A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “Oh, Hannah—that’s beautiful! Maybe you can keep some fresh flowers in a vase to remind you of that, especially during the winter.”

  Flowers in winter. Meg seemed completely unaware that she’d just said something profound.

  “Flowers in winter,” Hannah repeated slowly. “That works as a metaphor for the spiritual life, doesn’t it?”

  Meg looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “We have to hold on to God’s declaration of love for us when we go through the trying and desolate seasons of our lives. We have to hold on to the promise of God’s steadfast love during the ‘winters of our soul,’ when everything is stripped away.” Hannah recognized her tone of voice. She was sliding into her comfort zone, speaking not only to herself, but seeking to bestow something on Meg.

  For the building up of Meg’s faith.

  Meg had been shocked to discover that Hannah had run into Nathan—not once, but twice—and she was now convinced that Nathan’s reappearance was God’s providence and gift. But how did Hannah see it?

  Hannah had commented that it was nice to reconnect with an “old friend” after so many years. But that was all. That was all Hannah said about him.

  The same stirring that had prompted Meg to voice her insights about Bartimaeus now drove her out of her comfort zone again. She was praying as she spoke. “So, Hannah . . . What do you think God is up to, bringing Nathan back into your life again?”

  She watched as Hannah almost choked on a piece of bread.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Hannah answered, avoiding eye contact by taking a long, slow sip of water. “I wouldn’t say that God is up to anything in particular. It’s just a gift to have an old friend reappear. I’m grateful for that.”

  Help, Lord, Meg prayed. “You don’t think it’s just a coincidence, do you?”

  Hannah was still hiding half her face behind her glass of water. “A God-incident,” she replied. “But I’m not reading anything special into it. Nathan’s a friend. Just a friend.”

  “But—”

  Hannah swiftly interrupted her. “I’ve got so much to process with God right now, Meg. I can’t afford to be distracted by other things.” Her tone was firm and resolute. “I’m walking this road toward understanding myself as the beloved, and I need to stay focused. I need to stay focused on what this whole sabbatical was all about to begin with. I’ve got to figure out who I am when I’m not pastoring.”

  Meg almost retreated and acquiesced. Almost. “I hear what you’re saying, and I understand where you’re coming from. But I’d hate for you to be so focused on what you think God’s doing that you miss something else God might be doing.”

  Meg wasn’t sure if the expression on Hannah’s face was a look of astonishment, disagreement, or irritation. Nevertheless, she quickly spoke again before she lost her courage—before the ring of redness around her throat strangled her.

  “I just don’t think it needs to be an either-or thing, Hannah,” she said quietly. “Maybe Nathan is part of the journey. Part of God’s gift of love for you. Maybe Nathan is one of God’s flowers. I’m just saying it’s a possiblity . . . that’s all . . . ”

  Meg wasn’t a bit surprised when Hannah immediately steered their conversation in a different direction. She even cooperated by speaking about her upcoming visit with Rachel and her trip to England. At least Meg had done her part: she had said what she thought Hannah might need to hear.

  Hannah had also spoken things Meg needed to hear. Meg had her own unconfessed, unresolved issues of grief, and at some point she would have to go back into the past with God’s help and blessing.

  On her way home Meg stopped at a local florist to buy herself a small bouquet. It wasn’t a bad idea to keep her own vase of fresh flowers beside her bed.

  Just in case it was a long winter.

  Hannah

  There was still one box Hannah had not unpacked at the cottage. On the night she arrived in Michigan, she had removed it from her car and had immediately shoved it into a closet. The only reason she had even brought the box with her was because she hadn’t wanted to risk the intern or anyone else finding it at her house.

  As the days passed by, however, the contents of the box began to beckon her. Perhaps unpacking the box was the next step in her pilgrimage. Hannah had told herself that if she really understood how deeply God loved her, then she would have the courage to go back into the past without fear. This was her opportunity.

  Help, Lord. She pulled out the box and carried it to the sofa by the picture window. It was time.

  March 1

  Dear Diary,

  My name is Hannah Shepley, and today is my fifteenth birthday. Mom and Dad gave me this book, and it’s my favorite present. I’ve never had a diary before, and I guess it will take some practice learning how to write in it. But I’m happy I have a place to write down everything I’m thinking and feeling.

  So where do I start? I live in Oak Creek, California, with my mom and dad. I have a brother named Joey. He’s five. I’m jealous of my friends who have sisters because I’ve always wanted one. I remember being so excited when Mom and Dad told me that we were going to have a baby, and I hoped and hoped for a girl. But Joey’s cool, too. I love him even when he’s annoying. And he’s annoying A LOT.

  We moved to Oak Creek last summer. I really hope we don’t move again, but Dad’s a salesman, and we move around a lot. It’s hard, but I think our family is really close because of it. I’m lucky to have great parents because some of my friends have it really rough at home.

  What else? I’m a freshman at Oak Creek High School. I like English, and I think I’d like to be a writer someday. My friends say I should be a counselor or something because I’m a really good listener, and I’m always listening to everyone’s problems. They’re always coming to me for advice about boyfriends and stuff. And that’s really funny because I don’t even have a boyfriend. I used to really like a guy named Brad, but not anymore.

