by Karen Ball
Tammy threw a sock at the comedienne, then went on. “So what does it matter if you sweep the floor or not?”
Faith rolled her eyes and slapped a palm to her forehead. “Duh, Tammy. To keep it clean.”
The other girls laughed, as did Tammy. “Okay, so why does that matter?”
“ ’Cuz you can’t walk on a floor that’s covered with crud.” This from Billie, a chubby girl, who had a great sense of humor.
“Yeah, you’ll trip and fall over,” another girl added.
Billie held up a rotting banana peel she’d found under one of the bunks. “Or get stuck and not be able to move.”
“Ewwww!” the other girls chorused.
“All right.” Tammy held out a garbage sack for Billie to toss in the peel. “So take it deeper. Why is sweeping a room out like confessing our sins?”
“ ’Cuz God can’t live in a heart that’s covered in crud.”
Tammy and the girls turned to Faith, eyes wide. It was the first time Faith had spoken up during their question-and-answer times.
“Go with that, Faith.”
It felt funny to have all the girls’ eyes on her, but Faith figured she’d opened her mouth, she might as well have her say. “Well, God’s holy, right? He’s clean and pure. And He won’t stay in a place that’s full of garbage, of sin. Either the sin has to go, or He does.”
“Then let the sin go, baby.”
Faith looked at Billie. For all that she liked Billie, she got the sense the other girl said things she thought Tammy wanted to hear. And if there was one thing that irritated Faith, it was a brownnoser. Let’s see how you hold up when you get pushed. “Yeah? Why?”
If she expected Billie to falter, she was disappointed. The girl shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts and met Faith’s challenge without flinching. “ ’Cuz I’ve been without God, and it stinks. Sin’s fun while it lasts, but it never lasts long enough. And when it’s done, you’re all alone. Just you—” Billie held Faith’s gaze—“and the bad you’ve done.”
Faith felt her cheeks go warm. For a minute she wondered if it was a setup, if Billie had been coached, told exactly the right thing to say so Faith would feel guilty. But the thought left as quickly as it came.
No way. Billie was saying hard things, and they were from her gut. Faith could tell.
“You did bad, Billie?”
The quiet question from one of the other girls brought a grin to Billie’s face. “Oh, I did bad, all right. Baddest of the bad. But that’s not what’s cool. What’s cool is that it didn’t matter.”
Faith narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“To God.”
Faith stared. Billie’s smile was so happy it made her almost pretty.
“Once I asked Him for help, once I told Him everything I’d done and asked Him to forgive me, it was like none of it happened.”
Faith snorted. “You telling me people weren’t mad at you anymore?”
“Oh, they were still mad, but I wasn’t. I didn’t expect them to stop being mad, not right away. I mean, I worked hard to get them mad, you know?”
Faith knew. Too well.
“But I kinda figured I deserved their mad stuff, so instead of resenting it, I asked God to help me deal with it. And He did. And after a while, the mad stuff was over, and good stuff was starting. And it’s still going, ’cuz I’ve got God.”
Faith sat on her bunk. “So get God and everything’s perfect?”
Billie shook her head. “Girl, what world are you livin’ in? Nothin’ here is perfect.” She turned to tug her sleeping bag into place, smoothing out the wrinkles. “But it’s a whole lot better with God than without Him.”
Billie’s words had stuck with Faith for days. Weeks, in fact. She’d discussed them with Tammy, often late into the night, while they lay in their beds, serenaded by the sound of frogs and crickets outside and the soft snores of the girls inside.
She talked about it with Sarah, too, when they took a walk together. Both told her Billie was right. They’d learned that lesson themselves the hard way. Life was definitely better with God on your side.
Faith supposed it was true. But she couldn’t buy it. Not entirely. Still, the idea kind of pulled at her.
Then, the second to the last week of camp, something happened.
