A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “I’m just glad to be your friend again,” Nate replied. “I told you at the beginning that you didn’t need to worry about me going back into the past. In fact, maybe it would help you if I told you that you made the right decision by walking away.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure if his words were a gift or a burden. Could she trust herself to speak?

  “What do you mean?” she finally asked.

  He leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “We were so young. I thought I knew what I wanted. You were my best friend, and I cared more about you than I’d ever cared for anyone else. You made me love God more, and that was important to me. Very, very important. I was devastated when you left.”

  She flinched.

  He saw.

  “I don’t say that to wound you, Hannah. It’s just the truth. But as much as it hurt when you left, I’d hate to think what might have happened if you’d stayed.”

  She took her hands off the table so he wouldn’t see them trembling and began tightly wringing the napkin in her lap.

  “I wasn’t ready for a relationship,” he said slowly. “Look what I did to Laura. I’d hate to think what I could have done to you.”

  Hannah fixed her gaze on the basket of jam packets on the table, determined not to cry. She was not going to cry. Was not, was not, was not.

  “Anyway,” Nathan said, “I just hope your reluctance to go on the pilgrimage doesn’t have anything to do with me. You can trust me, Shep. I promise.”

  Oh, God, she prayed. Help.

  “I’ve been talking your ear off ever since you got here.” Meg looked at Hannah from across her kitchen table. “Enough about my father. I want to hear about your day too.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Not much to tell, really. After I had lunch with Nathan, I spent all afternoon at the bookstore, salivating over all the books I want to read. And for the first time in years, I have time to read everything. No excuses.” Hannah laughed ruefully. “So I came away with a bag full.”

  She stared at Meg’s mug as Meg poured each of them some more Earl Grey tea. Margaret, a pearl. She wondered if Meg had ever contemplated the meaning of her name. “A pearl,” Hannah remarked, gesturing toward the inscription. “That seems perfect for you.”

  “Thanks,” Meg said shyly. “It was Katherine who first talked to me about the meaning of my name, and then I remembered that Mrs. Anderson had given me a mug when I was a little girl. I can’t believe I found it in a box in the attic.” She poured some milk into her tea. “My mother wasn’t sentimental about keeping things from my childhood, so finding this was a special gift.”

  Hannah stared at the pot of purple mums on the table, trying to decide how best to keep Meg talking. “I think it’s wonderful how you’re processing and praying through all your grief, Meg—not just about your father, but about Jim. It takes real courage to do that.”

  Meg smiled. “It’s all the Spirit’s work. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, remembering that Jesus is walking with me.” She paused. “You know, I managed to do something today that I haven’t been able to do in a really long time.”

  Hannah shifted forward, placing her elbows on the table.

  “I actually drove by our old house this morning, where Jim and I lived for six years. It’s not far from here—just a couple of miles. But I hadn’t driven by it in years. It was just too painful for me.”

  Hannah nodded in encouragement.

  “Anyway,” Meg continued, “there’s a ‘for sale’ sign in front. For a moment I would have given anything to go inside and walk around. I’m half-tempted to find out when they’re doing an open house and just walk through it. I don’t know. Maybe it’s another way for me to say good-bye. Does that seem weird?”

  “Not at all,” Hannah replied. “We all have different ways of bringing closure.” And some of us prefer leaving the boxes duct-taped shut, she thought.

  “Jim and I loved that house.” Meg offered Hannah the plate of homemade brownies. “I think that’s why it’s been so painful to think about it—because I was so happy there. Maybe if I’d had more courage about raising Becca on my own, I would have stayed. I made my choice, though, and I’m still here.” She exhaled slowly. “But lately I’ve been thinking about selling this place. I don’t know. Maybe that would be the next step in letting go . . . of getting rid of my guilt about disappointing my mother. Maybe that’s the next step of freedom I need to take.”

  Was this really the same woman who could hardly make eye contact two months ago?

