Walter noted the diversity of people streaming through the café. “This is quite an eclectic community. Are you at home here?”
She stared down at her lunch. “Walter, I can hide here, so yes, I’m fine.”
Poor Anna, she hadn’t found herself, her calling, or her passion.
He tried a cheery tone. “So what out there is grabbing your passion these days?”
She continued with no change in body language. “A lot of causes move me, Walter. But none of them feel like the place I want to dedicate my life. Why is it so hard to find your calling? When did you discover that law was your passion?”
Walter shifted at the question. He had asked penetrating questions of the four children over the years, always expecting them to be open and honest with him. That was his role, after all. Now he was on the other end. “I’ll be honest with you. Practicing law is not my passion, it’s only my vocation.”
That was a confession few had heard, only Sam and Walter’s wife, Grace.
“Since I can remember, I have had only one passion in life and that was to fly. I’ve loved airplanes all my life. My entire childhood I wanted to be a pilot, flying in the Navy and then commanding jumbo jets all around the world. It’s all I thought about, all I dreamed about.” Then he added, “It’s what I still dream about.”
Anna sat up with renewed energy. “Why didn’t you pursue it? Did you ever learn to fly?”
He shook his head. “No, I never did. There was never enough money or time. I took an introductory flight when I was twenty-three. It was fabulous. When I took that yoke in my hands, I was happier than I could ever remember.” He held an imaginary yoke in his hands as he spoke. Then he dropped his hands with a sigh. “But I never took the next steps. Paying for law school consumed my time and funds, and then it was marriage, kids, and building a practice. You know, life got in the way.”
Anna reached out and touched his shoulder. “It’s not too late, you know. I’ll even kick in for the lessons,” she said with a teasing smile.
He wanted to get away from the subject and pain of a passion unfulfilled.
“Thank you, my dear. But I’m more concerned about your passions than mine. You have your whole life ahead, and it’s critical that you find your calling. Let’s stay in close touch, and please let me know if there is anything you want to kick around with me. Really, Anna, I am there for you any time you want to talk or explore any idea, okay?”
Anna smiled back. “I’ll call you when I have an idea…and you go learn to fly.”
About seven months later Walter was back in Seattle, and Anna had asked him to meet for dinner. He could hear an excitement and energy in her voice he hadn’t heard before. As he entered the lobby of the Lake Union Bistro, he was met for dinner by a far more confident, and significantly lighter, young woman. For the first time he could remember, he saw the soft and beautiful features in Anna’s face.
“My, you look wonderful!”
Anna gave him a warm hug and then pulled back to look him in the eye. “So how are the lessons going?”
“Lessons?”
Anna scowled. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t started your flying lessons yet?”
“Oh, that,” he replied laughing. “No, I’m afraid I’m too old to start now, but I appreciate your asking. That’s a dream that will remain a dream, I’m afraid. Now tell me, what has you so excited? I could hear it in your voice when you called.”
They sat at a table overlooking Lake Union. To his surprise, Anna’s countenance was somber.
“Last month, Char, one of my closest friends, called me at midnight sobbing. She was inconsolable, but I managed to get from her that her daughter Cassie had attempted suicide. They found her in their bathtub with her wrists opened and blood everywhere. The paramedics rushed her to Harborview, and Char was waiting word on her condition. I got dressed and caught a cab and met her there. It was only a few minutes after I arrived that the emergency room doctor came in, and…well…you could tell by the look on his face. I guess they can’t hide it. We all knew that she was gone. Char collapsed, and they had to sedate her for three days as she came to grips with what had happened. Peter, her husband, just sat for days and stared out the window. It was horrible. For nearly a month I met with Char every day, but she was never able to talk about it. Everyone was in a daze. No one went into Cassie’s room. They left it like a shrine. Finally, after about a month a family member went in and looked around, and they found a letter Cassie wrote before she took her life…”
Anna paused and took a sip of water. She dried some tears, then collected herself and looked at Walter. “Walter, it was Claire’s letter! Almost word for word. It was her cry for help, her lament, and her sense of hopelessness at knowing she was more than the world was seeing in her but not being able to escape the despair that she would never be free to live as she knew she could. It was Claire’s letter!”
