30 Nights with God

by Deborah C. Cruce

  Dream 5

  “Dear Mom and Dad,

  Thank you so much for coming today and bringing me a few of my things. You can’t begin to understand or appreciate what you have until you’ve truly lost it all. In fact I’ve even lost me. Your daughter is here somewhere, but I’m asking you to be patient a while longer, and give me a chance to find her again.

  I love you both so much.

  I simply cannot bear for you to see me this way. I will try harder to get well. And the next time you come your daughter will be here to greet you. Love, Elizabeth Ann”

  “It’s a nice letter,” God said.

  “I just wrote fast. I didn’t think about it.”

  “I said it was a nice letter.”

  “I should have seen them. They’ve already put up with so much …”

  “They are fine.”

  “They looked old. I should be taking care of them, not them taking care of me.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  I stopped pacing on my back porch and looked at him. His dark brown eyes were kind and I felt mine fill again with tears.

  “They understand. They would have liked to have seen you, but they are okay.”

  “At least I can’t complain to Doc Aimee about a horrible childhood. I had the best childhood.” I threw my hands in the air and started pacing again. “What went wrong?”

  He stopped my pacing by stepping in front of me and taking my shoulders in his large gentle hands. “You tell me what went wrong.”

  “No!” burst out of me. I shook my head. “No.”

  “Okay. Let’s go for a walk then.” He took my hand and then we were at the park where I used to walk every day. “Two miles?” he asked.

  Feeling restless I said, “Three miles.”

  And off we went. We set a steady pace and wove in and out of those slower than us. My stride was good. My balance was good. My shoes fit well.

  “We should be able to talk—”

  I cut God off. “Let’s just walk today.”

  So we walked. Me and God. A three mile loop around the park, past other walkers, through the trees, listening to the birds, watching the dogs and squirrels. I worked up a healthy sweat and it felt good.

  When we stopped, he handed me a water bottle. It was cool and refreshing. Why did everything seem more in my dreams? Was it just the dream or God?

  “Me.” God said.

  “Stop reading my mind.”

  “You’re broadcasting so loudly, no one has to read it. They can just look at your face.”

  We sat down under a shade tree away from the other people. “I used to be a good poker player.”

  “You really weren’t. Theresa let you win. And everyone knew about you kissing Adam in the attic. Everyone knew you had a crush on Joey, except Joey. He was a bit obtuse. Theresa thought it best to let you pretend to hide things. She is your best friend.”

  “She was. Then life got busy.”

  “You were still good friends, your relationship changed and adapted. She misses you.”

  “I can’t believe that. I stood her up five times in the last six months. She still leaves messages on my answering machine, but she stopped trying to make plans with me. I don’t call back.” I slammed my water bottle down and stood up. “This is impossible. How am I going to put my life back together again? I have hurt everyone. Pieces of my life are missing. I don’t have the strength or the wisdom to do this.”

  “You have help.”

  I snorted. “Shrink lady? Doc Aimee? I know more about depression than she’ll ever know.”

  “Wrong.” He corrected me. “She’s quite smart, and beyond that she’s kind.”

  “Great.” I rolled my eyes.

  “You have more help.”

  “Mabel? Yes, you said she was one of yours. I can see that, but that perky Cindy-Lou-Who chick makes me want to plug my ears.”

  God chuckled. “She’s just young.”

  I sat back down on the bench.

  “You have more help.”

  “Who else?”

  “Me.”

  “You are a figment of my dreaming imagination.”

  “Just a little faith, Elizabeth,” he took my hand in his, “I need you to have just a little faith.”

  Day Six

  November 11

  I stared out the window, perched with my knees up in my chair, still in my pajamas at 12:17 p.m. I used to say the longer you stayed in your pajamas the better a day was. The people around here don’t think that way. Mabel had been bugging me about getting dressed, but I was just too tired.

  “Just have a little faith, he says,” I mumbled to myself. That proved He wasn’t God. He was asking for the impossible.

  “And I am the God of the impossible,” I said out loud in a deep annoying voice. I’m sure some pastor had said it repeatedly to the congregation and me throughout my life.

  My gaze dropped to the stack of books my mom had brought. One of them was my much-used, long-time retired New King James Instructional Bible. The spine was creased and cracked, the pages folded, bent and covered in blue, black and red ink. A rubber-band held all the pages in because the back third had pulled away from the spine.

  I knew why she had brought this one instead of my newer one.

  I had loved that Bible. It was a constant companion during the early days of my adult life. Days when I had been trying to find my own faith.

  I knew the verses about faith, unbelief, and the God of the possible. I had believed strongly in them. Had. Past tense. Then a large black hole had opened and swallowed my life.

  “What are you mumbling to yourself?” Mabel asked, clearing away my lunch tray.

  Raw and emotional, I asked the question. “Do you belong to God?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Have you ever dreamed about God?”