  Bye for now.

  Sincerely,

  Hannah Shepley

  March 6

  Dear Diary,

  Had a good day at school today. Amy invited me to spend the night at her house on Friday night, and that will be so much fun. She was my first friend at Oak Creek, and she’s my best friend. We have so much in common! I love hanging out with her. We’ll probably stay up all night talking about boys and stuff. I seriously hope no one ever reads this.

  Hugs,

  Hannah

  March 22

  Dear Diary,

  I thought I’d be able to write every day, but I haven’t had much time. School is really busy right now, and Dad has been traveling a lot. That means I’m extra busy helping Mom take care of Joey. I hate it when Dad’s away. Not that I mind helping around here. I just don’t like it when he’s gone. When I was little I used to cry to Brown Bear all the time whenever he was away. But I’ve been too old for Brown Bear for a long time. So I guess I’ll use this diary for crying and sharing secrets and stuff. It still feels kinda weird to write down how I’m feeling, but I hope I get used to it. Even though my friends are always coming to me with their problems, I don’t usually go to them with mine. Not that I really have any problems anyway. Not like some of my friends do. I’m really lucky.

  I think my biggest problem is that I miss my dad when he’s away. And I worry about moving. And sometimes Joey is really annoying. But that’s what little brothers are for, right?

  Love,

  Hannah

  March 27

  Dear Diary,

  Got a great surprise today—Dad came home unexpectedly! He wasn’t supposed to be home until the end of the week. I was soooo happy to see him. I haven’t really had a chance to talk to him much, though, because he and Mom are having a serious conversation in their bedroom with the door closed. I really, really hope this doesn’t mean we’re moving again. I’m just getting used to it here! I get worried when they have serious conversations. They’re still talking, and they’ve
been in there for a couple of hours now.

  Better go. They just opened the door, and I can hear Mom crying. I really, really hope we’re not moving again.

  March 28

  Just got off the phone with Amy. She told me that she likes Brad Sterling. I already suspected that, but I was waiting for her to tell me herself. I never told her that I used to like him, too. Besides, it wasn’t like I was crazy about him or anything. He asked her to go out to a movie on Friday night, and I told her I was really, really happy for her. And I am! She deserves it! She’s really awesome. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic time. They make a totally cute couple.

  I still don’t know what’s going on with Mom. She was really upset last night, and Dad didn’t seem like himself. He always comes in to have a serious talk with me whenever we’re moving, and he didn’t come in to talk last night. When I finally asked him what was going on, he just kissed me on the forehead and told me that everything’s okay. He said I don’t need to worry. We’re not moving. I’m so glad!

  Gotta go finish homework. I can’t talk to Amy again until I’m done. And I want to hear more about Brad. I mean—I want to hear more about her and Brad! Anyway . . . bye for now.

  April 8

  Mom has been crying A LOT lately, but Dad keeps telling me everything is okay. But I know it’s not. Something’s wrong. Why won’t they talk to me?? It’s not like I’m a little kid who doesn’t understand stuff. Why won’t they tell me the truth?? I had a friend in Oregon whose dad died of cancer, but Daddy promised me he’s not sick. So I don’t know what’s going on. Some of my friends have parents who have gotten divorced. But I’ve never even heard Mom and Dad argue. So I’m sure that’s not it. I just wish they’d tell me the truth. I was going to mention it to Amy today, but then I decided not to. I don’t want to dump my problems on her.

  She had an AMAZING time with Brad at the movie, and now they’re going together! I’m so happy for her. I don’t get to see her as often now because they’re always together. I mean, always! It’s okay, though. I’d be excited, too, if I had a boyfriend. Not that I’m looking for one. I’m not. I’ve got too many other things going on to keep me busy. I seriously don’t have time to be dating anybody. Seriously.

  April 9

  Mom and Dad are out to dinner with a client. I’m babysitting Joey. Gotta keep an eye on him because he can get into trouble really fast. I can’t turn my head for a second. Dad says I never used to get in trouble when I was little—that I was always really responsible and well-behaved. Not Joey! I can’t even talk on the phone while I’m babysitting him because he can get into trouble so fast. I still don’t like to think about that terrible night in October—the Worst Night of My Life. It’s bad enough he broke his leg, but it could have been much, much worse. Mom cried for days about that, and I felt terrible. It was all my fault because I wasn’t paying attention. I swore it would never happen again. I’m extra careful now.

  Gotta run. Can’t see where Joey is.

  April 11

  Dad left on a business trip this morning. I was really upset, too, because I didn’t even know he was going away. He always tells me when he’s going away, and I can’t believe he just totally forgot. And now he’s going to be gone for a week! When he said good-bye to me this morning, he actually had tears in his eyes, and he never cries. So now I really don’t know what’s going on! He just asked me to promise him I’d take good care of Mom and Joey. And I told him that I always do. Then he kissed my forehead and said he knew I was so responsible and that he could count on me.

  Mom is always sad when Dad’s away, but it’s worse this time. I asked her if she was feeling okay, and she told me she was fine. But she spends a lot of time in their room these days, just sitting in the rocking chair and staring out the window. I wish I knew what was going on. I just try to keep Joey from bugging her.

