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Exploring the Heart of God
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Matthew 16:15
Mara
Mara Payne sat quietly at her desk while the girls in her class chattered excitedly about Kristie Van Buren’s upcoming birthday party. Kristie was the most popular girl in third grade, and she lived in a large house on Cliburn Avenue.
“Did you hear they’re going to have pony rides in their backyard?”
“Kristie told me we can stay up all night, playing games and telling ghost stories!”
“Mrs. Van Buren told my mom that she’s taking all of us to Henshaw’s to buy makeup and perfume!”
Kristie had promised to invite Mara to her birthday party, if Mara helped her write a book report. Mara listened with wide-eyed anticipation as Kristie described in tantalizing detail all the activities planned for the celebration. “I’ll even let you sit by me at the birthday table,” Kristie pledged, smiling sweetly.
Mara had never been to a sleepover before, and her mother bought her a special nightgown for the occasion. But when the book report was turned in and the birthday invitations were handed out, Mara discovered there wasn’t a pink envelope for her. Kristie shrugged and said, “My mom told me I invited too many people. Sorry! Maybe you can come next year.”
Mara drove home from the retreat center, her mind whirling with embryonic images and emerging insights.
She had spent her time in the labyrinth thinking about what she’d seen when Katherine read the Bible story. It had been so real: Jesus’ voice, his eyes, his laugh. Especially his laugh. She could still hear his laughter ringing with delight and joy as if some great victory had been won: “Mara, come with me. I choose you. Come walk with me.”
A flood of painful memories had besieged her as she traveled the path to the center: the panic over not being chosen, the fear of being left behind, the pain of being rejected. Mara was there again, reliving the scenes in high-definition detail. She watched her eight-year-old self playing alone on the playground, sitting alone on the bus, crying alone in her room. She viewed her sixteen-year-old self walking alone to class, eating alone in the cafeteria, lying alone in a bed after the neighbor boy had taken what he wanted—leaving her confused, afraid, ashamed, and more empty and alone than she had ever felt in her life.
Well, not quite empty and alone.
As the weeks went by, her nausea testified both to what the boy had taken from her and to what he had left behind. Her mother took her to the clinic before It became obvious to anyone else, and Mara only missed two days of school. They never spoke about It again. And the silence screamed.
Two and a half years later there was a different bed, a different man—a married one this time, promising her she was everything he’d ever wanted and telling her she would be his wife, if only she would be patient. So she gave birth to their baby, and he visited sometimes on weekends, and Jeremy called him “Daddy.”
Mara waited and waited. But he did not choose her. When his wife finally found out about the mistress and the three-year-old boy, her threatened violence was terrifying. So was his. He shouted and raised his fist at Mara, commanding the No-Good Whore to disappear and take The Kid with her. A bus ride through the middle of the night whisked them away from Ohio to a city in Michigan where no one knew them. Kingsbury was the farthest Mara had ever traveled. It was as far as she could get with the bus fare money he had flung at her.
She had never forgotten the moment she stepped off the bus into a world reeking of cigarette smoke and sweat. She was disoriented and distracted, still reeling from the angry confrontation the day before. Jeremy was tired and hungry. “I want my bunny,” he said, sucking his thumb.
“Bunny’s not here. I’ll get you a new bunny.” How could she have forgotten to bring Jeremy’s bunny? She had left the apartment in a panicked frenzy, grabbing only a couple of changes of clothes.
He stared at her with his father’s hazel eyes. “I want my bunny!”
“I told you, Jeremy. I’ll get you a new bunny.” She tugged on his hand, and he tripped after her—her beautiful little brown-skinned boy with the dark curly hair, a spitting image of the man who had rejected them. Mara’s eyes filled with tears.
Jeremy started to whimper. “I don’t want a new bunny. I want Daddy’s bunny.”
“Well, you can’t have Daddy’s bunny, okay?” She looked around the bus station, trying to figure out where to go. Where could they go?
He cried harder. “I want Daddy! I want Daddy!”
She hit him. She actually slapped him across the face. “Shut up! You can’t have Daddy! You can’t have Bunny! You’re never gonna see Daddy or Bunny again!”
Mara still couldn’t purge the image of his small frightened face from her mind. To this day the memory haunted her, becoming only more resilient by her efforts to erase it. Jeremy had stopped crying, clutching her hand more tightly. Twenty-seven years later Mara could still feel the terrified grip of his chubby little fingers clinging to her hand with clammy warmth.
As she was wandering around the station with Jeremy, someone saw her crying—an angel lady named Jo. “You okay, honey?” the woman asked. “You look lost.” Jo was large, round, black, and soft, and for a moment all of Mara’s fears disappeared.
“I lost my bunny and my daddy,” Jeremy said, looking up at the kind-faced stranger, his lip quivering. “And I’m hungry.”
Mara never learned Jo’s last name, but years later she still thanked God for her. Jo bought them breakfast and took them to the Crossroads House shelter, where other guardian angels gave them a safe place to stay, food to eat, and a new bunny for Jeremy. They also gave Mara hope. Their generosity pointed her to Jesus, and eventually she said yes to salvation. She knew how desperately she needed a new life, even if God only accepted her out of pity, out of mercy. At least God hadn’t turned her away.