God, you work in ways I can hardly believe. “Incredible.”
Her eyes grew wider. “Yes, incredible indeed. And it shook me to the core. But that wasn’t the worst. After her funeral I was talking with her school counselor, trying to make some sense of how such a beautiful, smart, and popular girl could have become so depressed. I mean, to sit in a bathtub with a razor… Anyway, her counselor told me that over three-quarters of the girls she sees have contemplated suicide. She went on to say that there is an epidemic in her school of self-hatred and despair among the girls, but especially the most popular ones. She turned to me and said, ‘It’s as if they have some grossly distorted mirror that keeps reflecting images that have no basis in reality.”’
Walter almost leapt from his seat. “Anna, you’re kidding! She used those words? A ‘grossly distorted mirror’?”
Anna nodded. “Yes, those exact words. And that was it, Walter—that was my moment of clarity. That was when God reached down to me and said, ‘Anna, are you listening?’”
That’s the moment Sam and Lori had always prayed for you to experience.
“Oh, Anna, I’m so happy for you. So what are your plans?”
She spent the next two hours sharing her heart with Walter. She had vague plans and general ideas, but by the time they finished, Walter had helped her map out a series of next steps to investigate how she could use her wealth and her passion to respond.
He had talked to Anna almost every week for the two years that followed. He visited her monthly and served as her advisor and legal counsel while her plans took shape, but she never let him visit the site where her dreams were becoming reality.
A month ago, Walter received a special invitation from Anna. It read, “The time has come to share with you the culmination of my dream. Please bring Jack and be our guest.” There was a map enclosed and nothing more. A five-hour drive took them to a quiet road near the little town of Yelm. Life was lived more slowly here in the shadow of Mount Rainier.
Jack eased them along a winding road until they were greeted by a large entry with a gate that opened onto a long driveway. They drove in and stopped in front of the stone sign marking the entry. In warm letters the sign read, “Welcome to Marikonia, A Place of Healing and Hope.”
Walter smiled and shook his head.
Marikonia, it had to be. Well done, Anna.
They eased down the winding, tree-lined driveway and stopped at the main building. It looked like an old English Tudor mansion. Outside young girls were playing soccer in the fields that sprawled out alongside the drive. Anna emerged from the front doors to greet them. “Welcome to Marikonia, Walter. Well, what do you think?”
Walter looked around at the magnificent buildings and grounds.
Anna gushed. “We wanted to create the feel of a small village built around a beautiful center courtyard. We wanted this place filled with flowers, meandering walkways, quiet alcoves with benches, towering trees, and fountains—three fountains!”
Walter stood gawking. “Anna, I’m speechless. And that’s saying a lot for an old lawyer. Tell me
about the work.”
She walked Walter and Jack around part of the 125-acre property as she unpacked her vision. “This is a ministry to young girls who have lost faith in themselves. Some attempted suicide or are suffering from severe depression. We have outreach programs into the schools and churches and support classes for parents and siblings of these emotionally scarred girls.”
She stopped at a wrought-iron gate that led to a small exquisite garden. “This is our centerpiece. It speaks to our mission—to end teenage suicide among girls. I know it is not achievable, but it’s what drives us every day.”
She turned to Walter and stepped aside to allow him to read the inscription on the gate.
“Welcome to Claire’s Garden.” Walter breathed a deep sigh, his throat tightening. “Anna, it’s…I don’t know what to say.”
She hugged him. “The best part is, when people ask me about Claire, it gives me a chance to tell Dad’s story.”
Anna, you are telling Claire’s story, and your father’s in everything you’re doing. How proud Sam and Lori would be.
