by Carrie Daws
Peter walked up behind her and turned her around. He used his index finger to gently pull her face up until she looked in his eyes. “James tells us to confess our sins to each other and pray for each other so that we can be healed. You may think that whatever it is you are hiding from is over, but it affects you. And that means it affects us.”
Amber closed her eyes. “I just want it to go away.”
“Then you have to deal with it, my Ray. I know it may not look like anything good can come from it, and I’m not saying that talking about it won’t be scary. But where it’s at now is giving the enemy of your soul great control. Talking about it in a safe place, admitting to people who love you where you really are—that gives God control to make something good and beautiful out of it.”
Peter released her chin and held her close. Amber lay against him, savoring his embrace. She took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go and do my best.”
She felt Peter’s arms tighten around her. “That’s my girl.”
Chapter 7
AMBER SAT IN THE PASSENGER seat of Patricia’s red Ford Escape Tuesday night, reading out the directions to the lady’s house. From the path they were following, Patricia figured she lived fairly close to Mars Hill Church.
They pulled up in front of a small, dark gray house. The shades were partially drawn so you couldn’t see much inside the house, but Patricia could see through the glass screen door that the front door was open. Lights shown brightly, yet she hesitated. At least the pots of flowers beginning to bloom around the front of the house made it seem more inviting.
Amber breathed deeply and looked at her. “Are you ready?”
Patricia barely nodded her agreement before opening her door. She felt more like she was going to a funeral than to a small group of Christian women.
A petite woman with long blond hair met them, holding open the glass door for them. “You must be Jake’s friends. Welcome! I’m so glad you came tonight.”
Patricia stepped into the home and noticed the tasteful décor. The hallway leading to the kitchen and the quaint living room were pleasantly full of furniture without being overloaded. Three other ladies were standing, watching the newcomers and waiting expectantly.
“Well, I’m Shannon,” said the blonde, “and this should be everyone. So why don’t we get introductions out of the way, and then we can get some food.”
Shannon walked closer to the group of ladies gathered in her living room. Patricia briefly studied each woman as Shannon introduced them, wondering about their reasons for coming. Tabitha’s short, stringy brown hair and the dark circles under her eyes made her look much older than she probably was. Lynn reminded her of a middle-aged soccer mom who shouldn’t have any major issues, but then Patricia reminded herself why she was here. And Debbie’s eyes sparkled with so much life that Patricia wondered about the 100 pounds or so of extra weight. Is she sick or on medication, or is the weight a symptom of something deeper?
Shannon prayed over the food and then led the way into the kitchen. The counter overflowed with food and snacks much like Patricia was used to seeing at Faye’s house. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Amber fingered the books she held in her lap that she’d received in the meeting, Redemption by Mike Wilkerson and Rid of My Disgrace by Justin and Lindsey Holcomb. Shannon told them that they would be using the books in the group as they walked through these next several weeks together.
Patricia was quiet in the seat beside her as they traveled back to Crossing. We’ve both been quiet, and we’re almost home.
“What did you think?” Amber asked cautiously.
“I think that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought I was three hours ago,” said Patricia.
“Shannon’s story is amazing. I would have never guessed how much she’s been through based on the woman who met us at the door. I thought maybe she was a trained psychologist or something.”
“Yes. She certainly appears to have it all together now.”
“And she said her husband, Nick, has his own story,” said Amber. She looked out her passenger window as Patricia pulled into Crossing. Amber hesitated to continue. “Do you . . . do you think that two people having both been through pain . . .” Amber paused, uncertain how to continue. “Do you think it makes marriage easier? Understanding where the other one has come from? Or maybe harder because the pain from their pasts keeps interfering?”
Patricia wasn’t quick to answer. “Child, I’ve been around Frank and Faye most of my life, and as far as I can tell, neither one was touched by the pain you and I bear before the day they wed. But it doesn’t mean difficulties never came.”
Amber thought back to the child they’d lost and the struggle she knew it had been for Faye to come out of that. Is that the struggle I’m now facing? Am I really struggling, trying to figure out if it’s worth it?
“No,” said Patricia after a brief pause, “I don’t think it has as much to do with pain as it has to do with the simple determination to finish what you started.”
Amber considered that. Faye had certainly made a tremendous difference in her life, and in countless other lives all over Crossing. Learning from her pain of losing a child seemed to make her stronger. No, I think I’m asking myself the wrong questions. If I look at the example Faye provides, then I know struggling through the pain is worth it. Maybe the better question is if I really want to do this. But I believe God set this up, so He wants me to do this. If I don’t, I’d be disobeying. He’s provided the support and He’s giving me the tools . . .
Patricia pulled in front of Amber’s house. The front porch light was on even though the sun wasn’t completely set. Her husband and son were waiting for her. Tears began to form, and she looked at Patricia.
“My mind is just going in circles. I think I need to do this, but I’m not sure I can.”
Patricia nodded and reached out to grab Amber’s hand. “Fight fear with truth. You are not alone in your fear; you are not alone in your pain. And neither fear nor pain is from God. He wants to free us both from what we carry.”