But now Jesus’ words in the vision pursued her: I choose you, Mara. Come walk with me.
Mara had never been chosen for anything. Never. And she wasn’t sure Jesus had chosen her either.
Not sure at all.
When Mara got home and checked her voice mail, she was thrilled to hear a message from Jeremy. “Hey, Mom! Abby’s out of town visiting her folks, and I was wondering if I could come over and hang out for a while. I can bring Chinese or pizza. Your choice. Call me, okay?”
Mara chose cashew chicken with steamed rice and greeted Jeremy at the door later that afternoon. “Where are Tom and the boys this weekend?” Jeremy asked, kissing her cheek.
“Away on a camping trip. They’ll be back late tomorrow.” He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table with the wire-handled takeout boxes. “I’m glad you called, Jer,” Mara said, removing plates and glasses from the cupboard.
“Well, you sounded kinda down the other night. I figured you might need some cheering up.”
Mara wasn’t sure how much to reveal. Dawn was trying to help her recognize the deep emotional attachments she had to her oldest son. It was true. She felt closer to Jeremy than she did to her husband. Jeremy held her heart in a way Tom never had, and she needed to find new ways to let go. But maybe not today.
She sighed. “Just feelin’ kinda stuck.”
“Tom?” he asked. She didn’t reply as she took soda from the fridge and filled their glasses with ice. Jeremy shook his head. “Seriously, Mom. I don’t know why you stay with him.”
Mara knew why. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, at least for the time being. She figured they had five years left, max. They would see Brian through high school graduation, and that would be the end. Tom needed Mara to take care of the boys so he could be free to travel for business. Mara needed Tom to provide a house. She had never gone to college and had no means of earning enough money to support herself. The only thing she had ever known how to be was a mother. And as she often told herself, she certainly wasn’t a great one. Most days she wouldn’t even call hers
elf “good.” She knew which parent the boys would choose if she and Tom separated, and she wasn’t ready to lose them. Not yet.
“Mom?”
“Sorry, Jer.” She sat down at the table and started serving the food onto plates.
“I said I don’t know why you stay with him.”
“Financial security.” Though it was an honest answer, it was not the truest one. “I’ve spent my life walking away from things when they got too hard,” Mara added quietly. “If Tom decides to walk away, that’s one thing. But I’m not leaving.” Besides, she thought, God hates divorce. She wasn’t going to do one more thing to make God disappointed. She changed the subject. “I don’t want to talk about Tom. Tell me about you.”
They spent the next several hours talking about Jeremy’s new job and the baby girl who was due in January. As Mara listened to him, she couldn’t help marveling that he had become such a healthy, responsible young man. She was just grateful she hadn’t ruined him.
“I’m so proud of you, Jeremy,” Mara said as they hugged good-bye at the door. “You turned out good, kid. Real good.” In spite of me, she added to herself.
Jeremy put his hands to her face and kissed her forehead. “I had a mom who loved me,” he said. “And that’s a lot more than what some kids get.”
Mara waited until he had driven away before she dissolved in tears.
Charissa
Charissa spent the summer before her junior year of high school as an exchange student in Greece. When she returned home in August after two and a half months of excitement and adventure, she was eager to reconnect with her childhood friend, Emily Perkins. She had so much to tell her.
Emily had also spent a few weeks of the summer away from home, undergoing treatment at a residential facility for teenage girls with eating disorders. When Emily came back to Kingsbury for a weekend, Charissa went over to her house for a visit. They hadn’t seen one another since the end of the school year.
Nothing Charissa had heard about Emily’s ongoing battle with anorexia prepared her for the altered appearance of her friend: hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, protruding collarbone. Emily’s once luxuriously thick blonde hair looked as thin and brittle as her body. Though Charissa tried to hide her shock, she didn’t think her face was cooperating, so she looked away. Emily had always been thin, but Charissa couldn’t believe how rapidly she had deteriorated in just two months. No wonder her parents had finally decided to send her away for help. If she looked this emaciated after spending time at the clinic, what had she looked like before treatment?
“I’m so glad to see you, Charissa!” Emily exclaimed, embracing her with fragile arms. “I’ve missed you.”
Charissa mumbled a reply and fought the urge to pull away.
“I want to hear all about your adventures in Greece. And I’ve got a lot to tell you too,” said Emily, smiling. “I’m learning so much in some of my groups at the center, and I want to tell you everything. Come on. Let’s go for one of our walks, okay? I’ve missed our walks.”
Charissa stared at the friendship bracelet dangling loosely around Emily’s wrist and wished she could think of something—anything—to say.
Charissa had arranged to meet John in the New Hope parking lot at one o’clock, giving him time to enjoy his Saturday morning football league with a group of friends. Seating herself under a tree, she unpacked the lunch John had made for her and read his note: “Hope the first day of your sacred journey is fantastic! I love you!”
She exhaled slowly and leaned her head against the trunk. What should she do about the group? She didn’t like the idea of not knowing where the class was headed. She certainly couldn’t imagine leading her own group of students that way. And Katherine Rhodes’s comment about wanting to be in control of her life had provoked her.