  Mabel thought a moment then shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so, I don’t remember my dreams much. But I have seen Him when I was awake.”

  I sat up, letting my feet drop to the floor. “You have?”

  She smiled. “Every day. In the sun rise, in my husband’s face, in the breeze, in the bird’s song, in the flowers here in our garden, in the counselor crying with her patient, in the doctor writing prescriptions for the drugs created to help, not harm, in the stars at night, in the mirror above my bathroom sink.”

  I hunched back over. “I meant like really see Him, like you see me.”

  Mabel cocked her head. “Well, the Bible says Moses wanted to see God, but God only let him see Him from behind. But when Moses spoke face to face with God, then Moses glowed with the glory of God. I believe I would remember if I had seen the glory of God.”

  She paused her straightening of sheets and fluffing of pillows, “Have you seen God, Elizabeth?”

  I shook my head, not meeting her eyes. “God wouldn’t appear to someone like me.”

  Mabel took my face in her gentle hands. “You listen to me. I have believed in God a long time. The Bible says Jesus came to save the lost, which was me. Lost as could be until Jesus found me, recued me and made me His own. You are just the person Jesus would show himself to.”

  “Thanks, Mabel,” I said half-sarcastic.

  “If you are dreaming about God, then listen to Him, follow Him wherever He goes. He will lead you home.”

  Dream 6

  “Will you lead me home?” I asked God.

  “Yes.” He answered without hesitation.

  I lay on a blanket, hands behind my head, eyes closed, the sun warm on my face and body. I felt warm from the inside out. The field where we lay had a wide expanse of sky and clouds above us.

  “I assume your home and my home are at different addresses.”

  “Possibly.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. I rolled t
o my side and looked at him, stretched out mimicking my pose. He wore black cargo shorts, a tan T-shirt with “Jesus Saves” in bold black letters on the front—and sandals—leather flip flops that lay side-by-side next to his feet. He had long feet, long toes and hairy legs. Today his chin was shadowed with a gray-speckled beard. This was the most casual I had ever seen him.

  “I am so lost. I have to be found before you can lead me home.”

  “And yet, here I am.”

  “What about real people? Mabel, Doc, Mom and Dad, Theresa … why can’t they find me?”

  “Because they have never been where you are. They try to imagine and fall short. They can get part of the way there, but only a few can reach you where you are. Those who have also walked this journey, like you, like me.”

  “Like you?”

  “I feel pain too, Elizabeth. And loss and grief.”

  I stared, stunned. God felt pain? No, I had never considered that possibility. God was love. Perfect love. The three in One. A perfect relationship …

  “…until one of us was killed.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered.

  “We are whole again, but I felt the loss.”

  I lay back and stared into the sky. Thinking as I watched the clouds flow past. A pair of eagles soared overhead and then landed on a mountain top that rose above the stand of tall birch trees that surrounded us on three sides. An open meadow lay at our feet and I sat up.

  “Could God really find me?”

  Day Seven

  November 12

  “Come in, Elizabeth. Everyone say hello.”

  Reluctantly, I entered the conference room where five other people were settling in chairs in a circle. One of those was Doc, the other four were strangers-though I had seen them walking the halls when I would stand with my nose pressed to the window in my door. I had not been given free reign yet, though I had eaten in the dining hall and walked the gardens in the past couple of days. Attendants were always stationed about, making sure us crazy people didn’t just wander off or make a break for freedom.

  I hadn’t tried to run. I hadn’t wanted to leave since the day my parents came by. Of course, I really didn’t want to stay either. It’s like picking at a just scabbed over wound that itches and you know there is still a piece of glass in there somewhere. You can feel the warmth of an infection. You pick at it until it bleeds; hoping the glass and pus will come out because you know if it doesn’t that sharp instruments digging into that tender spot is next.

  That painful process was what I had been avoiding for months now.

  This meeting would mean the opening of that wound.

  I sat in the only open chair, next to Doc Aimee, waiting for the command to reveal my dark painful past. It didn’t come.

  “Stephen, yesterday you were talking about your last month spent at home …”

  I listened without looking up as Stephen talked about becoming a virtual prisoner in his home. Though he was frightened of everything outside his home and felt safe inside, he also felt isolated. An electrical fire broke out in his laundry room and the firemen had to carry him from his home. He hadn’t been able to cross the threshold to exit his house.

  Stephen was here to learn to live in the world, and to live with the reality of life. I could relate to his desire to escape reality.

  We were released for lunch and an hour of exercise or reading or playing games. I chose to eat outside today, though it was definitely starting to feel like autumn had finally arrived. Though the colors of fall and the crisp mornings and evenings were my favorite time of the year, I lived in the Deep South where those days were few. The crisp breeze felt good on my face and cleared my brain of the cobwebs, leaving the memories to surface.

