by Karen Ball
To bring her home.
When the sound of their amens faded away, Anne opened her eyes. She looked at Jared, and he squeezed her hand.
“Okay. We’ve got phone calls to make.”
She fingered her purse. “Phone calls?”
“To cancel the cards.”
Anne started to protest, to say Faith would need money, then realized how crazy that would be. God, please … help us get through this.
Her prayers continued, a steady stream. Because she knew it was only through God’s strength that she’d be able to survive what was ahead.
Days. Weeks. Years.
She shuddered. Maybe the rest of her life.
Without her daughter.
twenty
“We need to find God, and he cannot be
found in noise and restlessness.
God is the friend of silence.”
MOTHER TERESA
ONE YEAR LATER
IT WAS DARK OUTSIDE.
Anne rubbed her eyes to rid them of the gritty feel, but to no avail. The pain wouldn’t go away.
Not from her eyes.
Nor from her heart.
She rose from the bedroom floor, feeling far more than her knees protesting, and eased into the large overstuffed chair. This had been her mother’s chair. It had been such a haven when she was younger. She’d crawl into this chair and let it surround her with a sense of peace, of safety. And it had been there for her when Faith was little, too. So often she’d sat there feeding Faith, coaxing her to sleep, or holding her after a bad dream, singing to her.
The memories engulfed her as completely as the chair. Her fingers caressed the worn fabric. So familiar. So comforting. She felt like a child again. Small and innocent.
Oh, if only that were true! If only she were small again, able to go through each day so innocent, so carefree—to dance and sing and play—and leave the worrying to the adults.
But she wasn’t a child. She was fifty-three, going on ninety.
She leaned back in the chair and stared out the window at the moonlit sky. So beautiful—a black, velvety blanket spotted with shimmering dots of light. Clouds drifted across the moon, misty shadows dancing through the black expanse, obscuring the golden light for a heartbeat before slipping away.
Anne used to love the night. Used to love sitting like this, watching the subtle changes in the sky, the way the shadows seemed to come to life. The darkness was so comforting, almost a friend. A place of quiet and peace. A place to drink in the silence and be restored.
Even that had been taken from her.
The darkness no longer brought her delight and beauty. Instead, it bore sorrow and laid it at her feet. The night mocked her, reminding her that her little girl was gone, that she didn’t know where Faith was or what was happening to her—that she couldn’t protect her own child.
Her once-welcome companion had been twisted into a dreaded foe.
The loss went deep.
Anne rested her head against the chair’s soft cushion, her eyelids lowering. She drew air in, feeling it fill her lungs, then let it ease out through barely parted lips. She focused on each slow, deliberate breath. In. Out. In. Out … The cadence of life, flowing through her, easing the tension that had become so familiar she almost didn’t notice it anymore.
A low, resonant chime sounded, and Anne opened her eyes. She glanced at the clock on the wall, but the darkness hid the face from her. How long had she been here? All she had to do was count the chimes as they sounded, but that was too much work for her weary mind. The last year had drained every ounce of energy she had.
An entire year of waiting. Worrying. Twelve long months of listening for the front door to open, for the sound of her daughter’s voice as she said those precious words: “I’m home!”
A year of utter silence.
Anne shifted. She’d been in this room several hours, at least. The ache in her knees bore clear testimony to that fact. She’d come here after noon, collapsing beside the bed. She couldn’t fight any longer. Couldn’t keep up the front of “everything’s fine” one more second.
Anne clenched her teeth against the frustration.
No. Time to be honest.
She wasn’t frustrated. Mere frustration didn’t burn this way, like a forest fire raging out of control, ravaging her heart. No, only one thing fueled this kind of consuming blaze.
Anger.
Pure, gut-churning anger.
Annie’s fingers clenched into a fist, and her gaze drifted to the wall, to the picture of Faith hanging there. Jared had snapped that shot months before Faith left. He caught Faith in an unaware moment, sitting out in the backyard, staring up at the sky.
Anne took in her daughter’s beauty, those clear emerald eyes that could shine with such joy or burn with such disdain. Looking at those eyes now, she saw so clearly her daughter’s rebellion, her willfulness. Her jaw was set and stubborn, and Anne half expected the photo to come to life and turn to her, that mocking smile on its lips. She could hear the caustic things Faith would say if she were here, if she could see Anne’s pain.
“Who are you trying to kid, Mom? Acting all sad and sorry. Get real! You didn’t want me around any more than I wanted to be here.”