“Three miles to go, Mr. Graffenberger.”
Jack’s words brought Walter back to the present. In a few minutes, they would be back in Harvest. The silver Cadillac eased its way along the familiar curve that marked the descent into the town of Harvest. The warm, late-August sun beamed through the tinted windows, and Walter reached over to turn the air conditioning up a notch. Jack drove the car to the railroad stop at the edge of town, then down Main Street. Little had changed in the past three years. It was late summer, and the streets were filling with visitors, farmers, vacationers, and residents. The town had a wonderful quiet energy that Walter so dearly loved. They continued to the turn just beyond the Mill Stone that took them past the Harvest Gospel Mission.
It looked great. Carl had used the gift from Sam and Lori’s estate to expand programs and reach hundreds more people.
The car moved on and Walter looked down the street to his left where the Roberts house stood at the end of Avenue B. It would soon be full of life again, just as Sam and Lori always prayed it would.
Jack parked the car in a reserved parking spot. He and Walter emerged and walked together up the long sidewalk toward the Resurrection Christian Church. Walter looked ahead as throngs of people streamed into the church as the midday sun warmed the air and a breeze carried the smell of apple blossoms across the landscape. It was a glorious scene, and Walter breathed it in.
“Walter, there you are!”
He turned. It was Katie, and Reed was close behind her as she ran up to greet him with her usual enthusiastic hug.
“Katie, you will squeeze the life out of me someday,” he said laughing.
Reed shook his hand. “Walter, it’s great to see you again. You know there’s a room always set aside for you at the Village. Please come for a visit soon, will you?” Walter agreed to a visit, and together they walked up the walkway to the church.
Before they got to the top step of the church entrance, Merideth and Anna saw them and joined them.
“Hello, Walter.” Merideth hugged him.
Anna added her own hug. “Oh, Walter, won’t this be an amazing day!”
Walter relished the anticipation. “Yes it will. Here we are, all back here after three years.”
Reed leaned in. “Quite a different change of mood.”
They all laughed.
Walter looked around them. “Indeed. It’s hard to comprehend what all has happened in those three years. More than your father and mother would ever have dreamed of.”
Merideth looked out across the scene of people making their way to the church on the fine summer day. “Oh, I don’t know. Somehow I think they had a lot of this figured out long before we did.”
“Walter, we have a surprise for you.” Anna held something behind her back. She pulled it around and handed Walter a book. He examined the thick novel that had the professional look of a New York Times bestseller. He read the title, Steward of Aiden Glenn. The front cover imagery behind the words was of battles, black knights, ramps, throne rooms, and the striking figures of Steward, Astrid, and little Dunston.
Priceless. Beyond words.
Anna beamed. “We self-published it. It’s just being released today as part of the celebration.”
Reed reached out a hand to Walter’s shoulder. “Now everyone can read Dad’s story.”
The church bells began to ring, and people made their way inside to the pews. Extra chairs had been set up along the aisle, the side walkways, and as far back as they could be placed. Soon the church was packed to overflowing.
A nervous usher recognized Walter and made his way up to him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Graffenberger. I have your seats ready. Are your guests with you?”
“They will be along, but I’m ready to be seated.”
The usher looked a little undone, but he led Walter up the main aisle. Walter stopped to shake hands with people as he walked, placing hands on shoulders and exchanging smiles and nods with so many dear friends.
This church has never been more electric. Everywhere huge smiles and laughter and…joy!
As he approached the front, he passed the pew where Anna, Merideth, Reed, and Katie were seated. Jack had been invited to sit with them. Walter was escorted to the row right in front of them, where three chairs waited. Walter sat in the chair next to the aisle.
Reed leaned forward and whispered. “Walter, are your guests here yet?”
Walter had asked the Roberts children if he could be seated in the front with two special guests. They were happy to oblige.
“No, not yet.” He took a deep breath and then looked down at the program that had been handed to him by the nervous usher.