Amber released her seat belt and stretched across the seats to give Patricia a hug. “Pray for me this week, and I will pray for you.”
Patricia entered her home and locked the door behind her. The evening had been more draining than she anticipated as she stretched beyond her comfort zone to attend the Redemption Group. “Hmm,” she said, looking toward the ceiling. “I see Your hand all over this thing, God, but I’m with Amber. I’d rather sit at home next Tuesday.”
Tired as she was, the brief information Shannon had shared about the books in her hand made her curious. She crossed to her favorite spot on the couch and wearily sat, putting her feet on a small stool.
She looked at the cover of Redemption. The focus was on a man’s back, covered in scars. Darkness encroached from the left as he lay in what appeared to be desert sand. “Not much there,” she muttered, but then she realized the landscape wasn’t as barren as she first thought. In one corner she saw hills and cliffs. “Is that water in the distance?”
Afraid she might miss something important, she ignored the urge to start with chapter 1 and instead opened to the foreword penned by Pastor Mark Driscoll. The first words caught her attention. “I suffer, therefore I am.” The story of the book drew her in, her imagination caught by the depth of care and concern she felt behind the words.
She made it about halfway through the introduction before she had to stop reading. Her mind churned at the magnitude of people represented in the statistics shared by Pastor Mark. “If this book is to be believed, then obviously I am not alone in my experience, but . . .”
Patricia stood and walked away from the couch, leaving the book sitting on the cushion. “I know You know everything, God, and that You are everywhere. But I’ve never before considered . . .” She paused, turning to look back at the book, thinking about what she’d just read. “Could You have been . . . were You there?”
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Her mind raced back to the darkness in her past, the moments she’d so desperately tried to forget.
“If I really believe You are everywhere,” she reasoned, “then I can’t just believe that you know about it. I have to believe You were there.”
Her mind continued to circle around, struggling to make sense of her thoughts. “But if You were there . . . No, You didn’t condone it. But You must have allowed it. And if You allowed it, then either You didn’t care or You couldn’t stop it.”
She walked back to the table beside the couch, gently touching her worn Bible. “No, I don’t believe that. Your Bible tells me You care more than I can fathom, and You are Creator of everything. No, power is not the issue. I must not be seeing something. There must be a third option.”
She waited, almost expecting an audible reply. After a moment she turned abruptly to go down the hall to her bedroom. “Ah!” she cried, waving her hand, dismissing the book. She took just a step or two before turning back. “Can You not answer me now?” she shouted at the ceiling. “Perhaps this is why I believe You are . . .”
Patricia caught herself. She looked back at the book sitting on the cushion. “It’s true,” she softly exclaimed. “The book is right. Part of me does believe You are indifferent. You could have stopped that man, but You did not. You allowed him to . . .”
She walked to the nearest chair and numbly sat down. “It’s no wonder You sometimes get quiet on me.”
Patricia thought about times in her life when she’d felt God hadn’t cared. Each time was during a difficult period, and each time she could see where she had assigned indifference to God’s response to her. She shook her head. “Well, it’s long past time to change that.”
She stood, feeling the resolution to her core. “God, I believe you care and always have. I don’t quite know how to change my thinking on the past, but I’m guessing You and I can figure that out a bit at a time.”
She walked over and picked up Redemption, laying it gently on top of her Bible where she would see it early in the morning. “Tomorrow we’re going to Genesis to read about Joseph. This book says he persevered because he saw Your plan, so I’m going to look at his story with Your help to see what I think. Seems I’ve got some learnin’ to do.”
Patricia turned and started to her room. “May I be a good student,” she said, flipping off the light.
Chapter 8
AMBER COULD NO LONGER CONTROL the tears. She’d made herself comfortable on her couch Friday afternoon while Peter and Daniel headed to Crossing to pick up more saw blades for the wood shop. Skimming through Redemption had certainly given her some things to think about, but the second book Shannon had given her was the one that seemed to call to her. Now the book sat in her lap as she covered her face and sobbed.
Sassy sat up from her place on the floor and whimpered. Amber barely felt the dog lay her snout across her knee as she continued to release years of pain. Years of heartache. Years of loneliness.
She felt strong arms surround her and draw her close. Subconsciously, she knew it was Peter, but the tears would not stop. She leaned into him, grabbing his shirt like a lifeline. He gently rubbed her hair and held her.
Slowly, her pain subsided and the tears ceased. Peter offered her the box of tissues from the end table. She took it, lying exhausted against him.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Slowly, her weeks with Martin came out. She shared with Peter how attentive Martin had been in the beginning, how concerned he had seemed for her welfare. Until the day she’d burned dinner. Of course, he’d been remorseful afterwards. Mostly. The mess was still hers to clean up, but otherwise he’d been kind again. Until the next time.
Amber sat more upright on the couch, pulling her legs up in front of her. “When I first came to Crossing, I had all these negative thoughts and feelings about God. I felt like He’d let my sister die in the car accident when I was little and let my family fall apart. But meeting you and finding out that you too had lost a sister made me look at things with fresh eyes. I was able to reassign the blame of everything to the proper people.”
