heightened pitch of his voice revealing his surprise.
“It was during our engagement party, before they left the church.”
“Okay.” He let go of her waist, so he could bend his tall frame to lay his elbows on the counter and rest his cheek on his palm. Whether it was to make eye contact with her or to mimic the way she looked, Jenna couldn’t tell, but she appreciated how patient he was with her. “Jen, you’ve always been the one who was immune to Mrs. P’s opinions. When we were kids, you never cared what she thought about anything. Since when do you care what Mrs. P. says about you? Not to mention your food?”
“Since I became a pastor’s wife.” Jenna lowered her gaze, because she wouldn’t be able to stand it should she happen to detect even a slight flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Her chin quivered. “I’m not cut out for this, Max.”
“Jenna…” He tucked her hair behind her ears, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I had no idea this transition was getting to you so much.”
“It shouldn’t, right? My focus should be on God. I need to learn to trust in Him through all of this, but between you taking up the leadership of the church and this church split—” Jenna choked. “I feel like I’m under a microscope, like the whole church is assessing my every move, finding out if I can handle the expectations. Even when I was at Serene’s place, I would catch her staring at me sometimes, examining me and figuring out if I can fill the shoes her mother left behind. Mama Aida, Max. I’m being compared to Mama Aida! Meanwhile, here I am. Can’t even bake a simple chicken dish properly.”
“Jen, this is a crazy time for both of us. It’s a lot to deal with. Some would say God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, but the Bible doesn’t really say that. A lot of us find ourselves in situations that prove to be more than we can handle, but God allows these into our lives, so we can learn to depend on Him. He is the One Who handles it all. For all it’s worth, I’m terrified too. If not for Pastor Sam reassuring me that he won’t retire until the church is in a more stable situation, I would’ve already given up.”
“He said that to you?”
“At Mrs. P’s house.” Max nodded. “He won’t just leave the church to a twenty-seven-year-old without proper and complete support from the elders.” He rubbed his palm up and down her spine. “You’re not alone in feeling like everyone is assessing us, Jen. They are, but maybe God is just teaching us that all of this isn’t up to us. It’s all up to Him. We may not be ready to face the demands of pastoring a church, but for some reason, here we are. He is the One Who chose us, so He’ll be the One to qualify us and make us ready. That being said, I suggest you stop giving the very much dead chicken your death glare and go out for dinner with me. Sound good?”
Her heart a lot lighter after her husband’s pep talk, Jenna relented. “Let’s go.”
While the night out was a fun distraction, her husband’s kind words were only enough to temporarily assure her. The burnt chicken was still inside her head — a symbol of her inadequacy. What if she never got this right? How could she hope to be a mother someday, raise a family, lead a church when she couldn’t even follow a stupid recipe? What if no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough, she would never qualify?
Serene’s words circled her head. “We’re no longer among the reckless, among the prodigals. We’re new creations in Christ. This is a time for us to overcome.” Jenna had loved the idea when Serene had suggested they focus on the story of the prodigal son contending with the jealousy and criticism of the other brother. It would be relatable to many, but Jenna still wasn’t sure which one she was. She still felt like the prodigal in so many ways, and she wanted nothing more than to run away from the other brother.
Problem was that the entire church was beginning to look like the other brother in her eyes.
This is an excerpt from the Christian Women’s Fiction novel, Prodigals Once.