The Ordination Service for Alex Daniel Roberts
and his Installation as the
Sixteenth Pastor of Resurrection Christian Church
The words took Walter’s breath away. As the opening music poured out of the pipe organ, Walter thought back to Alex’s journey since the day of his father’s funeral.
Several months after the funeral, Walter was surprised to hear from Alex that he was heading back to Harvest and wanted to meet Walter there. They found a quiet table at the back of the Golden Fields restaurant.
Alex was ashen. “I put the decision to come back here off for months, but from the moment I drove away after Dad’s funeral, I knew I had to. I got here yesterday and stayed at the house.” He paused to stir his coffee.
Walter tried to imagine Alex alone in the house with all that had taken place there. “How was it, being alone there?”
Alex shrugged. He shared a few details about his stay—breathing stale air from weeks of closed doors and windows, building a fire, walking around the empty house, sitting in the overstuffed chair near the fire, and reminiscing about those two days with his siblings as they read Steward’s story.
“I was at peace. Kind of strange I guess, there all alone. But that’s where it began.”
Walter cocked his head. “Where what began?”
Alex looked up. “I walked into Dad’s study and took another look at that cracked paperweight and the chip on the mantel. I got a laugh out of reliving the scene. Then I sat in Dad’s chair and just looked around the room. Geez, Walter, you could still smell Dad’s Old Spice. It was kind of comforting and a little unnerving. But that’s when I decided to peruse Dad’s library. And there it was, that first-edition copy of Karl Barth’s Epistle to the Romans that Dad gave me.”
The story was so painful for Alex, Walter was surprised to hear him mention the book. Alex continued. “I slid it out. I gotta tell you, my hands started shaking. Then the memories flooded in, you know, how I disappointed Dad by quitting seminary. But for some reason, I decided to take the book back with me to the living room and read a little of it.”
“You’d never read it?”
Alex gave him a sheepish look. “Nope. Can you believe it? Maybe that’s what got me curious. Well, that few minutes turned
into hours and it was very late when I came across this passage. Here, I wrote it down.” He unfolded a piece of stationery paper and read.
To the man under grace, righteousness is not a possibility, but a necessity; not a disposition subject to change, but the inexorable meaning of life; not a condition possessing varying degrees of healthiness, but the condition by which existence is itself determined; not that which he possesses, but that which possesses him. The freedom of the man under grace is founded upon the good pleasure of God and has no other foundation; it is the freedom of the will of God in men, and freedom of no other kind.
He looked up. “Did you hear it, Walter? Righteousness is not a possibility but a necessity? The inexorable meaning of life? That which possesses us? What does it mean to be possessed by God, where righteousness is a necessity and the true meaning of life? What does it feel like to know the freedom that is founded on the good pleasure of God?” Alex’s soul thirsted for answers.
I’m no theologian. Help me, Lord.
“I’m not sure, Alex. I guess the one thing that jumps out at me is the idea that God possesses us. He loved us before we were born. And grace, how did Reverend Hastings used to say it, ‘grace is the greatest expression of our freedom in Christ.’”
Alex sat forward. “And Barth said our freedom is founded on the good pleasure of God, and because of that, it is freedom of no other kind. I want that freedom, Walter, and I haven’t found it anyplace else.”
Walter nodded. “If freedom is from God, you should know where to find it.”
Alex shifted in his place. “Yeah, but that’s just the problem. To find it I need to look to the God who took it away from me in the first place.”
Walter studied him, saying a silent prayer. “Perhaps, Alex, you are back in the Fungle Woods, wondering if the image in the mist is really the king or an illusion conjured up by the enemy to destroy your faith.”
Alex set the paper down. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Walter leaned forward. “Was it God who took it from you, or could it be that the real thief is the enemy of your soul, and his greatest deception is stealing your most precious possession in such a way that the one who is giving you faith appears to be the one who stole it from you?”
The Four Gifts of the King Page 41