Peter placed his arm along the back of the couch, rubbing a circular pattern on her shoulders. “Assigning blame to the right people is always a good step in the healing process,” he said.
“I always believed Martin when he told me that it was my fault. And I placed more blame on myself for staying and taking it. Even after working things out over my sister’s death, I still held that part of my life separate.”
Amber took a deep breath, trusting the process she knew God had started in her. “I thought that God had abandoned me during that time because I was so dumb. I thought Jesus couldn’t possibly understand all I went through.” She turned and looked at Peter. “And I thought you wouldn’t love me if you knew the mess I had been then.”
“Oh, my Ray.” Peter leaned forward and looked into her eyes. He grabbed both her hands and held tight. “I hope you know that my love is not based on anything you do or have done.”
Amber’s eyes burned. She’d shed so many tears that she didn’t think more were possible, but the tenderness she saw in Peter’s eyes overwhelmed her with gratitude.
“I do,” she told him. She snuggled up against him. “And I know God cares, and I know Jesus understands. The book was just reminding me where it says in Hebrews that we have a great High Priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses. I remembered all Jesus went through on His journey to the cross. He was beaten and deserted. He knew exactly how I was feeling during those days with Martin.”
Amber pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “And before that He spent three years training and loving Judas. He knows exactly what it feels like to be betrayed by someone who claims to love you.”
Peter kissed the top of her head. “Sounds like you are learning a lot.”
“Yeah. I’m kinda looking forward to next Tuesday now. I know I’ve still got some hard work to do, but I feel so free, Peter. I’m not burdened with the secret of those days anymore.”
“How about we celebrate? Dinner at Mom’s?” He grinned at her.
Amber laughed and sat up to face him. “Is that where you left Daniel?”
Peter feigned innocence. “When I picked up the blades from the hardware store, Micah asked me to return some dishes to Mom that she had sent home with him last week full of leftovers.”
“Mm, hmm,” said Amber.
“When I stopped there, she was making her strawberry and angel food cake thing in that big punch bowl of hers, and of course it’s way too much for her and Dad . . .”
“Of course,” said Amber, smiling at the obvious ploy by her husband to get some of his favorite dessert.
“And, well, she offered to watch Daniel while I came home to see if you wanted to join them for dinner . . .”
Amber laughed. “Let me go wash my face and get shoes on, strawberry boy.”
Patricia decided to take a walk Saturday afternoon. Perhaps the fresh air will clear my head, she thought. The morning had been pleasant enough, and she’d even picked up Redemption again. But the question she’d read right before slamming it shut still consumed her thoughts.
She tried to focus on the flowers hanging in baskets from her neighbors’ front porches, the yards that could use a fresh trim, or the people working outside that she could wave to as she passed by, but the question continued to follow her. To be without hope entirely, or to see hope and have it go away? Which is worse?
She’d most certainly seen hope and watched it walk away.
Are you sure?
She stopped on the sidewalk at the sound of the quiet voice.
Did it walk away? Or did you walk away from it? the voice continued.
Her temper flared as she defended herself against the ludicrous suggestion. Of course I walked away, she thought, but not like you make it sound. I . . .
Her eyes saw the gray head of Dr. John Williams working in the garden beside his brother’s house. John had r
etired from his big city job at Doernbecher Children’s Hospital in Portland, and now he worked as the town doctor in the local clinic. She still didn’t know the full story behind his sudden departure from what she imagined was a fancy life in the city to his brother’s humble abode in a small town.
“I was protecting him,” she whispered.
Tears filled her eyes, and she turned abruptly on her heel, determined not to walk close enough that he might greet her. The quiet voice was silent on her short walk back home, but the argument continued in her head.
I was protecting him. I was, she insisted as she stormed up her front porch steps. He was busy with clinics and patients and networking with the other doctors. He didn’t have time to worry about me or . . .
About you or . . ., the quiet voice prompted.
A tear made its way down Patricia’s cheek. She looked toward her garden, taking in the Mediterranean pink heath that covered the corner and headed around the house. That evergreen plant was precious to her, but few knew why she cared more for it than any other plant there. Only her sister understood.
Instead of going inside, Patricia sat in one of her rockers. She leaned her head against the back of the chair and sighed deeply. If I’d known then where I’d be today, would I have done anything differently?
“Is that the right question?”
The voice startled her, not much louder but certainly more forceful than the quiet one that had been speaking to her on her walk. She sat up in her chair and found herself looking into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. His blonde hair blew gently in the breeze as he leaned comfortably against the porch railing, his blue jean clad legs crossed at the ankles.
She’d heard the stories of angelic visits in this town but never expected to receive one herself. “Matthew?” she said cautiously.
He simply nodded his head. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
Patricia struggled to remember what she’d been thinking about as she watched a western bluebird fly in and land on the railing near Matthew’s hand. The bird’s small blue head cocked slightly to one side as she hopped closer to him. He gently held out his hand, and the bird fluttered into it as a second bluebird landed on the railing.