A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  She never told her parents about the phone call from Brad. And the next day, to punish herself for getting distracted, she told Brad she was sorry, but she couldn’t go to the movie after all.

  He didn’t ask her out again.

  Hannah was surprised when Charissa called to invite her to dinner on Friday night. She had assumed that John’s offer to cook for her and Meg had been a perfunctory and glib comment. She hadn’t expected an actual invitation.

  “John and I want to thank you and Meg for helping us at the hospital,” Charissa said. “And he can’t wait to have people over to enjoy his cooking.”

  Hannah was also surprised to hear that Meg had already said yes. Much as Hannah would have preferred to avoid a social evening out, she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to be alongside Meg. “Why don’t you plan on staying overnight at my house after we finish dinner?” Meg asked, as the two of them arranged to meet at the Sinclairs’ apartment at seven o’clock on Friday. “That way you won’t have to drive back in the morning for the group.”

  Meg’s offer confirmed Hannah’s decision. She didn’t imagine that Meg often invited people into her home. Although Hannah expected the evening with Charissa to be irritatingly superficial, a few hours of small talk seemed a small price to pay for the privilege of being welcomed into Meg’s life. As Friday approached, she actually found herself anticipating the evening with a certain measure of eagerness.

  Hannah handed Charissa an autumn bouquet as she and Meg entered the Sinclairs’ apartment. “These are beautiful!” Charissa exclaimed, admiring the flowers. “Thank you!”

  Hannah smiled and took off her jacket. “You’re welcome. How’s John?”

  “Back to normal. For better or for worse.” Hannah noticed a light in Charissa’s eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

  “She still won’t let me play football tomorrow!” John called from the kitchen. “So I was thinking of crashing your group. I want to walk that labyrinth thingy.”

  “I’m thinking I need to give the labyrinth another try sometime,” Charissa said, ushering them into a sparsely furnished, but perfectly tidy living room. “I wasn’t in a great frame of mind that first day.”

  “Neither was I,” said Meg. “I didn’t manage it at all, remember? I was in high heels.”

  “I’d forgotten that.” Charissa stooped to pick up a stray red leaf from the beige carpet. Hannah removed her offending shoes.

  “I can’t believe it’s only been a month since the group started,” Meg commented, seating herself on the sofa. “So much is swirling around inside of me—like I’ve traveled miles and months already. I guess I’m just amazed by what God has already shown me.”

  John emerged from the kitchen and wiped his damp hand on his jeans before extending it in a firm handshake. “Nice to see you guys. About fifteen minutes until dinner, okay?”

  “It smells great,” said Hannah. “Thanks so much for having us over. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Well, I told Riss that I’ve been wanting to have people over ever since we got a dining room table. Of course, I was hoping for some heretics for lively conversation. You guys aren’t heretics, are you?”

  Hannah and Meg looked at one another in shared confusion while Charissa punched his stomach playfully. “He takes some getting used to,” she explained. “He’s teasing me because I wasn’t sure at first if I should sign up for the group. I didn’t want to land in anything unorthodox, so I talked to my professor about it.”

  “And Dr. Allen assured her it was safe, much to my disappointment.”

  They laughed. Charissa sat down in an armchair, tucking her long legs underneath her. She looked far more relaxed than Hannah had ever seen her before, and Hannah wondered if her ease were linked to anything other than being in her own home.

  While the others chatted, Hannah casually scanned the room, trying to gather clues about who Charissa was. But there were no family photographs, no knickknacks, nothing extraneous. The only color in the room was a pair of black matching urns filled with red reeds, symmetrically placed on two matching end tables. On the glass coffee table was a single pile of neatly stacked poetry anthologies, but there were no magazines or newspapers in view. Not even a collection of music or movies to give anything away.

  Was she this much of a minimalist, Hannah wondered, or was there a bulging closet somewhere, stuffed with clutter she had hidden away?

  She tuned in again just as Charissa was answering a question Meg had asked about her studies.

