“Why is that normal?” Aimee continued. “Some days, I don’t know. In Dorothy’s world, the skies were blue, the people kind. All she had to worry about was getting her hair done to see the wizard. A wizard whom she loved and adored and he her. She always had Toto with her. A stuffed dog didn’t die. So what? So what that Toto wasn’t real? For her it was safe and real. Kansas wasn’t safe. Why would anyone want to voluntarily go back to a place that you know wasn’t safe?”
We all sat stunned. Silent. Aimee put her hands over her face and sobbed deep heartfelt sobs. I scooted closer and put an arm around her shoulders. Annie scooted in on the other side. Richard and Stephen both shifted their chairs in closer, silent yet strangely supportive. We were an odd group of five, yet connected by this tragedy and our Dorothy feelings … and our fear.
Reality had come screeching into our small safe world. Life and death. Joy and sorrow. Good and evil. And our brave leader had showed us a chink in her armor.
Annie handed Aimee several tissues and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose and took several long deep breaths to calm herself.
“Please forgive me. That was quite unprofessional.”
Annie patted Aimee’s hands, which she held clasped between her own. “But quite human. How can you help us if you don’t know what we’re feeling? How can we trust you if we don’t believe you care?”
A light went on in my head. God. Jesus. Me. Lessons. How could God help us unless He sent Jesus to get “human” with us? How could Jesus know us unless he was “human” with us? Why would we trust a high priest who had never felt what we felt? Yet Jesus came and lived among us. He knew us.
How would I learn the lessons without going through the very real trial and error process? How could I ever hope to succeed without God? How could any of us?
The empathy I felt for the people in this room was a surprise. I hated the loss and pain I had suffered through to get to this point. I hated the grief they had suffered. Yet this feeling of empathy was an unexpected gift. We could help each other.
Dream 12
He was waiting for me by the tandem bike in the park where we had fed the people. I had walked a bit before joining Him, looking at all the people. My gaze scanned their faces; my ears heard their voices —- registering the many languages and nationalities not simply obvious from their skin tones, hair, eyes or size. I saw a variety of young families and gatherings of multi-generational families. Some were happier than others. Some were stressed or anxious. Some were joyful in their laughter. Some were peaceful in their silent hand-holding. Life.
All of life.
I saw them. Really saw them.
I saw and felt their pain. Felt their joys. Felt as if I were one of them. I recognized the young family with the baby from my church, but I had never noticed the slant to Emma’s eyes. I saw an older couple I recognized from my pharmacy, but I had never before seen the way he guided her steps with such patience and gentleness. My insurance agent was playing football with two boys, one just like him and one of mixed race. He hugged both and called them son. Life.
I sat next to God. “Was I really so unseeing? So busy with my own life that I didn’t see them?”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted me to see them?”
“Yes.”
“And you had to take my husband and child to do that?” my voice cracked.
“Wrong question.”
I sat a minute or two in silence to combat the anger that had sprung to life so instantly. Thinking. I was still so emotional over Sean and Hannah’s deaths. Dorothy’s death today had been like a hot poker in that raw wound. I knew that. I had battled the despair and tried to process her death all day.
“I had to lose my husband and daughter to see them?”
“A better question. You tell me.”
I thought about my life. My very small world revolved around Sean and Hannah and work. Did I ever look beyond our circle of people? It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable, predictable, and filled with love. Love we gave freely to each other, and to family and close friends, but not beyond that boundary. Had that been wrong?
We had gone to church, tithed, given food to the postal workers’ drive, and walked for the Breast Cancer foundation. Were we supposed to do more, see more, give more? I had always considered myself a good Christian. Had I missed the point?
“Losing Sean and Hannah has opened my eyes and my heart to the pain around me. Not the pain in Bangladesh, but the pain in my small therapy group. But that’s not why they are gone. They are gone because of an accident, and they are with you now.”
I paused until he looked at me and met my gaze. “They are with you, right?”
God took my hand and folded it in both of His. “Yes, Elizabeth. They are with me. And no.”
“Not even a peek?”
He sat for a brief moment, studying me thoughtfully and then nodded His head as if he were agreeing with Himself. “Close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes and there they were. Just like I remembered them. They were fishing of all things. Sitting on the end of a pier, fishing poles in hand, and laughing at something an older man was saying. Then I recognized my grandpa—still in overalls, an old cap, and work boots. He was telling them a story, but I couldn’t hear it. There were other people around them. And for a moment Hannah looked over at me and smiled. I felt she saw me. Then they were gone, and I was looking into the deep dark brown eyes of God again. I drew in a shaky breathe.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You are welcome,” he whispered back. “Now, are you ready for a bike ride?”
I hesitated. I stared into his kind eyes and felt the tears fill mine. I clamped my lips shut and shook my head. My vision blurred as I tried to blink back the tears, but they won and ran down my cheeks.
“Need to cry?”