Everyone was gathered around a large bonfire, singing, toasting marshmallows, and talking about God. Everyone talked about God in this place. But it wasn’t like they were talking about some invisible guy in the sky. They talked about Him like He was real, like He was right there with them. And as Faith sat there next to Sarah, listening to her new friends talk and sing, a kind of ache started inside her. It was like the ache she’d felt when she used to watch Dustin, but this went deeper.
Before she knew it, Faith was crying. Big ol’ fat tears ran down her face. Nothing she did could stop them. She tried not to let anyone see. Kind of bent her head down, hiding behind her hair. But she didn’t have any Kleenexes, and after about the fourth sniff, Sarah’s arm came around her shoulders.
The sobs got serious then. Sarah asked her why she was crying, and Faith told her she didn’t know. “It hurts—” she pressed her hand over her heart—“here.”
“Faith, God’s been calling you for a long time.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“He loves you.”
A hiccupping sob escaped her. “I … I know. But I’ve been so rotten …”
“It doesn’t matter, honey. God loves you, warts and all. He wants you to open your heart to Him, let Him come inside and love you. But it’s got to be your choice. You can’t get to God because your parents know and love Him. It’s you and Him, right here, right now. He’s ready to listen if you’re ready to talk.” She squeezed Faith’s shoulders. “Do you want to do that?”
Faith wiped her nose on her sleeve. Did she? Did she want that? The answer rang sure and true deep within.
Yes.
She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
When Faith nodded, Sarah’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Okay, then, go ahead and talk with Him.”
Faith bowed her head, but nothing came. What could she say? Sure, she’d heard people talk about confessing their sins and all that. And she heard her mom and dad pray all the time.
But she’d never talked to God herself before. Not like this. And sure not out loud.
“Faith?”
She blinked her eyes open, surprised to find tears on her eyelids. “I don’t know what to say …”
“I can help you. Or you can talk to Him yourself.”
Faith grabbed Sarah’s hand, clutching at it like she was lost in the ocean and it was a lifeline. “Help.” The word came out in a ragged whisper.
With slow, tender words, Sarah led Faith in a prayer, a prayer of confession, of surrender, of acceptance. And as Faith repeated Sarah’s soft words, as she told God how sorry she was for hurting Him and others, how much she needed Him, how much she needed Jesus, how much she loved them and wanted them in her life, it was as though something inside of her—something hard and brittle—cracked, then shattered.
Faith lifted her face to the night sky as shivers traveled through her. She had the oddest sensation … like she was being set free. Like she was a jar that had been crammed full of garbage, and suddenly everything was flowing out of her. And then something else—something wonderful and warm and light, something that made her feel as if she could fly—flowed in, filling her until it overflowed, escaping her in peals of laughter.
So this was what it was like to meet God.
So Jesus really was there.
Oh, she was glad! Gladder than she’d ever been in her life.
She opened her eyes and turned to Sarah, who was crying, too. She threw her arms around her. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
They laughed and hugged, and then Tammy and the girls from Faith’s cabin came to find out what was going on. When they
heard about Faith, they squealed and danced around, and there were more hugs and more laughter.
Later that night, as Faith lay in her sleeping bag, she heard someone whisper her name. It was Billie.
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
Faith didn’t have to ask what she meant. She knew. “Yeah, you were right. Life with God is a lot better than without him.”
“See?” Billie yawned. “I don’t care what the others say about you, you’re a smart girl.”
Faith laughed, snuggling down in her sleeping bag. Her mom had told her over and over how much she needed God, how wonderful His love was. And as she drifted off to sleep, she wasn’t sure which amazed her more—how good she felt, or the fact that her mother had actually been right.
fifteen
“[God] comes to us in brokenness …”
ROBERT FARRAR CAPON
NIGHTTIME.
Faith was learning to love the nights. The darkness made it easy to sit alone and think, and looking up at the stars reminded her of the One who’d put them there. Tonight the sky seemed so full of stars that Faith almost expected them to start spilling out onto the ground.
Hey, God was into miracles. He could make that happen if He wanted to.
“Faith, what are you doing out here?”