  “I tend to work a lot with medieval and early modern English literature—lots of seventeenth-century poetry. And since so much of English lit has deep roots in the biblical story, it helps me to be well-versed in Scripture.” Charissa hesitated. “Of course, some of the ways we’re experiencing the Bible at the New Hope Center are new to me; and to be honest, it’s been kind of unsettling. I’m used to doing text analysis, and reading Scripture with the imagination is . . . well . . . different.” She looked at John. “I’m a bit of a control freak. Just ask my husband.”

  Hannah decided she was a minimalist. She probably had an alphabetized pantry and a closet organized by color.

  “You’re a lovable control freak,” John said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  “Sometimes.” Charissa put her hand on top of his and squeezed it. There was something tender in the gesture, and Hannah observed a fleeting nonverbal exchange between them as they looked at one another. Lovers could do that.

  “Thinking back to the labyrinth,” Hannah said, changing the subject, “Meg and I plan on getting there by nine o’clock tomorrow to walk and pray before the group starts. I think Mara will be there too. If you’re interested, Charissa, we’d love to have you walk with us.”

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  Hannah recognized the polite, noncommittal tone. She used it frequently herself.

  John beamed with boyish delight as they complimented him on dinner. “Thankfully, he loves cooking,” Charissa said, passing around a plate of steamed vegetables. “Because he’s right when he says I don’t have the gift. Or the desire. Much to my mom’s horror.”

  John took the plate from Meg. “Charissa’s mom is Greek, and she’s a fantastic cook! She makes these amazing Mediterranean dishes. Unfortunately, they moved to Florida last year, and we don’t get to see them too often. But whenever Mom visits, I ask her to give me some tips. And I’ve got a bunch of her recipes.”

  “Well, this chicken is delicious,” said Meg.

  “Thanks. It’s Charissa’s favorite. And I’m getting better at it. Right, Riss?”

  “As good as Mom’s, John.”

  “I’m gonna call her tonight and tell her you said that!” He laughed and speared a piece of chicken with his fork. “So, Meg . . . Riss said your daughter is studying abroad this year. Did she tell you she spent some time in England too?”

  Meg shook her head.

  “She spent a year as a Fulbright scholar after graduation. Ditched me for an entire year to hang out with the Brits. I didn’t think she’d ever come back. I thought for sure she’d fall in love with some genius with a sexy accent and forget all about me.”

  “But I didn’t,” Charissa said, smiling. “I absolutely loved the UK, though. I’d go back in a heartbeat. Will you get over to visit your daughter while she’s there?”

  “Actually, I booked my trip last week. I’m flying there after Thanksgiving to stay for a few weeks. We’ll get to celebrate Christmas and her birthday together, which will be wonderful. Becca’s studying right in London, but she’s been traveling all over the country on weekends, and she absolutely loves it. She can’t wait to show me around.”

  “I’m jealous!” Charissa exclaimed. “If you’d like some travel tips, I’d be happy to show you my photos sometime. It might not be great weather-wise that time of year, but there’s still so much to see and do. The trains make it really easy to get around.”

  “That would be great!” Meg replied.
“I’m nervous and excited all at the same time. This will probably sound crazy, but I’ve never even been on a plane before. So this is a huge leap of faith for me.”

  John smiled at her. “Good for you! That’s awesome. I bet you and Becca will have a blast together. You may not want to come home!” He looked in Hannah’s direction. “How ’bout you? Charissa was telling me how your church has given you a long sabbatical. That’s so cool! Are you gonna do some traveling?”

  Hannah was taken aback. It had never once occurred to her that she had the freedom to go and do whatever she wanted. She had been so focused on being at the lake—so absorbed in her own grief process over her exile—that she hadn’t even considered traveling. She shook her head in bewilderment. “I have no idea. I don’t have a clue where I would go.”

  In fifteen years of ministry Hannah had never taken an extended vacation for herself. She had used her time to visit her folks in Oregon and her brother in New York. She had even used vacation time to babysit her nieces so her brother and sister-in-law could travel together. But Hannah had never indulged herself with a trip. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her. Was she that weary? That shortsighted?