I nodded, and God folded me into his arms. “I never liked going fishing,” I sobbed. “I would go now and enjoy every minute.” I cried harder. I soaked God’s T-shirt, but He never let go. It was a blessing and a curse to have seen them. I was reassured they were okay, but the feelings of loneliness overwhelmed me. They had each other—and Grandpa. Who did I have?
“Who do you have, Elizabeth?” He tilted my face up and wiped it clean with a handkerchief. “Tell me.”
“I miss them so much.”
“I know.”
“The pain …” I stuttered and collapsed again. I cried for a long time. I really have no idea how long we sat there, but I slowly realized that someone else was there with us. I heard a low humming sound. I wiped my eyes clear again and blinked. We were encircled by angels. I mean they looked like people - tall, short, old, young, Asian, Caucasian, African-American, but they seemed to glow. The humming was coming from them. I felt their warmth and comfort all through my being.
Then they each came and laid a hand on me, or kissed my brow, or took my hand for just a brief moment and walked away. I watched as they went out to the people I’d wandered through earlier and appeared to be ministering to them also. Then they faded from my sight.
I sighed deeply and realized I felt better. “Angels?”
He smiled.
“They look like us, like me, like humans.”
“They get more done that way.”
“What were they doing just now?”
“Ministering where they can, providing assistance to the people.”
I sat quietly, my mind churning through the possibilities of angels walking with me daily. “Sean and Hannah had angels with them?”
“Yes, dear Elizabeth.”
“They weren’t alone then? Couldn’t they have saved them?”
“That is not their task to physically or spiritually save those to whom they are assigned. They serve me and worship me by ministering to the people.”
“Do I have a guardian
angel?”
“Of course you do, and he is particularly fond of you.” God smiled and smoothed back my hair. “Though I must say you are a challenge to take care of.”
“And Dorothy? Did she have an angel too?”
“Yes. Do not fret about your friend. Her choice does not have to be your choice. Though I will admit to cajoling or persuading, I do not force life on anyone. It is a free gift. It is up to you to use the gift.”
Day Thirteen
November 18
News of Dorothy’s death spread through the halls and I noticed other patients watching Annie and me as we ate our lunches. “What do you think they are whispering about? Do they think Dorothy’s suicide is contagious or something?”
Annie shrugged and scraped the bowl of banana pudding clean. She sighed contentedly as she put down her spoon. She let her gaze circle the room, and then shrugged again as a few looked away. “Who knows what any of them are thinking? Some could feel sorry for us. A few might wonder how she did it and if we know. Then a few might be wondering if they should offer condolences since she was in our group. It’s okay though. What matters is what you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“How are you handling Dorothy’s death? What does it mean to you?”
“Okay, Doc Annie, are you worried about me?”
“You were very quiet this morning in Chapel. You said you liked to sing in church.”
“I really can’t sing. I just didn’t want to inflict my voice on anyone today.”
“Just checking.”
“What about you? How are you handling Dorothy’s death?”
She sat silent for a moment looking inward, and then a slight smile curved her lips. “I am sad, but okay. She sure knew how to make me laugh with all that Wizard of Oz talk, and carrying that stuffed dog and basket around. And she could come up with some fairy-tale of a story, yet she was always kind, always generous.”
“Yes. I hope she is remembered for that, and not for being crazy.”
Annie wheeled off and I returned to my room to freshen up. I hadn’t told anyone in group, but my parents were coming for a visit. That’s why I had been quiet. Between that and Dorothy, my feelings were all over the place. I had been mentally preparing myself for the emotional reunion.
I loved them so. And they loved me. Yet like most families we had both good days and bad days, disagreements, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings as well as holiday celebrations and joys that would never have been complete without each other. So I was anxious and excited. Sad and hopeful.
Mabel was putting my parents in one of the guest waiting rooms, which were bright and comfy. It would give us a bit of privacy too. My bedroom was a good size for me, but quite small for three people.
I walked down the hall slowly. Pausing before the doorway, I listened to their quiet talk. It was so good to hear their voices. I stepped into the entrance, forcing a nervous smile.
We stood for a moment staring at each other, our gazes checking for welcome, forgiveness, love, and then we were all hugging. It felt so good to be held by them. I apologized a lot and mom shushed me as if to say all was forgiven. Then the questions poured forth.
“How are you feeling? We’ve talked to your counselor a couple of times and she said you were okay, but are you really? Do you need anything?” Mom asked as we sat side by side on the couch. Dad pulled a chair up so that we were all three knee to knee.
“I am doing okay. But it’s hard. So, I need you to keep praying for me. I know this is where I need to be right now.”
“Thank God!” My mom took my face in her hands and searched deep in my eyes. “You look better, more like yourself. Are you eating enough?” She fumbled with her purse and pulled out a small pie-shaped plastic container. “It’s pecan pie. Grandma made it just for you.”
“Thank you, Mom. Did you sneak dumplings in too?”
A look of consternation crossed her face. “I couldn’t figure out how to keep them warm without using a thermos. They make you go through the metal detectors to get in here, you know?”