  Hannah picked up a stray chocolate chip from her plate and idly rotated it between her fingers before she put it in her mouth. “Where would you go?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d stay in Kingsbury. Kingsbury has always been home for me, and I don’t have any reason to go anywhere else.” Meg shrugged. “I guess I have some thinking to do when I get home in January, and I’m trying not to become overwhelmed by too much before I leave. I’m just trying to take it gently and not push myself too hard.”

  “That sounds wise.”

  The only sounds in the house were the low hum of the refrigerator and the chiming sigh of a grandfather clock. As the house pressed in with somber stillness, Hannah found herself hoping that Meg would sell it and escape.

  Meg cradled her mug and said, “I remember you told me once how kind the Spirit is to reveal what we need to know, when we need to know it. And I don’t want to resist what God’s doing. I want to stay attentive.”

  “‘Stay with what stirs you,’ right?” Hannah commented.

  “Right. Both the positive and the negative things. I’m seeing how God is working in all that movement, and I just want to keep going deeper. I can’t tell you how amazing it is not to feel afraid of digging deep. Knowing the Lord is with me makes all the difference. Like you’ve taught me, Hannah. It’s all about knowing where we’re going. I’m going deeper into the heart of God, and that keeps me safe. I’ll never forget that.”

  Meg’s words pierced and convicted Hannah. Meg had been so open, so honest, so vulnerable. But Hannah was still hiding behind her mask.

  Why? What was she so afraid of?

  Here she was, listening to someone testify to the freedom God had given—freedom to look hard at the ugly details of her past and to bring the pain into the light of God’s healing love. Hannah had been shepherding Meg along a path she had refused to walk for herself.

  In fact, she’d spent years shepherding people along paths she had refused to walk for herself.

  Why? What was she so afraid of?

  “You seem tired, Hannah,” Meg commented as they put away the last of the dinner dishes. “Don’t feel like you need to stay up on my account. I’ve got Becca’s room all ready for you.”

  “Thanks. I think I will head up, if that’s all right. Maybe I’ll get some journaling done before group tomorrow.”

  Hannah went into the foyer, picked up her duffel bag, and followed Meg up the stairs. When they reached the hallway, her eyes fell upon a closed door across from Meg’s room. Fixed to the door was a framed pencil sketch of Jesus tenderly embracing a little lamb with his nail-scarred hand. Hannah had the same sketch on a wall in her office.

  Meg saw her gazing at it and smiled. “I saw it in the bookstore a few days ago, and it spoke to me. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “One of my favorites,” Hannah replied.

  “I know it’s a little odd to have it nailed on the door, but—” Hannah heard Meg’s voice falter. “My parents’ room,” she explained softly. “It just seemed like the right place to hang it for now. As a reminder of being held.”

  Hannah nodded slowly, contemplating the tragedy and sorrow that had occurred behind that closed door. She imagined the sheer horror of walking in and discovering him, lying on the bed—

  She felt herself grow faint.

  “Are you okay?” Meg asked, her face filling with concern. “You look pale.”

  Hannah closed her ey
es and steadied herself by reaching out to touch the wall. “Dizzy,” she murmured.

  Meg took her bag and held it for her, waiting. “Here, Hannah, let me help you,” she said, gently extending her hand.

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m okay. Thanks.” She followed Meg down the hallway to Becca’s room and sat down on the bed, shutting her eyes again.

  But when she shut her eyes, she saw the scene unfolding in high-definition detail. No no no. She opened her eyes.

  Meg had seated herself in a chair by the window. “I’m sorry, Hannah,” she said, leaning forward with her hands clasped together. “When I invited you to stay here tonight, I wasn’t thinking about what I’ve uncovered about my dad. I didn’t know about his suicide the last time you were here, and I’m so sorry if it’s upsetting to you. I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

  No no no. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. She just couldn’t tell Meg what “it” was.

  No no no.

  Meg’s face was etched with lines of deep compassion. How could Hannah reassure Meg without betraying the truth?