  John pressed her. “Boy, if I were you, I’d think of all the things you’ve always wished you could do and never had time for. What an awesome opportunity.”

  “I’m beginning to see it that way,” Hannah said. “Katherine has been wonderful, helping me glimpse some of what God wants to do in me during my time off.”

  “Katherine’s an amazing woman,” said Meg. “I can’t believe what the Lord has shown me through her. She knows how to ask the right questions, doesn’t she?”

  Charissa looked intrigued. “I’ve had a bit of that myself the past few days. From one of my professors, not from Mrs. Rhodes. But come to think of it, she’s Dr. Allen’s spiritual director, so I guess she’s mentored him. Anyway . . . It’s been an intense week for me.” She was quiet, as if debating how much to reveal. Hannah was well-acquainted with that type of pause. “You know the most important thing I’ve learned the past couple of weeks?” Charissa continued. “Dr. Allen told me to pay attention to the things that make me angry, defensive, and upset. That didn’t make any sense at first. But I’m starting to understand that when something bugs me, it might be God’s way of trying to get my attention.”

  “Like a fever telling you your body’s fighting off infection, or pain that reveals something’s wrong.” Hannah spooned more rice onto her plate. “We need people like Katherine and your professor in our lives, don’t we? We all have so many blind spots. But if we could see everything clearly by ourselves, we wouldn’t need the body of Christ.”

  Meg was listening with rapt attention. “I think I met your professor once,” she said, turning to Charissa. “We had a guest preacher a few months ago—one of our pastor’s friends. I remember thinking it was strange that an English professor would be preaching, but he was fantastic. I remember he talked about sailing and the spiritual life.”

  Sailing and the spiritual life. A memory stirred in Hannah’s mind, and she quickly dismissed it. Impossible.

  Charissa grinned. “That sounds like him. He used to be a pastor before he became a professor.”

  Hannah’s fork was hovering midway between her plate and her mouth. “What’s your professor’s name?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Nathan Allen. Why? Do you know him?”

  Hannah set her fork down in case her hand started trembling. “I knew him a long time ago,” she said casually, smiling even though the room was spinning. “Nathan and I were in seminary together. But I transferred to a different seminary for the last year of my studies, and I didn’t keep track of what happened to people after I left.” She took a long, slow sip of water, trying to buy time to pull herself together. She could feel Meg’s gaze riveted upon her.

  “Small world, huh?” John remarked.

  “Very.” Hannah dabbed her lips with her napkin.

  She hoped the others hadn’t noticed anything odd about her reaction to Nathan’s name. She also prayed it wouldn’t occur to Charissa to mention to him that they had a mutual acquaintance. She spent the rest of dinner putting all of her energy into appearing relaxed and engaged in conversation. But underneath her mask of tranquility was churning turbulence.

  Nathan Allen.

  What were the chances of her ending up less than an hour away from Nathan Allen? She hadn’t seen him in sixteen years. She hadn’t thought about him in a decade. No, that wasn’t true. He had come to mind two weeks ago when she was sitting in the group, praying about her images of God. But she had pushed him away.

  Again.

  Meg and Hannah said good-bye to Charissa and John just after nine o’clock and walked down to the parking lot together. Hannah wished she had refused Meg’s offer to stay overnight. It had seemed like a good idea to avoid making an extra trip, but now she wanted to be alone. Though she considered telling Meg she had changed her mind, she didn’t want to call attention to how unsettled she was. Meg had been kind to invite her, and Hannah wanted to be a good steward of Meg’s trust. After all, Meg needed encouragement.

  “You okay?” Meg asked when they reached their cars.

  Hannah was inserting her key into the lock and had her back turned toward Meg. “Absolutely.”

  “You sure?”

  Of course she was sure. Why wouldn’t she be okay? “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” Hannah kept fiddling with her key, unwilling to make eye contact until she knew she had control over her face.

