30 Nights with God

by Deborah C. Cruce

  Michael lifted his other hand. Or I should say he showed me the empty place where his left hand should have been. His gaze studied my reaction.

  “I didn’t know they did physical therapy here.”

  He shook his head. “They don’t.”

  I looked from Annie, who looked away, to Stephen who made slashing motions with his hand. “So how did you lose your hand? Work accident?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Oooo..kay. If you have any questions about things around here feel free to ask and we will try to help you if we can.”

  He put down his fork and wiped his mouth deliberately with his napkin. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I didn’t know this was your table. I was trying to get as far away as possible from anyone. I won’t make this mistake again. I’ll eat in my room.”

  Abruptly he stood up, knocking his chair over and against the back wall. He tossed his napkin down on the table and strode away without a backwards glance. The people at the closest tables had fallen silent and they, too, watched him leave.

  I watched him until he left the cafeteria. He was tall. Taller than I had expected, with a smooth straight stride that had carried him quickly across the room. Strong. Powerful. Yet handicapped now. Missing a hand. Not his right hand though. Surely there was a lot that could be adapted to one hand. Still … a small smile crossed my lips and I covered my mouth with my napkin, turning back toward Annie and Stephen.

  “What, girl?” Annie asked. “What could you be smiling about? That is one angry man.”

  I shook my head looking down at my plate, trying not to let a giggle through. It wasn’t appropriate at all.

  “Elizabeth?” Stephen asked leaning towards me.

  My shoulders started shaking as the laugh climbed up from my belly. The tears swelled in my eyes as I tried to brush them back. “It really isn’t that funny, and I shouldn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help thinking that he should be able to do most things with one hand, right?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Annie and Stephen agreed.

  “Except tie his shoes. And I got this picture in my head of him trying to tie his shoes, and I couldn’t stop the giggles because he had been so rude and I didn’t want to feel sorry for him.”

  “You’re right,” Stephen said solemnly. “It’s not that funny.”

  “I know. But anyway, let’s hope he gets put in someone else’s group. We’ve got enough challenges with Savannah.”

  “How is Savannah today?” Stephen asked.

  “Better. The meds have started to kick in and she seems less agitated. Hopefully she will rejoin the group in a couple days.”

  “And what about you? How much trouble did you get into?” Annie asked, waving her fork.

  A forty-something woman should never roll her eyes, but I did. “Lots of ‘What if something happened?’ ‘What if she hadn’t come back?’ And I should have just gone for help. But the way I see it, they would have caught her and brought her back and she would still be trying to get out again. Now they have a chance of getting through to her. There is no way I would go back to nineteen again.”

  Stephen smiled. “I was nineteen when I met my wife. We were so young. And stupid. Full of impossible dreams about being in a band. It was great. I’d go back in a heartbeat and do it all again.”

  It was the first time I had heard Stephen speak about his ex-wife without choking up. “What kind of band?”

  Stephen shook his head, his smile turning to a grin. “Rock-n-roll. It was all we listened to, all we played, all we sang. She had a sweet, sweet voice. Better than Stevie Nicks even.”

  “So what happened to the dream?” I whispered softly.

  “We grew up. She got her teaching degree. I got my real estate license. We got married. Bought a house.” He stopped.

  Annie and I looked at each other, but we waited for Stephen to finish his thought.

  Stephen reached across the table and took both our hands. The tears filled his eyes now. Dear Lord, I had never seen a man cry as much as this man. But I believed it was the only reason he was still sane and with us. “And then slowly the world started closing in on me. Once home, I wouldn’t go out to dinner, or movies, or to visit friends. I still managed to go to work, but then Julie started asking questions and suggested counseling. I wouldn’t go even when she threatened to leave. Then she left and I had no reason to pretend anymore. I just stayed home.” Then somehow he smiled again. “And now here I am in a cafeteria eating lunch with two beautiful crazy women.”

  Now Annie and I were crying, and smiling, through the tears too. “Thanks, Stephen. You really know how to compliment a woman.”

  Mabel walked up to the table then. I’m sure one of the attendants had spotted me and called her on the intercom. “You three okay? Do I need to call Doc Aimee?”

  And for no particular reason we all started laughing. So Mabel pulled up a chair.

  Dream 22

  I stood in an open field on a bright winter day. Straight ahead was the shed where Jesus and I had been working last night, but it was very quiet. Then I heard hammering and I knew he was there. Working on building something for me. Somehow the boards were taking the shape of a small house or a room. For months I have felt shattered, broken into shards that cut and wounded me. Like the Scarecrow with his stuffing scattered everywhere by the Wicked Witch’s henchmen.

  Dorothy, Tin Man, and the Lion had searched for his legs, arms and body and put the Scarecrow back together again. My friends and family tried to put me back together again also, but the pieces rebelled and refused the pain of joining again. Reality was agony. Sometimes even breathing hurt.