  Hannah smiled weakly. “No, no—I’m happy to stay here. That’s not it at all. I’m grateful that you invited me. Thank you.”

  The house was pressing in again, and the silence dragged on uncomfortably. Meg finally said, “Did something happen with Nathan today?”

  No no no. Of course not. No. Nathan had nothing to do with it. Except—

  Maybe a discussion about Nathan was the perfect diversion.

  Hannah answered, “I’m just struggling with some regret, I guess.”

  Meg’s tender expression was the narrow edge of the wedge, opening Hannah’s spirit to more disclosure. She owed Meg something, didn’t she?

  “I’m afraid of falling in love with him.”

  She hadn’t expected to be quite that direct, but Meg didn’t look at all surprised.

  Hannah soldiered on, not even sure what she was going to say. “I didn’t come on this sabbatical to fall in love,” she explained. “This was all about figuring out who I am when I’m not serving, when I’m not playing a role. If I get distracted by Nathan, I’ll miss what the Spirit is trying to say to me. Besides. I missed my chance with him. I missed it years ago when I walked away.”

  Why? Why had she walked away?

  She had walked away because Nathan had seen her too clearly. He had glimpsed the No Trespassing signs surrounding her internal high security area. Not only had he glimpsed them, but he had asked her why they were there. And she couldn’t tell him. She just couldn’t tell him.

  No no no.

  Could she tell Meg?

  No.

  Yes, the Spirit said. Yes.

  Hannah sat, her mind whirling, envisioning the closed door down the hallway. She also had a closed door—a door she had firmly shut almost twenty-five years ago. Did she believe she would be safely held if she opened the door and entered the room again?

  Did she?

  Meg had come over to sit cross-legged beside her on Becca’s bed.

  “There’s so much I haven’t said, Meg.” Hannah’s voice sounded faraway as she felt Meg grasp her hand.

  “It’s okay,” Meg said softly. “It’s okay, Hannah. Don’t be afraid.”

  Meg’s strength had arrived stealthily, and now she was pulling Hannah to solid ground, not with a rope, but with a firm and steadying grip.

  Breathing deeply, Hannah fixed her eyes on a vase of fresh flowers that Meg had placed beside the bed in a kind and thoughtful gesture of hospitality.

  She heard herself whisper, “You know what Nate said to me years ago?”

  Meg waited patiently for the answer.

  “He told me I had secrets I wouldn’t even tell myself. And he was right. I don’t even know anymore what I’m afraid of. I just know I feel sick to my stomach every time I even think about disclosing the truth.” She paused, still staring at the flowers. “But I know God has been trying to tell me to let it go. I’ve made it far worse by hiding it. It’s taken on this life of its own inside of me, and I need to release it. There’s a part of me that’s trapped at fifteen years old.”

  How could she have spent years leading and guiding other people toward spiritual and emotional health while staying imprisoned by her own fear and sorrow? Katherine’s words came to mind: Trust God to bring to the surface all that is ready to be healed.

  Was she ready? Was she really ready to confront the past in order to let it go? If she was going to speak the words out loud, she needed to do it now before her courage failed.

  Hannah closed her eyes.

  “I was fifteen,” she murmured. “A freshman in high school. One day I got home from school late. My mom’s car was in the driveway, and I knew she was home. But she didn’t answer when I called for her. And my brother, Joey, was sitting there in front of the television by himself. I asked him where Mom was, and he kept staring at the cartoons. He said she was really tired, and he couldn’t wake her up.”

  Hannah was narrating someone else’s life, speaking without emotion.

  Meg tightened her grip.

  For the first time in years Hannah was watching the scene unfold again: a slow motion horror movie of her teenage self standing in the doorway of her parents’ bedroom.

  She was staring at her mother lying facedown on the bed with her left arm dangling over the edge, an empty prescription bottle on the nightstand. Now Hannah was moving slowly toward the bed, whimpering. Mom? Mommy? No movement. No response. Hannah was screaming, crying, shaking her, trying to rouse her.

