A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  Her voice trailed off as she slipped into conversation about something else. John waited until she was off the phone before he shuffled out to the kitchen to make coffee.

  “Mornin’, Riss.” He kissed her on the cheek. She mumbled a half-hearted reply. “You want some coffee?”

  “Already had some,” she answered curtly, keeping her aquiline nose in a book.

  He opened the fridge. “Can I get you some breakfast? I can make you some eggs or something.”

  “No-thank-you.”

  “Toast?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  John couldn’t tell if she was actually reading or just pretending to read so she could avoid conversation. He poured some Cheerios into a bowl and sat down at the table, trying to figure out how to engage her. “Heard you on the phone with your mom,” he ventured, swirling his spoon around in the milk before he took a bite.

  She didn’t respond.

  “You wanna talk?”

  No answer.

  “Sounds like something happened with Dr. Allen?”

  She looked up briefly from her book. “I’m done talking about it,” she clipped.

  John cleared his throat and took another bite. “You haven’t talked to me about it yet. And I’m your husband, remember?”

  Her eyes narrowed to steel slits. “So you’re going to pile it on too, huh? Great.”

  “I’m not piling anything on. I just . . . I was just hoping you’d share with me about what’s going on. That’s all.”

  “I don’t need you making me feel guilty.” Her voice was ice. He wrapped his flannel robe more tightly around himself.

  “No guilt, Riss. I was just trying to help.” He finished his breakfast in silence. Not knowing what else to do, he hopped into the shower and prayed.

  Dr. Nathan Allen was also praying as he sailed north along Lake Michigan early Thursday morning, skillfully tacking into the wind.

  He had second-guessed himself a thousand times after Charissa left his office. Had he said too much? Had he pushed her too hard? Katherine Rhodes, his spiritual director, had once reminded him that two people could hear the same words in vastly different ways. “Depending on where they are in their walk with God,” she said, “one person hears something as a tender word of grace and compassion, while another hears the same thing as a harsh word of rebuke.”

  He knew how Charissa had heard what he’d said.

  Nathan had known her for a few years now, observing her in several classes and glimpsing her intellectual acuity. But he had never encountered a student who was wound up quite as tightly as Charissa Goodman Sinclair.

  Charissa evoked his deep compassion. He recognized in his student many of the same sins and weaknesses the Spirit had aggressively pursued in his own life: the desire for control, the striving for perfection, the single-minded drivenness which had cost him so dearly in his own personal relationships. If he could help in pointing her to grace, then maybe he could spare her some of the pain he had known.

  Then again, pain had been one of his finest, most reliable teachers.

  Help, Lord.

  Though he had been surprised when Charissa enrolled in his Christian imagination seminar, Nathan interpreted her presence in his class as a sign of the Spirit’s stirring in her life—or, at the very least, he saw the opportunity for the Spirit to move her toward freedom from her captivity and rigidity. And then when she actually approached him and asked about the sacred journey group, he had inwardly rejoiced.

  After weeks of fervently praying for her, he had finally discerned the Spirit’s prompt to speak painful words of truth as she sat in his office. He knew what he’d said had wounded and angered her; he just hoped he hadn’t caused her harm.

  “Sometimes on the way to better, things get worse for a while,” Katherine often said.

  He adjusted the sails.

  The encounter with Charissa had brought back the memory of another tense conversation he’d had with someone in a former life. How long had it been? Fifteen, sixteen years?

  The two of them were in graduate school together, and she quickly became his closest friend. She was passionate about Jesus, full of love for God and other people. She had a light and spirit that drew him in, and during their two years of close friendship, her zeal awakened his faith and stirred his affections. Loving her made him love God more.

  But she was so consumed by her desire to serve the Lord that she spurned his overture for something deeper than friendship. She did not believe there was room in her life for both Jesus and a relationship, and she refused to be divided and distracted. So she made her choice. She chose Jesus and rejected Nathan.

  “You’re hiding,” he told her. “You’re terrified of letting someone in. You’ve got secrets you won’t even reveal to yourself. You’ve got things buried so deep inside of you that you’ve got no idea how to name the pain. But I would share the burden with you, whatever it is . . . whatever you’re carrying . . . What if I’m part of God’s plan for your life? What if God is trying to pour out his love for you through me?”

  But he pushed too hard; he saw her too clearly. She walked away and never came back.

  Nate passed the red lighthouse at the end of the channel and came about, changing course. As the wind filled the sails, he entrusted Charissa to God’s faithful care. Please don’t let her walk away from you, Lord. Please.

  6

  Hiding and Seeking

  I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.

  Ezekiel 34:15-16

  Meg

  “Great lesson today, Ellie.” Meg patted the blonde curls of her final Thursday evening piano student. “Keep working on those scales, okay? I know they’re not much fun, but they’ll help you with all of your songs.” Meg smiled at her. “You’re doing really, really well, honey. I’m proud of you.”

  Ellie wrapped her arms around Meg’s waist. “Bye, Mrs. Crane. See you next week!”

  Meg waved to Ellie’s mom, who was waiting in the car. Then she closed the front door and sighed.

  It was time.