  Yet here I stood, twenty-two days into a rehab program, trying to put the pieces back together, yet knowing I would never be the same again. Walking across the dry brittle grass, I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of the jean jacket I wore. It was chilly today and I wondered at the change in temperature. God could set the thermostat wherever He wanted, so why colder?

  I rounded the corner of the building and found Jesus working steadily on a small length of wood which He had shaped with a jigsaw into waves or curves as if to use for trim. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Elizabeth.”

  “What are we working on tonight? It reminds me of waves.” He handed the piece to me and I sat in the ladder-back chair opposite him.

  “Waves? I was going for curls, like on small girls, but I guess waves will do. Especially since you like the beach so much. It’s the trim for the roof of your house.”

  “So we are building me a play house?”

  “We’re building you a safe house.”

  I ran my hand over the curves of the wood, thinking. He waited. “Like a panic room?”

  “No and yes. Once we finish you can come here whenever you want. Not just because you feel frightened or scared. We can meet here when you pray, or when you just want to be near and share your day.”

  “So, will it be real?”

  “As real as I am.” He reached out His hand then, wanting my hand. I placed mine in His. “Do I feel real to you?”

  I nodded. Closing my fingers around the warmth of His strong calloused hand. Oh so real. Was I truly crazy? Living in the world by day and living in the heavens by night? But I knew it wouldn’t last. “But I won’t see you like this when I leave Safe Haven, will I?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “But you won’t need me like this then. If we build this house with the right foundation of faith.”

  “You have a shot at setting this in my heart, but my mind, I’m not so sure. I believe in my heart what I see and hear and touch in my dreams. And I am better, healing …”

  Jesus nodded, his gaze holding mine. “You’ve heard the story of the cracked pots? ‘But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from Go
d and not from us.’ That’s in Second Corinthians 4:7, if you want to look it up. I use cracked pots for my purposes and I care for them. I am putting you back together again, but I’m hoping that all you have learned and experienced will leak out to all those who encounter you.”

  Now He had my attention. Jesus had a plan. For my life. Now, of course, I had read that particular verse from Jeremiah 29 just like every other church-going person. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” How could I believe that when my family, my future with them, was gone? Yet the possibility of God still having a plan for me sparked alive.

  “Why, Elizabeth? Why didn’t you think I meant you?”

  “Who am I? Just a middle-aged wife, mom, employee, friend, daughter, trying to do the best I can just like a million others. There is nothing significant or special about me. Except now I am broken from the loss of my husband and daughter. I guess that moves the odds of my being special and needing you extra in my favor.”

  I sounded bitter. I was bitter. I may have been getting better, but I had a long way to go. The anger and the pain surged unexpectedly.

  I pulled my hand back, trying not to see his look of concern. “It’s a bit chilly tonight. I think I’ll go back to my room now.”

  I handed him back the trim and walked away. Quickly. My breathing coming faster, my vision blurry with tears. Until I walked straight into His arms. God. He held me close and whispered soothing words. I didn’t understand, but the gibberish coming from my mouth made little sense either. I was awash in pain. I didn’t want to be special because of the loss of Sean and Hannah, yet this experience was making me closer to God. I was in turmoil. “I don’t know how to do this,” I wept on God’s shoulder. “I’m only human.”

  He wiped my tears away with his fingers and sat me on a picnic table bench that appeared. The sun had broken through and I felt warmer. “You are how I made you. Body, spirit, mind. You are special to me just as you are. You, Elizabeth, you. Not because of what you lost or how you succeed or fail. You’ve been reading the Psalms looking for the one the angels sing. Psalm 139. Go read it, believe it and share it.”

  And I was back in bed. My Bible across my chest. I looked at the clock. Four-thirty in the morning. Which Psalm had God said?

  Day Twenty-Three

  November 28

  “What did you want to share, Elizabeth?”

  I looked around the group. Savannah had rejoined us, though it was obvious she was still recovering. And much to my dismay, Michael had been added to our group. His anger was palpable. He sat sullen and quiet. Refusing even to answer Doc Aimee’s simple questions. I breathed out a quick prayer and opened to the bookmarked page.

  “‘You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.’” I read slowly, clearly. “‘You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.’ That’s the first three verses of Psalm 139. And I thought it would help all of us to know that God knows us. The whole Psalm is an affirmation that he knows us each individually. I just..I just..” I stammered to a stop as I met the hostile gaze across from me

  “What Elizabeth? What does it mean to you?”

  I had to look away from Michael and look toward Doc Aimee to focus again. Her encouragement was so obvious; it put me back at ease. “It means God cares about me. He knows me. He loves me. Right here where I am. And I find that comforting.”

  “That’s bull,” Michael breathed out low, but audible.

  “Michael, if you have something constructive to say …” Doc said.

  “Then baloney, nonsense, hogwash, a bunch of malarkey.”

  “You are certainly entitled to your opinion,” I responded, lifting my chin a bit.