She turned. Winnie was walking toward her. Faith shrugged. “I don’t know. I got kind of tired of youth group.”
“Yeah.” Winnie hopped up to sit beside Faith where she perched on the brick wall bordering the walk. “It went kind of long tonight.”
Faith leaned her head back, looking up at the sky again. “No, it’s not that. I just … do you ever get tired of hearing the same ol’ Bible stories over and over?”
Win considered this. “Well, not really. I mean, I see new things in them each time I hear them.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Well, take tonight’s discussion.”
Faith shook her head. “I’d like to. Take it and toss it out, that is.” At Winnie’s silence, Faith turned to her friend. “What?”
“I wondered how you’d feel about the talk tonight. I mean … with you seeing Dustin and everything.”
Suddenly anxious to escape this whole topic, Faith pointed to the sky. “Look, there’s Orion. And the Big Dipper—”
“Faith—”
“And I think that could be Mars, though I’m not sure.”
“Faith!”
“Okay, fine! What? What do you want me to say?”
“Just what you think.”
Faith arched a brow. So Winnie wanted to know what she thought? Okay, she asked for it. “I think it’s pretty sad when people talk about loving others, but then make judgments like you can’t date someone because he doesn’t believe the way you do. I mean, what’s loving about that?”
Winnie swung her legs back and forth. “It’s not that you can’t love someone who isn’t a believer, Faith. You just aren’t supposed to let yourself fall in love with them. That’s about obedience.”
“To who? The almighty church?”
“No. To God.”
“Well, then—” Faith jumped off the wall—“I think God’s being kind of stupid.”
“Faith!”
She planted her hands on her hips, facing Winnie. “No, I mean it. What does it matter what Dust—I mean, what the guy you love believes? It’s not like he takes God’s place. You’re just marrying him. You’re not worshipping him.”
Faith waited for the reprimand, but it didn’t come. Instead, Winnie sat there, an odd look on her face.
Faith cocked her head. “What?”
“Do you really love Dustin?”
First her dad, now Winnie. Why were people so interested in who she loved? Faith stuck her hands in her jeans pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked up at the stars again. If only she could travel there, millions of light-years away. To a place where it was just her and God and the night.
Where life was simple.
Faith sighed. “All I know is that it seems mean, that’s all.” She pointed in front of her. “No, you can’t like him. Yes, he’s okay. He’s wearing a cross and carrying a Bible. Oh no! Definitely not him! His hair’s too long!”
Winnie giggled, and Faith smiled in response. Winnie jumped down and put her arm around Faith. “I’m glad you’re coming to youth group again. And to church. I’ve missed you.”
Faith nodded but didn’t say anything. Believing was so much easier when she was at camp. Since she’d come home, things had gotten … weird. Complicated.
Irritating.
“I’m dying to know, Faith. What did your mom say when you told her?”
She pulled back. “About what?”
Winnie punched her shoulder. “About accepting Jesus, you dope! I mean, your mom must have been so excited.”
Leave it to Winnie to think of Faith’s mom. “I haven’t told her.”
“What?”
Faith squared off with her friend. “Good grief, Winnie. You don’t have to sound like I robbed a bank or kicked a kitten.”
Winnie’s eyes were wide, and she halted. “How could you not tell your mom? Don’t you know how much this will mean to her?”
Faith stared down at the ground. Yes, she knew. And she’d fully intended to tell her mother as soon as she got home. But then…
Well. She didn’t.
She’d simply come home.
“Faith?”
She let her confusion slip out on a sigh. “I don’t know, Win. I meant to tell her. But then every time I started to, something stopped me.”
“What?”
Faith tried to sort it out. “I don’t know. I guess … I guess I want Mom to come to me. To ask what’s different.” Yes. That was it. Even as she talked about it, she realized it was true. “I know you think Mom is just this side of a saint, Win, but you don’t live with her. She was always so quick to point out the bad stuff I did, to be mad at me. Now …”
She bit the side of her lip, feelings chasing through her heart. Disappointment. Disillusionment. Hurt. They all seemed to crowd together inside her until she thought her chest might burst.
