A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  If she could stop and remember that the flowers were for her . . . If she could receive the Lover’s gift to the beloved . . . If she could continue to treasure that image as a particular gift of grace in her life . . . If she could—

  Oh, Lord.

  Dear God—how?

  Why hadn’t she seen it before?

  As Hannah stared at the middle of the labyrinth, the memory of Mara’s comment from the first meeting floated back to her.

  “It looks kinda like a flower in the center, doesn’t it?”

  The center of the labyrinth was shaped like a six-petaled rosette.

  Hannah stood, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as a wave of warm electricity coursed through her entire body. The flowers are for you, Hannah. The flowers are for you.

  When she reached the center of the labyrinth, she had no words.

  She simply fell to her knees and offered her tears to Jesus.

  Nate. She wanted to see Nate.

  She wanted to tell him how the Lord had spoken in love again, confirming that she was heading in the right direction.

  The flower: the Lover’s gift to the beloved.

  Jesus was treasuring her and inviting her to savor it. She wanted Nate to know about the joy she felt as she walked the outward path—skipped, actually—saying over and over again, “All for me! All for me! The flowers are all for me!” In that holy moment Hannah knew she had the undivided attention of the God who had flung galaxies into space.

  It was good.

  It was very good.

  And she wanted to share it with Nate.

  She glanced at her watch: one o’clock. He had told her that Jake was going to be out of town for the weekend, and he was planning on working in his office. “Drop by if you’ve got time after your group,” he’d said casually. Just drop by unannounced like friends do—like intimate friends who can show up without calling first—like the two of them used to do years ago.

  She pulled her map from the glove compartment and followed the route to the college.

  Nate removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair, staring at the slowly diminishing stack of ungraded papers on his desk. He glanced at his watch: one thirty. Where had the hours gone?

  Just as he was standing up to stretch, there was a knock on his door. “C’mon in!” he called, expecting to see a student. The door opened.

  Hannah.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked, looking tentative.

  “No . . . no.” He walked toward the door to greet her. “Come in! I’m glad to see you!” Stunned, actually. He certainly hadn’t expected her to drop by. He reached for her coat. “Here, let me take that for you,” he offered.

  “You’re sure I’m not interrupting anything?” She removed her scarf and gloves.

  “Positive. I was just going to have some lunch. Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good! I happened to pack two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches this morning, and I’d be happy to share one with you. Or we can go over to the student center if you’d prefer something more sophisticated.”

  She smiled. “I love peanut butter. Thank you.”

  Nate closed the door behind her and went over to the dorm-sized fridge in the corner of his office. “Have a seat,” he said, handing her a sandwich, an apple, and a water bottle. “I was just thinking of you this morning, wondering how your last sacred journey group was going.” He took the other armchair by the window, praying silently as he looked at her.

  Something had shifted. He’d seen it as soon as he took her coat. Her eyes were actually bright. Thank you, Jesus. Nate didn’t know what had actually happened, but something had changed.

  “So . . . how are you?” he asked cautiously.

  Hannah was gushing and breathless as she told him what she had seen on the labyrinth. The flowers were for her. The flowers really were for her. “And I feel like something has broken loose in me, Nate. Or opened up. And I couldn’t wait to tell you about it because you’ve been part of the journey . . . and . . . I just wanted to say thank you. Thanks for your prayers.”

  Nate made sure he had control of his voice before he replied. “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you’re walking that road, Hannah. You’ve spent a lifetime giving flowers away to other people. It’s time you started receiving some yourself.”

  “It’s hard for me,” she said.

  “I know.”

  He just wasn’t sure why it was so hard for her. Fear. It all came back to fear. But why? What was she so afraid of?

  Nate sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the small coffee table, determined to communicate how comfortable he was—how completely non-threatening and safe he was. She could trust him. She didn’t need to be afraid.

  “Maybe that’s the next part of your sabbatical, huh?” He took a bite of his sandwich. “You spent the first part unpacking some of your grief points and sitting with some of the sorrow. Maybe the next part is about entering into rest and joy and really basking in God’s particular love for you—whatever that looks like in your life.”

  Nate paused, weighing his next words carefully. “Let me suggest something radical to you, okay?” he said slowly. He saw her stiffen momentarily, almost imperceptibly. She probably wasn’t even aware of it. “When’s the last time you did something to pamper yourself?”

  Hannah looked at him as if he’d spoken in tongues. “Like what?” Clearly, pamper was not a word in her vocabulary.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I doubt you’re the kind of woman who covets manicures or facials.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Good. At least she was smiling. He kept going.

  “But what about something entirely frivolous and luxurious?” he asked. “The image I’m seeing is Mary of Bethany pouring out that costly ointment to anoint Jesus’ feet in this beautiful, extravagant act of love.” Nate waited long enough to let her see it before he turned the picture upside down. “What if Jesus wants to pour out something totally extravagant into your life?”

  Hannah laughed. She actually laughed, and her laughter was water rippling lightly over smooth stones. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that since—well, since before she’d walked away.