  I used to get really upset whenever Mom cried because I was always afraid I’d done something wrong. I remember this one time when I broke one of Mom’s little ceramic birds, and I was so worried she would find out about it and be really upset with me. So I ran and hid behind a tree in our yard. Dad heard me crying and found me. He told me not to worry because he could fix the little bird. Mom never even knew it broke. It was just our secret.

  I keep thinking hard about whether I’ve done anything to make her upset like this, but I can’t think of anything. Dad promises me we’re not moving. I really don’t have a clue what’s happening. And it makes me really worried. Help.

  Gotta go get dinner ready. Mom says she’s not hungry, but I fixed her favorite—homemade macaroni and cheese.

  May 1

  I haven’t even been able to write the past couple of weeks because I’ve been too upset. And I don’t even know what to say. I feel like everything has been turned upside down. And I don’t know what to do.

  I feel like I’m living in a movie—that nothing’s real. Or like I’m living in a nightmare, and I just want to wake up. But I’m not going to wake up. Because it’s real. It’s all real.

  I haven’t even wanted to write because I keep thinking that maybe it will all just go away. And if I write it all down, then I’ll have a record of it forever. Kinda like when Joey fell out of that tree, and I didn’t want to think about it. But this is much, much worse than that. Oh, God, help. Please. I don’t know what to do.

  I promised Dad I wouldn’t talk to anybody about it. I promised him—not even Amy. It doesn’t even feel right to talk about it here. Like it’s some kind of betrayal. So I won’t. God, help.

  He quit his sales job so he can be home. He said he didn’t like traveling anyway. He says we’ll get through this and that everything will be okay. But how can he be sure? There’s nothing he can do to fix this. Nothing. And my heart hurts so bad I don’t know what to do. Thankfully, I’m so good at hiding stuff, even Amy doesn’t suspect there’s anything wrong. And she knows me better than anyone.

  Enough.

  She had read enough.

  Hannah placed the journal back into the box, shoved the box back into the closet, and crawled back into the bed to cry.

  Meg

  Meg cleaned all Tuesday morning, readying the house for Rachel’s visit. As she dusted the front parlor, her mind wandered to her father. Now that she had a single memory of him, she wished she had more. Why hadn’t she pressed her mother for details about her dad? Why hadn’t she insisted on knowing who he was?

  She sighed. For the same reason Becca had never pressed her. Talking about her dad made her mother upset.

  Meg remembered a conversation she’d had with Jim when they were teenagers. He had asked her about her father, and she told him about the accident. “The gun just went off?” he asked.

  “While he was cleaning it.”

  “You’re sure there isn’t more to that story?”

  Meg was confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Jim shrugged. “Nothing. Forget about it.”

  But Meg had gone home, pondering Jim’s question. That night, while her mother was peeling carrots at the sink, Meg decided to be brave. “How did Daddy die?”

  Mother never turned around. “You know how he died. He was cleaning one of his guns, and it went off.”

  In one of the more courageous moments of her life, Meg had persevered. “And it was an accident?”

  Her mother kept peeling, never looking at her. “Of course it was an accident. Why would you ask such a ridiculous question?”

  They never spoke about it again.

  The next time Rachel came home for a visit, Meg decided to ask her too, just to be sure. But Rachel had reacted angrily. “What are you even suggesting?” she demanded.

  “I-uh . . . I don’t know . . . It’s just—”

  “Just nothing!” Rachel snarled. “Of course it was an accident! What—you think Daddy would have shot himself on purpose? That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said!” Rachel had stormed out of the room, refusing to speak to Meg for the
rest of her visit.

  Meg had learned then that it wasn’t worth asking questions. She loved her sister too much to make her angry. Peace in the Fowler family depended upon avoidance, and Meg wanted peace.

  She was upstairs when she heard the front door open. “Anybody home?” Rachel’s voice echoed in the foyer. Meg ran to the landing.

  “I didn’t expect you for another hour or so!” Meg bounded down the stairs to throw her arms around her sister.

  “I made good time from Detroit,” Rachel said, putting down her bag. “Hell, Megs! Put some weight on, will you? Do you eat?” She pinched Meg’s cheek.

  “You look great, Rache.”

  “Not bad, huh? Amazing what a bit of money can buy.” She tossed her expertly highlighted hair, a fresh shade of strawberry blonde. “Like the color?”

  Meg nodded. It was different every time Meg saw her.

  Rachel walked into the parlor. “Dear God! I see you’ve kept the mausoleum as-is. Haven’t you changed anything?” Meg shook her head. “You’re surrounded by dead people’s stuff. How in the world can you stand it? I would go absolutely insane.”

  Meg shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to change anything. Mother was so particular about having things ‘just so.’”

  Rachel laughed cynically. “Get her voice out of your head and gut the whole place. Better yet—sell it and be free. You know she only left it to you to keep you trapped here.”

  Meg flinched. Their mother’s will was a sore spot for both of them: Meg felt guilty, and Rachel felt resentful. Meg tried to change the subject.