I froze. No. Surely not. I sat my cup down, too, and then crossed my arms against the sudden pain in my stomach. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Isabeau waited.
My anger surged at her for forcing this moment. “No.”
Still she waited.
Moments turned into long minutes as we sat locked in silent battle. The other patrons drank their tea and ate their scones. A couple played darts and our waitress lifted a fiddle from the wall and began to play a beautiful sad melody.
Finally into the silence she spoke a name. “John Buchanan.”
Day Nineteen
November 24
“No!” I awoke with a start. Sitting straight up in bed, I covered my face with my hands, my breath coming in heaves. Tears streaked my face as the dream came back in vivid detail. “No! No! No!”
I didn’t know how but I had willed myself awake to escape the dream. Shaking all over, I slipped from the bed and went into the tiny bathroom. I splashed cool water on my face and drying it, I peered into the mirror. I saw my face, not the face of the Holy Spirit. Isabeau.
I sat at my table by the window and pulled the blinds open. It was barely daylight. I felt the window pane, and the coolness eased my heated flesh. Why? Why did I have to go there? Couldn’t I keep a few of my human imperfections?
Restless, wanting escape from the thoughts in my head, the memories trying to resurface, I pulled on a workout clothes and sweatshirt. I knew I couldn’t go outside, but maybe I could get access to the workout room.
At the nurse’s station, Cindy-Lou popped her head up as I opened my door. “You’re up early. What can I do for you?”
“Can I use the exercise room?”
She checked her watch. “It’s not open for another thirty minutes …” she paused, “but I guess it’ll be okay.”
“Can I get a couple ibuprofen, too?”
“Headache?” she asked while typing something into her computer. “Okay. Let me grab those for you.”
In just a minute she was back with a bottle of water and two headache pills. I walked with her down the hall to the gym. She unlocked the door and let me in. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”
I nodded. We both knew there was a camera up on the corner of the room, so she could see me. If something happened to me, she would hit the alarm and help would arrive in three seconds. No worries. Where had help been when my husband and child were heading into the path of an eighteen wheeler?
Anger surged.
I straddled the treadmill and turned it on. As the belt began to move I stepped on, holding the handles. It had been forever since I had done any kind of workout. Another casualty of the accident that took my family. The losses kept piling up. My faith, my friends, my family, my self-esteem, my very self; I had lost so much. Didn’t I have a right to be angry? And anger needed a direction, a scapegoat, so why not John Buchanan?
I increased the speed of the machine. Feeling the burn in my resistant muscles made me feel like I was excising some of my anger. I focused on the burn. I focused on the sweat popping out on my back. Glad I’d put on a T-shirt under my sweatshirt, I stripped the sweatshirt off and let it drop to the floor. I let go of the handles and increased the speed a bit more.
Loss. I had lost so much. I choked back a sob, then another, conscious of Cindy-Lou watching me on the camera. I wanted to rage. The whole situation struck me as unfair. I’d gotten past being angry at God. My faith was growing, step by baby step, as I learned to trust God again. The accident wasn’t His fault. But it was John Buchanan’s fault.
Anger surged again. It had a target. It had a reason. It had a purpose. The lawsuit had been filed. My lawsuit wasn’t like Richard’s in-law’s lawsuit. It wasn’t cruel or mean or even unreasonable. Richard could not have predicted the failure of the emergency brake. He had made reasonable choices given the circumstances. Could he have made different choices? Yes. But he hadn’t. He had to live with that. Attacking him wasn’t going to bring their daughter and grandchildren back.
Attacking John Buchanan would teach him a lesson, maybe get him off the road. If he lost his job, maybe he wouldn’t kill someone else’s family. My lawsuit was justified. Yes. If God wanted me to talk about my anger, then I would talk about it. How could He justify making me give up my anger?
“Elizabeth?”
Startled by the sound of a human voice instead of my own thoughts, I yelped, stumbling on the treadmill.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I think you need to slow down and start a cool down cycle.”
“What?” I blinked, focusing on her face. “Why?”
“You’ve been walking for over an hour. You are soaked through and need to hydrate.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I glanced at the clock on the wall.
“I have to insist. I’ll have to call Aimee if you won’t start a cool down now.”
“Okay, okay. That’s not necessary. See…” I slowed the speed and slowed my pace.
“Five minutes, then a shower and breakfast. Understood?”
Miss Cindy-Lou had gone all Grinchy on me. “Understood.”
The door closed as she backed out of the room. Where had the time gone? I didn’t feel bad. She was worrying for nothing. Still, as I took stock of my physical condition, I could see why she was worried. My breathing was a bit labored, and my T-shirt was soaked.
I lowered the speed again bringing it to zero. Taking deep breaths in and blowing out, I stretched my arms up and over my head, arching my back. Ouch, that hurt. Okay, maybe I had over done it a bit.
A long hot shower and a slow walk to the cafeteria had me in the breakfast line in about thirty minutes. Cindy-Lou gave me the evil eye as I passed the desk. I offered a weak smile, but did not admit I had been working out too hard. She was just doing her job. No harm, no foul.