  Hannah said, “I guess if Jesus offered to do that, I’d argue with him and tell him to use it to help somebody else.”

  “Exactly,” Nate said. “That’s exactly my point. You don’t have a clue how to be anything other than a giver in relationships. It’s time to start receiving. You need to find ways to practice receiving.”

  This was all feeling familiar. Very familiar. And Nate was about to ask Hannah the same kind of question that had once driven her away.

  He was praying as he spoke. “Hannah, what do you think will happen if you focus on yourself for a while? Why are you so afraid?”

  She didn’t answer.

  She also didn’t walk away.

  If she hadn’t just disclosed to Meg about her family, Hannah might not have known the answer to Nate’s question. Why was she so afraid? Suddenly, she saw. As soon as he asked the question, two memories converged in her mind. She’d never seen the connection before.

  She was fourteen, and she was on the phone with Brad. He was asking her out to the movies, and she was excited—so excited. Her first date! Then she heard the screaming. Joey had fallen out of the tree, and it was her fault. All her fault. If she hadn’t gotten distracted by Brad, her brother wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and her mother wouldn’t have gotten upset. Her mother had cried for days afterwards over what might have happened to Joey. If Hannah hadn’t gotten so distracted, she could have spared her mother that trauma. At least she could have spared her that one.

  And then there was that awful day when she’d found her mom.

  Hannah had decided to go to her friend Amy’s house after school when she should have gone straight home. She had promised Daddy she would take care of Mom. She’d promised him. But she broke her word. If she’d gone s
traight home—if she hadn’t been so self-absorbed—she could have been there for her mother. She could have prevented her mom from taking the pills. If she’d been more focused on her mother’s needs instead of having fun with her friend, she would have gone straight home. And everything would have been different. Everything, everything, everything.

  Now Hannah was getting a second chance. Nate was giving her a second chance to answer the same kind of question that had driven her away years ago—the question that had revealed he’d seen too much. Nate actually trusted her enough to ask her again.

  And Hannah trusted him enough to tell the truth, now that she saw the truth.

  She whispered, “People I love get hurt if I’m not paying attention.”

  Nate’s heart broke as he listened to Hannah describe the details of her mother’s nervous breakdown. The traumatized little girl within her still felt responsible. She’d never been able to let it go. She’d never forgiven herself for getting distracted. She’d never forgiven herself for being irresponsible and selfish. She merely became all the more determined never to get distracted again—never to put herself first again.

  Because someone might get hurt.

  Hannah had poured all her undivided, undistracted attention into serving God’s people, terrified that if she turned her back for a second, one of them might get hurt. That was her burden.

  Now Nate understood. He understood why she had walked away so many years ago. He saw. And if he’d been alone, he would have wept for her. He wasn’t even sure she could hear the tragedy in her own story. But he heard it and grieved for her.

  “You’ve been carrying a terrible load, Hannah,” he finally breathed. “I’m so sorry. If you had told me years ago . . .”

  Hannah pulled another tissue from the box he’d given her. “I almost told you once,” she said. “But then I remembered the promise I’d made to my dad, and I couldn’t break it. Not even with you. Then as the years went on, I guess I just stopped thinking about it. I stuffed it all deep inside, never even considering what kind of stronghold had been created, or how I was being impacted. I didn’t see. I just didn’t see.”

  “Thank God Steve did,” Nate said softly. “Thank God.” Nate leaned forward in his chair but did not reach for her hand. Any gesture of intimacy might scare her away. “Can I pray for you?” he asked.

  He was glad when she answered, “Yes.”

  “So . . . Where do I go from here?” Hannah asked, opening her eyes. Even as she spoke the words, she knew how many layers there were to the question. “I mean . . . I know I’ve got a lot of stuff to work through with my parents, and maybe I’ll be taking a trip to see them at some point. But I don’t feel like I’m ready for that yet. Not yet.”

  Nathan was silent a long time, and Hannah desperately wished she knew what he was thinking. But he was giving nothing away. Nothing.

  “Maybe now your sabbatical can become what it’s meant to be,” he finally said. “A rest. Now that you’ve been able to discern some of the burdens and lay them down, you can begin to rest. And play. When’s the last time you played, Shep?”

  “Played what?”

  “C’mon. Are you serious? Wait! Yes, you are,” Nate teased. “Being serious is one of your strongest qualities.” Hannah tossed her empty sandwich wrapper at him. “What did you like to do for fun when you were little?” he asked, crumpling the wrapper and shooting it into the wastebasket.

  “Reading, writing . . . ”

  “Solitary things.”

  “Yes. Mostly.”

  “You spent a lot of your childhood being very grown-up.”

  She’d never thought about it quite that way before, but he was right. Hannah had spent her childhood being responsible. She’d spent a lifetime being careful, disciplined, and vigilant. That was her comfort zone, as burdensome as it had been.