I’m not controlling! I’m disciplined! Charissa protested, removing her laptop. She supposed she might as well complete the assignment Katherine had given, just in case she decided to go back for the next session.
She opened a new document and stared a long time at the blank screen, trying to recall her earliest images of God.
Grandfather, she typed. Then she deleted it. That was a dead-end.
Helper. She often asked God for help and peace when she felt overwhelmed by stress, and it was no small miracle she hadn’t collapsed under the weight of her own tyrannically high standards of achievement. Of course, her mother insisted that John was the one who had kept Charissa from developing ulcers. His lighthearted playfulness was a healthy counterpoint to her sobriety.
As Charissa took a bite of her veggie wrap, her mind wandered to their first date.
They were sophomores at Kingsbury. John had pestered her for months to go out with him, refusing to take no for an answer. He wasn’t her type at all. For one thing, at five-foot-ten he was an inch shorter than she was, and she was determined not to date anyone under six feet tall. He also talked far too much about sports. Charissa had never met an athlete with a serious commitment to intellectual pursuits, and she was seriously committed to academics.
But he just wouldn’t give up.
In exasperation she finally agreed to go on one date—one!—inwardly deciding to be so cold that he’d never ask her out again.
“That’s fantastic!” he exclaimed when she rolled her eyes, scrunched her eyebrows, and said yes. He was like a small child who had just been promised a trip to Disney World.
On Friday night of that same week, promptly at six o’clock, John arrived at her dorm room with a box of chocolate covered cherries. Her roommate must have tutored him: Charissa didn’t tolerate tardiness, and she loved chocolate covered cherries.
John said, “I probably should have told you that I’m taking you to a place where the food isn’t great, but the atmosphere is fabulous.” She pursed her lips.
“Great,” she said, using her perfected sarcastic tone. She was masterful with single syllables. Much to her disappointment, however, John didn’t seem to notice. Charissa threw her shoulders back and followed him down the hallway.
“Ohhh . . . ” He reached into his pocket. “Sorry! I must’ve left my wallet in my room.” He shrugged genially as she gave an exaggerated sigh and looked at her watch. “It’s okay—my room’s right upstairs. It’ll just take a minute. C’mon.” She was going to insist on waiting for him in the lounge but didn’t want to waste her breath.
When John opened the door to his room, Charissa immediately recognized the swelling, soaring melody of one of her favorite pieces: Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.
“Hope Italian’s okay,” he said, ushering her inside.
In the middle of the tiny dorm room was a small round table set for two and covered with a red and white checkered cloth. The shelves and desks were lined with dozens of flickering white votive candles and small vases of red carnations. Just as Charissa was trying to comprehend the scene, John’s roommate appeared, dressed in a black tuxedo.
“Welcome! My name is Tim, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with a beverage?”
John was holding Charissa’s chair for her, waiting for her to sit down. Dumbfounded, she stared at the table with her mouth half open. “Diet whatever,” she finally mumbled, sinking into her seat.
“I’ll take Dr Pepper,” John said. Tim returned a few minutes later with hand-calligraphied menus and soda in plastic champagne glasses.
“I recommend the freshly microwaved lasagna,” said John, perusing the menu.
Charissa couldn’t help herself. She laughed. Lasagna was the only entrée listed.
“And the house salad is good, right, Tim?” John asked.
“It’s excellent,” Tim replied. “I’ll bring fresh bread for the two of you.”
John and Charissa spent the next four hours talking about music, movies, and literature. Charissa was surprised to discover that John was so knowledgeable about poetry. She was also surprised by his sense of humor. She had never met anyone who knew how t
o make her laugh. Over the next few years, John patiently chiseled away at her defenses until she finally said yes to his love.
Charissa pulled her drifting thoughts away from her husband and looked at her watch: thirty more minutes. That was more than enough time to finish the assignment. She drummed her fingers on her laptop keyboard. What were her images of God?
The memory that surfaced next took her by surprise.
She was sixteen. She had just returned from a few months in Greece, and her friend Emily was home from the clinic for the weekend. Charissa went to see her—she hadn’t seen her all summer—and they went for a walk together around the block. As they walked, Emily talked about Jesus. Charissa listened with burgeoning discomfort, wishing Em would talk about something else—anything else. Jesus made her really uneasy.
Ten years later, something about Jesus still made her really uneasy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe he was the Son of God. Charissa was theologically orthodox, affirming all the fundamental tenets of Christian faith. But she was uncomfortable with people like Emily who had testimonies of conversion. After all, what kind of conversion experience could Charissa have had? She had been the model child and the model student. Yes, she believed Jesus died to save people from their sins, and she asked for forgiveness when she made mistakes. But she didn’t fit into the category of “born again” believers. When people spoke about themselves as “sinners” and Christ as “personal Savior,” she cringed.
Helper.
She supposed that image would suffice. She wrote a few paragraphs about Psalm 46, describing God as a “very present help in trouble,” and she finished the assignment just as John arrived.
“Thanks for the lunch!” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “What would I do without you?”
A Story about the Spiritual Journey Page 8