That changed when I walked back to my room and found Doc Aimee sitting at my table, looking out my window. Listen to how possessive I had gotten of this place. “Hi, Aimee. What are you doing here today? I thought you were off.”
“I heard you might need a little one-on-one today.”
“Nope. Doing just fine.”
“Really? Come with me, please.”
Aimee was using her stern voice, so I followed her reluctantly. She asked Cindy-Lou to pull something up on the computer, and then she quietly dismissed her. “Come watch.”
“I really don’t need …”
“That wasn’t a request.”
I came around the desk so I could see the monitor. She hit the play button and there I was on the screen. I had no idea how far into the work out I was, but my sweatshirt was gone and my T-shirt was damp. As I watched, I increased the speed and I was almost running. My breath was labored, yet still I ran. I heard Cindy-Lou call my name once, twice, and then finally shout before I heard her.
We had our brief exchange then I did my cool down. It was obvious I was muttering to myself, but nothing could be heard distinctly.
“I’ve seen …”
“Wait for it, Elizabeth.”
Wait for what? I started to ask, but then it happened. I stepped off the treadmill, reached down and picked up my sweatshirt, wrapping it around my right hand almost without thinking. Then I turned, pivoting suddenly, and put my right fist into the wall.
The suddenness shocked me. I looked down at my right hand, clenching and unclenching it. No wonder it felt sore. No wonder I had trouble holding my fork at breakfast. No wonder it looked a bit puffy.
The me on film didn’t miss a beat. She turned back around and strode out the door, turning the lights off as if she hadn’t just put a fist-sized hole in the wall.
“Do you remember doing that, Elizabeth?”
“No.” I kept looking at my hand and then at the now stopped replay.
“Let’s go to my office th
en.”
Dream 19
I was walking, not biking. I was not at the beach or at the park. I was on a beaten path winding up over a mountain. Really just a large hill, but it seemed steep and high to me. I clasped the roughly hewn walking stick tightly in my right hand and used it as I pushed upward and onward. My breath was still coming normally, but I wasn’t sure how long I could continue. My calves were already burning.
I paused in my upward trek and looked around. Blue skies above my head, green grass below my feet, and a few patches of trees here and there bordered the various wood fences that zigzagged the fields. I was alone, too. Not that I had wanted company. My current plan was to get as far away as I could. I had already talked about my anger with Aimee and suffered a breakdown like I hadn’t had since the first few days in Safe Haven.
Shame washed over me and settled in the pit of my stomach. It combined with the anger already there and churned. I hated that I had lost control. I hated that that part of me had surfaced and I had regressed to this seething mass of negative emotions. A small part of my brain and heart knew Aimee was right. Anger was like drinking poison and expecting it to hurt the person my anger was directed at. Crazy! Anger caused stress on my body, my emotions … “STOP IT!” I yelled.
Surprised at myself, I took a deep breath and resumed my hike. I assessed my clothing as I walked. Sturdy boots, thick socks, cargo shorts, layered shirts, backpack across my shoulders and the walking staff. Definitely more of a hiking dream than a casual walk. Strenuous activity. Cardio-worthy fitness. I focused on my steps. The anger had receded from the front of my brain with the yelled words. How do you get away from yourself?
The previous twenty-four hours had been traumatic. How could I explain it all to Aimee without her locking me up for good? I needed a plan. A plan to deal with this anger, without dealing with the anger. What else had she suggested? Changing physical position? Well I was moving. Looking up? Smiling? Making a gratitude list? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I kept putting one booted foot in front of the other.
I’m not sure how long she was there before I realized it, yet I continued to walk on without acknowledging her presence. It was Isabeau, the Holy Spirit, not God, not Jesus, and not Joshua. I’m sure she was following God’s directive.
Was this next on His hidden agenda? At some point forgiving myself was going to come up and then Jesus would be back in the conversation.
Tonight’s subject though was anger. Unless I could avoid it or direct it somewhere else.
“Why not deal with it and get it over with?”
I kept walking, not pausing. “What do you want from me?”
“From you? Honesty. For you? Healing.”
This time I did stop and turn to face her. Her nearly black hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail and she was dressed similarly to me. She even had a walking stick, though I couldn’t imagine she would ever need it. Her gaze was patient, her expression encouraging. Even that made me mad. “Honesty! John Buchanan killed my family and he should pay for his actions. And as for healing—his punishment will aid my healing.”
“You are lying to yourself. Be honest, Elizabeth. See the truth.”
“NO!” I resumed my climb. “Why? Why does this have to be dealt with? Why can’t I keep this? It’s justice for the person to pay who made the mistake.”
“Mercy—”
“That’s God’s deal, not mine. My job is not to grant mercy, but pursue justice and to keep a killer off the streets.”
“John Buchanan did not kill your family.”
“How can you say that? STOP!” And I ran away, up and up into a swirling mass of clouds. I was engulfed before I realized it. I could smell the rain and feel the moisture on my skin. The thick fog completely surrounded me and kept me from going forward or backward. I was essentially blind. “Isabeau?”
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
“Close.”