  She poured herself another cup of herbal tea before purposefully climbing the stairs into the attic. She hadn’t visited the attic in years.

  Ready or not, here I come! she breathed.

  She knew exactly which box she was seeking: a small cedar hope chest she had hidden away after Jim died. She found it right where she had left it—tucked in a far corner beneath the eaves. Brushing off the cobwebs, she opened the latch. Meg hadn’t seen his handwriting in two decades, and her eyes filled with tears as she read the words written on the very top envelope of the stack: For Meg, the woman I love.

  Meg carried the chest down to her bedroom, where she sat at her desk for hours, reading all his letters. She had carefully preserved every one of them—from the very first note he had passed her in English class when they were fifteen to the very last card he had given her ten years later, just weeks before he died. Though her mother would have chastised her for being sentimental, Meg savored every word, reading the letters over and over again. She laughed and wept, sometimes simultaneously, as she heard Jim’s voice speaking with love once more.

  Meg took a single card to bed with her: Jim’s last gift. She closed her eyes and remembered. They had gone out to dinner together at the Timber Creek Inn. She could see his face across the candlelight, his eyes brimming with joy and love. They’d had their first ultrasound glimpse of their baby that day, the baby they had longed and hoped and waited for. Jim reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the card, watching Meg as she opened it. “For the Mother-to-be,” the front cover read. And inside: “God has hidden his special treasure within you, and angels await the unveiling.”

  Jim had written his own message on the inside cover:

  To Meg, the woman I love. How can words possibly express the love I feel for y
ou and our baby right now? Suddenly it seems so real. I’m going to be a dad! Just watching our baby move and hearing the heartbeat—I can hardly believe it. So many dreams have come true, and I can’t imagine there’s a happier man anywhere in the world tonight. You are my special treasure, Meg, and I can’t wait to be the happiest father as well as the happiest husband. You’re going to be an amazing mother. I love you, and I’m so proud of you. Yours forever and ever, Jim.

  P.S. I hope our baby has your eyes.

  Meg had later placed inside the card the only photo Jim had ever seen of their baby: the grainy black and white picture showing tiny fists and feet. They hadn’t known if the baby would be Rebecca Grace or William Ryan when Jim died. But one of his hopes was granted. Becca had her mother’s eyes.

  Becca.

  Meg’s thoughts drifted to her free-spirited daughter a world away. There was so much Meg had never told Becca about her dad. Becca had learned early on that when she asked about Daddy, Mommy felt sad. So after a while she stopped asking.

  If only . . .

  If only Meg had possessed the courage to do things differently with her daughter. If only she’d had the determination to allow Jim’s memory to live and breathe in their midst. If only she’d been stronger, less afraid.

  As she gazed at the ultrasound photo, Meg knew what she needed to do. She needed to ask for Becca’s forgiveness. But how? It certainly wasn’t something she wanted to do by e-mail. It also didn’t feel right to do it over the phone. No, she wanted to look into Becca’s eyes and tell her how sorry she was for hiding her dad from her. She wanted to show Becca his beautiful card and tell her how much her father had loved her, even though he had never had the chance to meet her and tell her himself. She wanted Becca to know.

  Meg thought back to their parting conversation at the airport in August. She and Becca were standing together at the security gate, getting ready to say good-bye after too short a summer. “Mom, I wish you’d think about coming to see me in England. I’m going to have all that time off in December.”

  “Oh, honey, you know me. I’m such a homebody. But I bet Aunt Rachel would come if you asked her.”

  “It’s not the same. I just wish . . . ” Becca’s voice trailed off.

  Meg stroked her daughter’s short dark hair. “I know . . . I know.”

  “You don’t have to stay trapped, you know,” Becca said sternly. “You don’t have to live with so much fear.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just the way I am. The way I’ve always been.”

  “Well, you could learn another way. You’re always talking about my wings and Aunt Rachel’s wings. You could fly too, Mom. If you wanted to.”

  Meg sighed as she remembered. What was the verse Hannah had given her the other day? Something about perfect love and fear? She opened her Bible and looked it up. It was from 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.”

  Perfect love casts out fear.

  Was this her journey? From fear to love? She remembered the image of the shepherd finding her and comforting her. She remembered thinking that if Jesus really walked with her, she wouldn’t be afraid. Suddenly, everything seemed to fit together: her emerging understanding of God’s perfect love, her memories of Jim’s deep love, her longing and love for Becca.

  A single picture emerged. She saw herself boarding a plane. Meg Crane had never traveled farther than four hours from home, and that was when she and Jim had driven north to Mackinac Island for their honeymoon.

  But traveling across the ocean by herself? She had never flown anywhere—she had never set foot on an airplane. She couldn’t. She couldn’t fly to England.

  Could she?

  Remembering the simple prayer Katherine had taught her, Meg slowed her rapid and anxious breathing, inhaling, I can’t. Exhaling, You can, Lord. Inhale. I can’t. Exhale. You can, Lord.

  If only . . .

  What if . . . ?