  I was processing Stephen’s story and the responses of the others. Doc and the other two women had been verbally supportive. The other man had been silent like me, yet not like me. I learned that afternoon that he, Richard, suffered from Survivor’s Guilt.

  We gathered again at 2:00, but I did not see how listening to their stories would help me and I said as much to Doc Aimee.

  “That’s why I’m the leader here,” Doc said.

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  I resumed my seat next to her though I felt like teacher’s pet. Maybe she would be so focused on them that she would forget me. I was wrong again.

  “Elizabeth, before we stop for today, I’d like you to tell the group why you are here.”

  I blinked at her, surprised, and then glanced around the circle. Curiosity, empathy, disinterest were reflected in their eyes and body language. “I’d prefer not to.”

  “We all know that, but it is the necessary first step.”

  Tears filled my eyes. I was so tired of the tears and the crying. I blinked them back, trying to keep them from falling. The woman sitting next to me held out a tissue and I accepted it. And I looked around the circle again. What I didn’t see was judgment—even from Disinterested Guy.

  “Okay.” I carefully folded the tissue into a tiny square after dabbing away my tears. “Okay,” I breathed in and out again. “I am here because I tried to commit suicide.”

  “That’s right, Elizabeth. Do you want to tell us why?”

  “I just wanted the pain to stop.” I sensed, rather than saw the heads nodding in understanding.

  Dream 7

  I lay in my bed in my current home away from home staring at the patterns of light thrown through the blinds across my walls.

  “You had a hard day.” God said.

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t want to join me at the beach, or in the park, or in the mountains.”

  “Nope. This is reality. I have to figure out how to face it and not self-destruct in the process.”

  “I am very proud of you.”

  I turned to my side then and tried to see his face in the darkness. “Really? Why? You are still here, so obviously I am not quite in reality yet.”

  “On the contrary. I am the most “real” person in your life right now. And though your rational mind hasn’t accepted that yet, the emotional part has.”

  “Are we talking alternative reality, like Star Trek or Stargate?”

  “Not quite, though I am glad to see your sense of humor is yet intact.”

  I smiled then. I couldn’t be all bad if I managed to make the Creator of the Universe smile. Then I thought back to the afternoon session, the tears and pain that were only the beginning. I had unlocked Pandora’s Box, and the next few days would reveal all. I would have to re-live, re-experience the events of the past year.

  “What do you think of your group?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I folded my hands under my head and looked back in my mind’s eye. Stephen. A bit nerdy, slim and awkward. The dark square glasses suited his face though. Dorothy. Young, feminine, and sweet. Annie. Fiftyish African-American woman in a wheel-chair. Richard. Tall, reserved, yet intelligent and kind. “Group therapy, the bonding of complete strangers, seems over-rated, weird even. But since I’m not quite all here, what do I know?” I did try it once, right after. Mom and my sister went with me. It was a support group. I just couldn’t sit there and talk about it. Now … well … I’m here aren’t I?

  He got up from the chair and laid a gentle hand on my head. “Yes,” he said, “You are here now, and you will get better.”

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

  “I know so.”

  “Oohhh … is this one of your ‘I know all’ statements?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth, have faith.”

  “You keep saying that, but …”

  “Time. Give it time.”

  I fell asleep then and dreamed of sleeping peacefully. He is so trying to win me over to the light.

  Day Eight

  November 13

  “What have you been writing a
ll morning?” Mabel asked.

  I paused and looked up from my furious scribbling. One of the books mom had brought was a blank journal. It was an eight and a half by eleven inch size and I had awakened with the urge to write down everything that had happened to me the past seven days. I recognized that my mind was fuzzy on some of the details, especially the first few days and nights, but I was trying to capture as much as I could in words this morning. “Nothing.”

  Mabel quirked an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s really stupid.”

  Her hand went to her hip.

  “My life story.”

  Mabel nodded and smiled. “I better get you some more pens then.”

  Good as gold, when I got back to the room after our afternoon session with Aimee, there was a pack of pens on my table!

  I kept writing. Today had been a reprieve because we had spent most of the day talking about Richard. He was the disinterested one. His morning report had been almost ordinary. The rest of them knew his story, but I did not. At lunch I had asked Annie, the older black lady in our group, to tell me his story. I did not know why Annie was in our group yet, but she was the most approachable. She was in a wheelchair and a bit overweight, but appeared to be mentally sharp as a tack.

  Richard and his family were on a vacation in the mountains. The scenery was gorgeous, the day was perfect, and they had been singing and taking pictures. Then they had a flat tire. Richard got out to check it and told them to stay put because he was worried they would get hit by a car. There was no guardrail and no easement. He had set the emergency brake, but it gave way and the car went over the side of the cliff with his wife and two sons inside. They all died. He watched them die because he insisted they stay in the car.

  I looked over to where Richard sat alone, stirring his food around his plate. “How long has he been here?”

  “A long time,” Annie said. “Isn’t this banana pudding good today?”