  “So,” Nate continued, “what if part of this sabbatical is all about learning to play? What if God wants to teach you how to stop taking such good care of everybody else and start looking at what brings you life and joy? Like Katherine says, learning how to ‘relax into God.’”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “I know,” he said. His voice was gentle. So gentle. “You’ve spent a lifetime being the burden-bearer. What will you do if you’re not carrying the heavy loads anymore?”

  “Stand up straighter?” she quipped.

  He laughed. “See? There’s still life in there.” Nate finished off his water bottle and went to the fridge for another. “Too bad I’ve put the boat away. I’d take you out for a day of sailing and show you a good time. In the spring, okay?”

  He had his back turned toward her, and Hannah couldn’t see his face. She was glad he couldn’t see hers. He was so easygoing. So comfortable. Did he have any idea what that invitation meant to her? How could she continue to guard her heart?

  “In the meantime, Shep . . . ” He sat back down again as she bent forward to fiddle with a shoelace that had not come untied. “It’s back to the question of how you’re going to open yourself up to receiving God’s extravagant love for you. Sounds like your sacred journey is about learning how to celebrate the flowers and play with joy. And that’s a great journey. Not easy, but good. Who knows? Maybe God reconnected us again so I can help you learn how to play.” He wasn’t looking at her as he twiddled the water bottle lid between his fingers. “After all, I’ve been practicing how to play for a few years now, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I’d be happy to teach you.”

  Hannah wanted to say yes. She had so much to learn from him. But if she said yes to this, she was committing her heart to much more. Meg’s voice was echoing in her head, and she couldn’t tune it out. “Maybe a relationship with Nathan is one of God’s flowers,” Meg had said.

  But he just wants to be my friend, Hannah silently argued. That’s all he wants. Help, Lord. Please.

  Nathan had stopped twiddling and was now looking at her with an odd expression of tenderness and bewilderment. Or was it woundedness? Hannah couldn’t tell. But there was something very vulnerable in his eyes. “You still look like you’re afraid of me,” he finally said quietly. “What are you so afraid of?”

  What was she afraid of?

  She had already revealed so much truth to him. She had already removed many of the defenses and retaining walls that had held her life together for so many years. Retaining walls. Retaining walls. Retainers.

  The dream.

  In the dream Hannah was trying to speak really important things. She just couldn’t get the words out because she was wearing a retainer. But the retainer didn’t need to be there. She’d outgrown it years ago, and she needed to remove it in order to speak.

  That was it.

  That was the interpretation, wasn’t it?

  Her coping strategies had served their purpose for a season, helping her hold her life together. But she had outgrown them years ago, and now they were only hindrances and obstacles to her freedom.

  As Hannah sat on the verge of tears, she knew the last bit of truth she needed to speak aloud. She met Nathan’s eyes and prayed for the courage to say it.

  “I’m afraid of falling in love with you, Nate. Again.”

  There.

  A single word could make all the difference. One little word revealed everything. One little word brought the whole truth into the open. No more hiding. No more mask. She placed the final burden of fear and regret at his feet and waited.

  Neither one of them moved. She wasn’t even sure she was still breathing.

  And then, “Don’t be afraid, Hannah.”

  Nathan was leaning toward her, touching her face with the feather-light tips of his fingers, sending volts of electricity through her entire body. “Don’t be afraid.” He moved a single finger to touch her mouth, and she found her breath again in his breath as he hovered near her lips.

  Hannah lost herself in one sacred moment of all-consuming peace, found in the gentleness of one holy kiss.

&nb
sp; And it was good.

  It was very good.

  Epilogue

  “You’re sure you’ve got everything, Meg?” Mara asked as they sat together in the Kingsbury Airport lobby on the first of December.

  “I think so.” Meg looked at her boarding pass before tucking it into her carry-on bag. “I got a funny email from Becca last night, reminding me to pack good walking shoes. ‘I know you like your high heels, Mom,’ she said, ‘but leave them at home. You won’t need them here.’”

  Hannah laughed. “I love it!”

  “She’s not gonna recognize you in your cute sensible shoes,” Mara teased.

  “I know. I just can’t believe I’m going. I keep having dreams I can fly. It’s scary and exciting at the same time.” Meg took a slow sip of coffee. “So, Mara, tell them what happened at Crossroads last week.”

  Mara breathed deeply and leaned back in her chair, shaking her head slowly.

  “I had an amazing God-encounter while I was there,” Mara began. “You know how I was saying that I hoped God would be able to use some of the stuff I’ve been through to help somebody else?”

  Charissa and Hannah nodded.

  “Well, there was this young girl there, maybe eighteen or nineteen. And she had a little baby boy, just a couple of months old. She’d left home because her parents were so upset about the baby, and the dad was a deadbeat.” Mara’s voice broke. “We had the best conversation. And I was able to tell her about Jesus.”

  As her face filled with emotion, Mara touched her tattooed wrist to her eye and held it there. “I was able to tell her how much Jesus loved her. I told her that there was hope, even if it didn’t feel like it.” Mara paused and gazed at her wrist. “Anyway . . . It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life, just being able to share my story of what the Lord has done for me. We ended up praying together for a long time, and the next day she boarded a bus and went back home again.”