  The next morning Meg discovered that her desire to see Becca had only intensified. As she sat with her coffee, she debated calling her sister to tell her what she was considering. On the one hand, Rachel could quickly point her in the right direction for an expedited passport and travel tips. On the other hand, once she told Rachel, she would be committed to following through. Rachel certainly wouldn’t let her back away. Maybe that was what Meg needed: someone holding her accountable so she wouldn’t retreat in fear. What should she do?

  It was a whispered thought that seemed to come from outside herself. You can pray about it.

  But Meg didn’t know how to pray about making that kind of decision. How would she even know how to hear God’s voice leading and directing her? She had so many voices in her head. How would she know which one was God’s?

  Her familiar anxiety began to grip her, and she breathed slowly. I can’t. You can, Lord. I can’t. You can, Lord.

  The next voice she heard in her head was Katherine’s, speaking gently and softly as the two of them had sat together on the labyrinth courtyard bench. “It’s a privilege to walk alongside you in this journey, Meg. If you need some help or encouragement, call me.”

  Before she could change her mind, she removed the phone book from the kitchen cupboard and dialed the number to New Hope.

  Later that afternoon Meg sat in Katherine’s office, drinking chamomile tea. “Tell me about your fear,” Katherine said. “Are you able to name it?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what’s so silly. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. I’m so used to staying close to home, and suddenly I’m thinking about flying across the ocean by myself. It just seems way too adventurous for me. Way too impulsive and sudden.” She breathed deeply. “How do I know if it’s something I’m supposed to do?”

  Katherine sipped her tea slowly before she replied. “One of the early church fathers wrote that the glory of God is revealed in a person who is fully alive.” She set her mug down on the coffee table and leaned forward slightly. “I’m listening to you describe your desire to see Becca, and you light up when you talk about the possibility of spending time with her. You’ve come to life, Meg, just talking about visiting her.”

  Meg nodded. “I miss her. And I’m feeling an urgency I can’t quite explain—just that I have things to say that I want to say face to face. And she won’t be coming home until next summer. I worry that if I don’t do it now, I may never get the same kind of opportunity again.”

  Katherine said, “Sometimes it’s hard to pay attention to our own desires, isn’t it? We start believing that God only wants us to do the things we don’t want to do. But God also speaks through the deep desires and longings of our hearts. God invites us to pay attention to the things that bring us life and joy.” She paused. “The Good Shepherd guides with a gentle hand, Meg. With a steady, gentle hand. And you’ll come to recognize his voice. Jesus promises that.”

  Meg stared out Katherine’s office window to the labyrinth courtyard, remembering the peace she had experienced when she imagined the shepherd finding her. She remembered the joy of hearing the words that she was safe, that she belonged to him, that she was loved.

  “I know one thing I want,” Meg sighed. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. But I’ve been afraid for so long, it’s in the air I breathe. I just don’t know how to get rid of my fears, Katherine. And I need to get rid of my fears so I can follow Jesus.”

  Katherine smiled kindly. “Lay that burden down, dear one,” she said. “We’ll always be a mix of fear and faith.”

  Meg furrowed her brow in bewilderment. That wasn’t the answer she had expected. She had thought perhaps Katherine would give her a strategy for overcoming her fears so she would be able to travel more freely and lightly with Jesus. “You mean I’m not supposed to try to get rid of my fears?” she asked. That didn’t make sense. Wasn’t the Bible filled with commands about not being afraid? Meg had broken all those commands.

  “Faith isn’t about not being afraid, Meg. Faith means we trust God, even when
we’re afraid. Especially when we’re afraid.” Katherine peered at Meg with intense gentleness. “Don’t worry about trying to rid yourself of your fears,” she said slowly. “Instead, let your fears do the hard work of revealing deep truths about yourself. Our fears can be windows into the raw and unvarnished truth of our lives. We don’t cling to them or feed them, but we do listen prayerfully to what they teach us. We ask God what the fear is revealing about who we are and what we lack. We bring our fears into the light of God’s healing love, offering them up to God as an expression of our weakness and our need for him.” She paused. “Even our fears become opportunities for encountering Jesus, if we let them draw us close to the Lord.”

  The silence in the room became a soft-knit cloak, wrapping and enfolding Meg in comfort. She had never once considered that her fears could be anything other than an obstacle to faith—a persistent source of shame and regret. She had never considered the possibility that her fears could actually become an opportunity for deeper intimacy with Jesus. “So I stop worrying about trying to get rid of my fears and just start focusing on God’s love for me?” she asked quietly.

  Katherine nodded. “Getting rid of the fears is never the goal,” she said. “If we fix our eyes on that, then we won’t be looking at Jesus. Drawing close to the Lord is what we’re seeking. God is always our first desire. So we focus on the perfect love and faithfulness of God instead of the depth of our fear. We meditate on how big God is. How trustworthy God is. How loving and gracious God is. And slowly . . . Slowly we discover our trust growing, and our fears shrinking—all by God’s gift and power. Always by God’s gift and power—not by our own efforts.”

  Katherine reached for a well-worn leather Bible and flipped through wrinkled pages until she found what she was looking for. “Here,” she said, pointing to Isaiah 43. She handed the Bible to Meg. “Read the first few verses out loud, and when it says ‘Israel’ or ‘Jacob,’ put in your own name.”