  “I couldn’t wake her up either,” Hannah said. “I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t wake her up. She had taken too many pills. And I was frozen. Totally frozen. I couldn’t even think straight—I didn’t know what to do. I was just standing there, looking at her lying facedown on the bed. And Joey kept yelling that he needed a snack. He was hungry, and I was screaming for him to shut up. And he was crying hysterically.”

  Hannah was still watching the movie play out in her mind.

  Daddy was home. Thank God Daddy was home! He was racing through the doorway to the bed. Jane? Janie? Oh, God! Janie! He was searching for a pulse, looking for breath. He found it, and he was crying. Daddy was crying. Joey was screaming. Daddy was sweeping her mother’s limp body up into his arms and racing down the hallway to the car. He was shouting, Stay here, Hannah! Take care of your brother!

  “Dear God,” Hannah breathed. “If my dad hadn’t gotten home right then, what would I have done? Oh, God, what would I have done? I didn’t know what to do . . . I just didn’t know what to do! My mom probably would have died. I would have watched my mother die. I was paralyzed. Totally paralyzed. The hospital was right around the corner from our house, and I don’t think I would have gotten the ambulance there in time. I was completely, utterly numb.”

  “But your dad did get home,” Meg said, earnestly squeezing Hannah’s arms with both her hands. Hannah opened her eyes and gazed into Meg’s tearstained face. “Your dad got home in time, Hannah.”

  How could the “what if” of that moment still haunt her after all these years? Why was she tormented by what might have happened?

  Let it go, the Spirit directed. Let it go.

  Hannah nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  “My mom was in a psychiatric facility for weeks,” she whispered. “I didn’t talk to anyone about it. Not even my best friend. Dad wanted to protect my mom. He wanted to keep it a secret. I told everyone she was away in Arizona, taking care of my grandparents. I guess people thought my parents were separated. I don’t know . . . I remember telling Dad I was worried people would think that, and he said it was better for people to believe their marriage was struggling than to know the truth. So I put all my energy into pretending that everything was okay. And to this day, right up until now, I kept the secret. I never told anyone.”

  “Oh, Hannah,” Meg said soothingly. “What a terrible burden. I’m so sorry.”

  Hannah had
started the story now, and she needed to finish it. She was going to bring as much as she could into the light.

  “I wasn’t allowed to go see her in the hospital, and I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t understand anything about depression then. I just thought maybe I’d done something to upset her. I kept trying to figure out what I’d done to make her so sad. Then one night, while my mom was still in the hospital, my dad heard me crying in my room. I’d been trying not to show how upset I was. I knew he was tired and worried about Mom, and I didn’t want to add to his burden. But he heard me sobbing uncontrollably, and he came into my room and found me curled up on my bed, clutching my old teddy bear. He wanted to know what was going through my head. So I told him I thought it was my fault. I thought it was all my fault.”

  Hannah hesitated, closing her eyes again. “That’s when I found out that my mom had already had three miscarriages, and she’d just lost another baby. I never even knew she had been pregnant. And she couldn’t cope with the grief of it. It broke her. After that I lived in terror of doing or saying anything that would break her again. I was afraid of how fragile my mom was. Really afraid.”

  They shared the silence.

  “You never talked to your mom about what happened?” Meg finally asked softly.

  Hannah shook her head. “It was just easier to take it into myself. I couldn’t risk causing harm to her. I promised Dad I would never talk about the miscarriages either. To this day I don’t think my mom even realizes I know the truth about the pregnancies.” Hannah pressed her palms against her eyes.

  “You’ve been living with a lot of fear, too,” Meg said. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

  Hannah nodded slowly. “Katherine called it ‘internal bleeding.’ Hemorrhaging. She didn’t know the details. She just sensed I’d taken things into myself that I was never meant to absorb.” Hannah paused, massaging her temples. “This was the next step for me to empty it out, I guess. Dear God, help! I’ve been treating the surface stuff without going after the roots.” She took another long, deep breath. “Now I need to discern where to go from here.”