“Now?”
Winnie’s gentle prod seemed to break free the logjam of thoughts. “Now, I wish she’d say what I’m doing right. Because I am doing things right. I’m following what it says in the Bible, being obedient, not talking back. Not swearing. All that stuff. I’m doing it all right.” She blinked away the wetness stabbing at her eyes. “And what do I get from Mom? Nothing. Not a word.”
She shrugged. “It’s like she’s waiting for me to mess up again.”
“Oh, Faith, I’m sure that’s not what she’s thinking.” She touched Faith’s arm, her fingers gentle. “I wish you’d talk to her. Your mom, well, she’s a good listener.”
Faith stared at the girl standing beside her. “You’ve talked with my mom?”
“Sure, lots of times.”
“When?”
They’d reached the door to go inside, and Winnie pulled it open. “Well, we used to talk once in a while when I saw her in the yard, on my way home from school.” Winnie lived a few houses down from Faith. “But we talked the most this summer, while you were gone. I’d stop by to see how she was doing. She’d make me iced tea, and we’d sit and talk and laugh. She tells the greatest stories.” Winnie shrugged. “It was nice.”
“It was nice.”
Faith didn’t say a word as she walked past Winnie into the building. She smiled and nodded and went back to the youth group gathering. But deep inside she was screaming.
“It was nice.”
Her mother was a good listener.
To Winnie.
She made iced tea.
For Winnie.
She talked and laughed and shared “great” stories.
With Winnie.
“It was nice.”
Yeah, Faith supposed it would be. But she doubted she’d ever find out for herself. Because now she understood. Her mom liked ev
eryone and everything.
Except her.
Anne was slipping her key into the front door when she heard the phone ringing. Scrambling to get inside without dropping any of her packages, she shoved the door open and rushed to the kitchen.
“Keep ringing …”
She dumped her packages on the table, muttering to herself when one of them slid off the edge and fell to the floor. She grabbed for the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Bennett. It’s Sarah McMannis. Is Faith home yet?”
As battling emotions swept her, Anne went to pick up the bag that had fallen on the floor. Faith returned from camp several weeks ago so different, at least in the way she treated Anne. The anger and rebellion seemed to have disappeared. Though Faith didn’t talk about it, Anne knew the change was due, in large part, to Sarah.
Anne told herself over and over she should be grateful to Sarah; instead she’d finally admitted she was jealous. Jealous of the fact that Sarah had been able to reach Faith when Anne couldn’t. Jealous Faith was far more interested in talking with Sarah than in talking with her own mother.
Ever since that revelation, Anne was careful to use a neutral tone of voice with Sarah, a tone that gave away nothing of her inner struggle. “No, Faith’s not home yet. She said she’d be late because she was helping tutor a couple of kids in English.”
“Tutoring, huh? That’s great. I guess it really took, didn’t it?”
Anne frowned. “What took?”
“You know, Faith’s conversion. At camp.”
Anne’s mouth went dry. Her heart pounded. She put her hand on the back of a chair and lowered herself into it. “Her … her conversion?”
There was a moment’s silence. “Didn’t Faith tell you what happened at camp?”
All Anne could manage was a ragged whisper. “No.”
“Mrs. Bennett, Faith accepted Christ at camp.”
Anne’s eyes drifted shut. She should be thrilled. Ecstatic. Instead, she was almost shaking from the pain screaming through her. Faith had accepted Christ? She’d made the most important, wonderful decision of her life … and she hadn’t breathed a word of the experience to Anne.
Surely Faith knew how much it would mean to her to hear what had happened. Surely Faith realized how important God and faith in Christ were to Anne. Hadn’t she talked about it from the time Faith was a baby? Hadn’t she read Faith Bible stories, sung her songs and hymns? Hadn’t they prayed together from the time Faith was old enough to understand talking to God?