  “If you’d like to talk about Nathan Allen, Hannah, I’d be happy to listen.” Hannah froze with her key in the door. Was this really Meg Crane? “You seemed upset when Charissa mentioned his name,” Meg said quietly.

  Hannah turned around. She wasn’t upset.

  “I was just surprised to hear his name after so many years.” She spoke with determined carelessness, trying quickly to decide how much to reveal. “We were really good friends in seminary—we used to spend lots of time together in classes and in the dorm. And he . . . well . . . he fell in love with me, I guess, and I didn’t want him to. It became awkward.”

  A cloud of pregnant silence hovered between them, and Hannah knew Meg was contemplating how much more to ask. After one bold question, Hannah wasn’t sure she could count on Meg to be demure and self-conscious. Evidently, her timidity was no longer a guarantee.

  “Was that why you transferred to a different seminary?”

  Make that two bold questions.

  Hannah wished she could hop into her car and drive away. Far away.

  “There were lots of good reasons for me to transfer somewhere else,” she said, using her best matter-of-fact tone. She hoped she could communicate her desire to shut down the topic without hurting Meg’s feelings.

  Meg appeared to catch the hint and asked no more questions. “My house isn’t far from here,” Meg said, gingerly rubbing her neck with her hand. “Just follow me.”

  Hannah stepped out of her car and looked up with surprise at the large three-story, turreted Victorian home. “I had no idea you lived in a place like this!” she exclaimed, meeting Meg in the driveway. “It’s beautiful!”

  Meg sighed. “You haven’t seen it in daylight. It’s pretty tired. Mother always prided herself on keeping up the appearance of it, but the past couple of years have been hard. I just can’t keep up with the maintenance.” She paused. “Much to my mother’s disappointment,” she added under her breath.

  Meg flipped on the light when they entered, and Hannah found herself in a dark wood-paneled foyer. The permeating scent of a vanilla air freshener only made the mustiness of the old house heavier, and Hannah was immediately reminded of a turn-of-the-century funeral parlor she had once visited in Chicago. As she glanced into a front sitting room stuffed with antiques and period furniture, Hannah intuitively understood Meg’s burden.

  “Pretty dreary, isn’t it?” Meg apologized as she gave Hannah a tour
. “I don’t know what to do. My sister, Rachel, keeps telling me to sell it. She says it could be converted into apartments. I’m torn. The house has always been the Fowler family home, ever since my great-great grandfather built it in the 1880s. But I never wanted it for myself. It’s so big.” She sighed. “This is going to sound terrible, but there’s no life here. I feel trapped. And guilty for feeling trapped. I never thought I’d be forty-six and still living in this house. Never.”

  For a moment Hannah considered asking Meg why she had stayed. Why hadn’t she and Becca moved somewhere else together? Why had she stayed with her mother? But as she followed Meg upstairs to Becca’s room, she decided that was a conversation for another day. She was tired. Very tired.

  “At least this room feels lived in,” Meg said, turning on the light. “I hope it’s comfortable for you.”

  Hannah set down her duffel bag. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

  Becca’s room was an oasis of light and life compared to the rest of the house. Breezy fabrics, bright colors, and white Christmas lights around the window revealed a young woman’s concerted effort to bring joy into an otherwise cheerless place. The walls were papered with artwork—Hannah recognized several Monet and Degas posters—and the desk was covered with photos.

  Hannah picked up one of the frames. “Is this Becca?” Meg nodded. “She has your eyes. She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s a wonderful girl,” Meg said. “She’s got her father’s spirit: kind, generous, full of life and laughter. And that says something about her because this house wasn’t an easy place for joy. I’m just glad she didn’t end up with my fears.” Meg gazed at the photo thoughtfully. “But maybe there’s hope for me too. At least, that seems to be what God is doing in my life right now—freeing me from fear.”

  “I see that,” Hannah said. She could personally testify to the liberating work of the Spirit. “And I’ve only known you for a month.”