  “Opinion? It’s the truth. There is no God and He certainly doesn’t think about you, or care about you. You’re accepting a fantasy in order to deal with life. You’re an alcoholic. There is no Guardian Angel watching over you.”

  Silence. The only words he had spoken in forty-five minutes and they were directed at challenging my newly rebuilt faith. I felt a hand on my shoulder and had no doubt it was Joshua standing watch over me. Others would ask me the same thing when I returned to the real world. Some would be those with weak faith looking for hope and some would be those with no faith looking for validation of God’s absence. What to say?

  “I have been where you are. You think you have the corner on anger and righteous indignation? I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that God has never left me, and He never left Hannah or Sean. I didn’t see it for months and months, but I do now.”

  “You’re lying to yourself. I’m done.”

  Michael slammed out of the room with all of us watching silently.

  “Whew,” Aimee said, “I guess you have to give your title of Drama Queen to Michael, Elizabeth. Okay, with you?”

  How she always managed to dissolve the tension amazed me. “Drama Queen? Me?” I shrugged, “Sure, I’ll hand it over, but let’s don’t tell him for a couple weeks, okay?”

  Everyone laughed then, even Savannah.

  “Yes, your point is valid. We have all been where he is for one reason or another. I am not, nor do I expect any of you, his group, to belittle his pain. It’s real. It has to be dealt with. So, I will end this session and go check on him. Individual appointments this afternoon. And check your schedules for classes.”

  Doc gathered her notebook and left pretty quickly. I was headed toward the door when Stephen caught my arm.

  “Where did you say those verses were?”

  “Psalm 139.”

  “I don’t have a Bible with me. Do you think you can get Mabel or Cindy to copy the pages?”

  “Copy it for me too,” Annie said, rolling up next to Stephen.

  “No problem.” I looked behind Annie at Savannah. “What about you, baby girl?”

  Savannah shrugged. “Sure, can’t hurt, I guess.”

  “No, it can’t hurt at all. I’ll get the copies made and bring them with me to lunch. See you all in an hour.” We each went our separate ways to check in with our nurses or take advantage of gym time or go to a class. I rounded the corner to see Cindy-Lou at the desk. We hadn’t spoken a lot since she had called Doc Aimee in last Sunday after I punched the wall, but I knew I owed her an apology or a thank you. Maybe both.

  “Hi Cindy, how are you today?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Hanging in there, Elizabeth. How about you?”

  “Doing better every day, with a few backwards steps now and then. Overall good.”

  “Good. What can I help you with?”

  “Two things. First, thank you for calling Doc.”

  She smiled again. “No problem.”

  “And second, I need three copies made of these two pages. Can you do that for me?”

  Cindy stood and reached for my Bible. “What is it?”

  “Psalm 139, please.”

  She took my Bible and carried it back into the room behind her desk where the copier and files were kept. In only a minute or so she was back with the copies, walking and reading as she came toward me.

  She blinked and looked up at me. “This is pretty cool. Can I make a copy for me? I think my boyfriend should read this.”

  “Sure.”

  Again I felt the presence of Joshua with me. A light hand on my shoulder giving support. When Michael attacked, I had understood his presence, but now I was perplexed. Was it simply an act of encouragement? I must remember to ask better questions.

  Cindy handed me the pages and my Bible. “This was just what I needed. My boyfriend believes in God, but doesn’t think He sees us as individuals. I think this will help make my point.”

  I felt the hand nudge me forward. What? “Is this an on-g
oing discussion between you and your boyfriend?”

  “If you mean every Sunday morning when I call to wake him up to go to church with me, and he says God doesn’t care if he goes or not because God has more important things to deal with, then yes.”

  So was Joshua suggesting I offer encouragement to Cindy? I looked down at the pages and thought a quick prayer that went something like God don’t let me mess this up. “I think maybe you should give him these pages and simply tell him that God cares where he is every moment of every day. Then pray for him to hear God calling him to church.”

  Cindy sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t think he will come.”

  “But he isn’t now, right?”

  “Right,” she said slowly, reluctantly agreeing.

  “So pray for him to hear God. That’s an alarm clock he can’t turn off or tune out if God really wants him there!”

  “I’ll try it and see what happens.”

  “Good. I’ll see you later.” I walked to my room and sat down at my table. Pulling the cord, I lifted the blinds. The November sun shone brightly. The temperatures were cool but not cold. I thought about the warm touches and reassurances I had felt this morning. Could it have been Isabeau? The Holy Spirit? “What are you up to my young guardian angel and my Dear Teacher?”

  I turned back to the Psalms, trying to hum the tune Jesus had been humming the other night. I think the 139th Psalm was too long, but there were others that I thought were possible candidates. He had said the guardian angels sing it and surely they need to when they are with their charges.

  I flipped back to Psalm Ninety-One and read through it again. The verses that struck me the most were verses nine through twelve and I read them aloud. “If you say, The Lord is my refuge, and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.”