“Did you do this?”
“Not me, the Father.”
I sank to the damp grass and hugged my knees, laying my head on them. Closing my eyes, I pictured Sean and Hannah riding off on their bikes that afternoon. The first gorgeous spring day in March. Sunshine and a pleasant seventy-five degree day. They always wore their helmets. They always rode from the house to the park and back, crossing through the one major intersection at the crosswalk. For years they had been doing this. But that day they hadn’t come back. That day the major intersection had spelled tragedy for the father and daughter. That day an eighteen-wheeler had locked his brakes trying to avoid the twosome who appeared in the road ahead of him. There hadn’t been enough time or distance.
“They rode into the crosswalk. They didn’t see John Buchanan’s truck until it was too late. The police talked to witnesses. The freight company investigated John, checked his records, how long he had been driving, tested for alcohol and drugs, and found nothing. Sean and Hannah rode into the crosswalk. They made a mistake. John did not kill them.”
The tears ran freely down my face, unchecked.
“I just don’t believe it. Sean was always so careful. This is the man who got out of bed to check all the locks if he didn’t remember doing it. This is the man who had my brakes serviced at the first squeak. This is the man who followed Hannah to school for two weeks when she started driving. This is the man who had our fire extinguishers regularly serviced and did a home fire drill twice a year. How could he not see the eighteen-wheeler?”
“He made a mistake.”
“NO. I can’t accept that. Sean never made mistakes.”
“Elizabeth …”
Childishly I placed my hands over my ears. I simply could not hear anymore right now. If John Buchanan hadn’t killed my family, then I had to process that Sean had caused his and Hannah’s deaths. I did not want to be angry at Sean. I loved him. I wanted him back. I grieved his loss. Anger and love didn’t compute in this situation.
“What about when you fought over getting Hannah a cell phone?” asked the Holy Spirit. “You thought she was too young. He wanted her to have the ability to call you two anytime. You felt like it would stop her talking to her friends and result in massive texts. He wanted to help her fit in with her friends. You and Sean didn’t speak for two days. Did you stop loving him?”
“Of course not.”
“But you were angry.”
“I was furious. I felt like he was giving into her peer pressure and being overprotective. I mean she was only in sixth grade. When was she ever going to be alone anywhere? We had agreed on eighth grade, not sixth grade.”
“Did you stop loving Sean for those two days?”
I raised my head from my knees and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “I see where you are going, but this is different.”
“This is more tragic, but not different. You can love Sean and still be angry at him for making a mistake.”
“He’s dead. What’s the point of being angry? It won’t change anything.”
“Exactly. It won’t change anything, but being angry is an emotion that needs to be expressed and gotten past. What did Aimee say about burying this anger toward Sean behind the anger toward John Buchanan?”
“You know I lost it with her.”
“Yes. But I know you were hearing her, too. What did she say?”
I thought back, battling my emotions, “Neither was healthy and it was going to hinder my healing process.”
“And?”
“And slow my release from Safe Haven.”
“Let’s go forward, Elizabeth.”
“I’m scared.” I whispered. “It’s so overwhelming.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I stood up and dusted off the seat of my shorts. The fog cleared allowing me to see my dear Teacher, the blue sky and the valley below us. “Where are we going?”
I
n a blink we were standing in a junkyard. Sitting next to me on the ground was a full set of ceramic dishes. The ugliest dishes I had ever seen. The Holy Spirit stood on the other side of them. “Really?” I asked.
“Why not? Didn’t you always want to try this?”
I shrugged, feeling ambivalent more than anything, probably from exhaustion. I bent down and grabbed a plate, feeling its weight in my hand. “Now what?”
“Let it fly.”
And that’s what I did. I threw plates, cups, saucers, serving dishes, platters and dessert dishes until my arm was sore. The anger rose and fell, but I kept throwing at any little spark of anger. I threw the first plates picturing John Buchanan, but eventually the face became Sean’s. “This is for not paying attention.”
“This is for getting yourself killed.” Crash.
“This is for getting Hannah killed.” Sob. Crash.
“This is for leaving me alone.”
“This is for not being here to take care of me.”
“You promised to grow old with me. You promised.” I leaned over, hands on knees, exhausted physically and mentally. Isabeau wrapped her arms around me and took us back to my room. Tenderly she put me in bed, tucking the covers around me and kissing my forehead. I grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave me.”
“I am not going anywhere. You rest, Elizabeth.”
Day Twenty
November 25
The day dawned clear and cold. Tired and emotionally drained, I requested to skip the group meeting and just meet with Aimee this afternoon. I didn’t want to deal with a new addition to our group today. Mabel had delivered the “request denied” without any explanation.
I left my room at 9:55 and walked the halls toward the meeting room on auto pilot. I was present, yet not. Some part of me recognized that a portion of my brain was off processing the revelations from the weekend. I hadn’t heard Mabel though she had been speaking to me. And I had asked questions about her weekend at least twice. Mabel had answered my re-questions without hesitation. She had been downright gentle with me this morning, sensing my distraction. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
30 Nights with God Page 10