I had to laugh, and I hugged her tightly. I felt my dad’s hand on my shoulder, and I turned my head to wink at him. “How are you holding up, Dad?”
“I’m doing fine. Just worried about you.”
“I’m getting better.”
“Good. You get well, and come stay awhile with us until you get your feet back under you. No worries, you understand? Your house is fine. The bills are paid. You just get well.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome. We love you very much.”
Before we knew it, it was time for them to leave. We had barely caught up on relatives, television shows—both mom and I loved Castle—and life in general. Life was still happening outside these walls.
I watched them go. I felt deeply the passing of years as memories of holidays past flashed before me. Christmases with Mom in the kitchen, and Dad watching football or shelling pecans or playing Mario with Hannah. Mom popping up six times during dinner to get more food, or tea or whatever she thought we needed. I never ever left her home empty-handed. I had a blessed childhood. Even if I only recognized it now in my forth-sixth year of life.
Dream 13
I watched the waves crash on the shore. The beach was deserted even though the sky was bright blue and the sun’s warmth made it very pleasant for November. I had ridden the tandem bike here alone. Not specifically excluding God, but wanting to be alone with my thoughts. The night before, God had said life was a gift. Today I had realized what a blessed life I had been given with parents who were still married and loved each other, extended family, and a few faithful-beyond-belief friends. I had had a marriage full of laughter, and a daughter full of joy. Gifts that were gone now, but not forgotten.
I picked up the Bible I had brought with me and turned to Job. It was a tough story to read and accept. Reading it was one thing. Living through it was another. I had to allow myself to heal before I could help anyone else. I had to get past the pain. Yet how? Aimee was all about expressing your grief and anger in healthy ways. God was about being still, learning lessons, and seeing the people around me.
What could I learn tonight that would help me get better?
“Want to play?”
I had never seen the young man sitting next to me on the bench. He was probably about sixteen or seventeen with curly blond hair and bright green eyes. He was tossing a baseball in the air, and I realized he was dressed in a baseball uniform. The Angels. That should have been my first clue.
“What?” I asked, confused by his appearance.
“Want to play?” he enunciated slowly. “I’ll get you a helmet and a bat.”
He got up and walked behind the bench. In the parking lot right behind us was a batting cage. There was a row of shelves with various helmets and a trash can filled with bats.
Skeptical, I rose and followed him. What was God up to tonight? “I’ve never done this before.”
“No problem. I’ll help you until you get comfortable.”
Before I knew it, he had me fitted with a helmet and swinging a bat, testing for length and weight. Once I found one I could swing fairly well, I was ready for my first attempt at hitting a ball. He started the machine then ran to get behind me, showing me how to stand, how to hold the bat and helping me swing.
Crack!
The bat connected with the ball and it went zooming back at the other end of the netted cage. I was shocked.
“Cool.”
My teacher kept instructing me, guiding me until I was in the cage by myself. He increased the speed of the balls coming out of the machine just a bit.
“Focus, Lizzie, focus. Hit it with all your might.”
He knew my name. I had to pay attention to the balls coming at me, but a part of my brain slipped off to po
nder and ask questions.
“Who are you?” I called out, my gaze slipping to where he gripped the net.
“Watch the ball, not me.”
I whacked it good. “What’s your name?”
“Joshua.”
“A friend of God’s sent to teach me a lesson?”
“Close, but I’m no teacher. I watch over you, Lizzie.”
I stopped, turned, and stared, dropping the bat down, and nearly got hit by the next baseball. Someone sent by God to watch over me? “You’re my guardian angel?” I asked. “I have a teenage boy for a guardian angel?”
“Don’t be so surprised or I might take offense.”
Another ball zipped past me.
“Come on Lizzie; let’s see what you’ve got.”
I hadn’t been called Lizzie since high school. Which I guess was appropriate given the age of this angel. Correction, the appearance of this angel. Taking a deep breath, I swung at the next ball and the next one without connecting to anything. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. Let all that pain, all that anger, all that frustration you carry around inside of you, let it up and out. I want you to beat the devil out of that ball coming at you.”
I swung again and tipped it wild.
“Better. Focus.”
I really didn’t want to let the anger out because I was scared of it. But beating the devil out of this baseball did sound good, and it felt good too as I connected and sent it flying back. It reminded me that I had always wanted to throw plates—like the stereotypical Greek person would.
But right now, with the sun bright and warm, and a sea breeze blowing cool across my face, and Joshua calling out corrections to my posture, stance, and chin and hand positions, I was doing okay.
I don’t know how long I had been at it, when I realized God was sitting in the bleachers with Joshua. There was sweat running down my back. I stepped out of the batting cage and took off the helmet, letting the bat swing down to rest on the ground. “I think it’s your turn, Joshua.”
He rose and bounded down the bleachers, hair wild and eyes twinkling. “I think you’re right. The boss wants to talk to you.”
30 Nights with God Page 6