Words boiled up inside Anne. Words that had been there for so long, begging for release, but she’d always pushed them away, consigning them to some inner prison. Well, she couldn’t stop them any longer. The cell door had been eaten away by the acid of her anger, and the words broke free, tearing through her.
She pushed herself from her chair, was at the wall in two steps, and before she realized what she was doing, snatched down the photo. Her fingers dug into the frame as the words tumbled from her lips in a low, hoarse whisper.
“How could you do this to me?” She shook the picture, teeth gritted. “How could you be so selfish?”
Unable to bear the sight of her daughter one moment longer, she flung the picture away. It slammed into the floor, the glass shattering, the frame breaking apart. Anne leaned against the wall, her angry questions hanging in the darkness, the silence punctuated only by her ragged breathing.
As she stared down at her daughter’s ruined picture, sorrow gripped her. She moved as though in a dream, lifting the photo, brushing away the shards of glass, pressing it against her chest.
I’m sorry … I’m sorry…
With legs barely able to support her, she made her way back to her chair, wrapping the quilt around her and the photo like a downy shield. Hot tears anointed the tiny stitches on the quilt formed generations ago by a mother’s patient, loving hands.
Words wouldn’t come. Prayers caught in her throat and floundered. All she could do was weep. Deep, wrenching sobs that came from some place within her she hadn’t even known existed. She’d given herself over to the sorrow, not trying any longer to deny it, to restrain it. Letting it run its agonizing course, and then…
Silence.
Stillness.
Peace.
Long-forgotten words drifted up from some inner repository where they’d been waiting until she could hear them—really hear them—again.
Shepherd of Love, You knew I had lost my way.
Shepherd of Love, You cared that I’d gone astray.
You sought and found me,
placed around me strong arms that carried me home.
No foe can harm me or alarm me,
never again will I roam…
Shepherd of Love, my Savior and Lord and Guide.
Shepherd of Love, forever I’ll stay by Your side.
Anne rested her damp cheek against the chair back. She’d known she was as lost as Faith. God showed her that so clearly the day she found out Faith had accepted Him—and hadn’t told her about it. Anne learned so much that day. And even more since.
But now—now God was teaching her something else. Something even more difficult to accept.
She had to let go.
Give up. Let go, as the saying went, and let G
od.
Verses came to her, filling her mind. She’d read them over and over in the last months, so many times she memorized them. But she had not really understood them. Not until this very moment.
“I wait quietly before God, for my salvation comes from him.”
From Him, not from her. She’d tried. Tried everything she knew. But all her efforts, all her carefully-thought-out strategies, had failed. She hadn’t been the perfect mother. Hadn’t produced the perfect daughter.
“He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will never be shaken …”
He alone. No one else could hold off the enemy that had torn their home apart. Torn them apart.
“My salvation and my honor come from God alone. He is my refuge, a rock where no enemy can reach me.”
No enemy. Not even her own stubborn heart. And what an enemy that had been. She hadn’t realized it until now. But her heart had been working against her, against Faith.
Now she saw clearly the many times she’d grown angry with Faith for not acting the way her daughter should act. Saw how she’d reacted to her daughter not with patience and peace, but out of disappointment and frustration.
How she’d based the way she treated Faith on the way Faith treated her.
Now, at last, Anne understood. Her heart was as rebellious, in its own way, as Faith’s had been. All that time, all those years, she’d been looking at Faith when what she should have been looking to was God. To His Word. To His example of love. Love that didn’t waver, no matter what His children did. Love that held on, even when those He loved let go.
Love that never failed.
That was the love she should have had with Faith. A God-centered love. Love that treated Faith as God commanded, not as Faith’s actions deserved.
God, God, forgive me.
Anne bent her head, hugging Faith’s picture to her. She heard the paper crumple and laid it in her lap, smoothing it out. As she gazed down at her daughter’s face, regret formed a cocoon around Anne’s heart. How could she have been so mistaken? What shone in Faith’s eyes wasn’t rebellion at all.
It was longing.
Longing to be accepted. Loved. Affirmed. A longing Anne had never really fulfilled. Not without expectation of something in return.
Anne spread her fingers over her daughter’s photo. If only Faith were here … if only she could hold her daughter’s face, look into her eyes, and tell her how sorry she was.
“O my people, trust in Him at all times, pour out your heart to Him, for God is our refuge.”
The words brought her head up, and she gasped. Here, again, was that unfailing love. Even as Anne finally saw herself for who she was, even as she realized how far short she’d fallen, God was opening His arms. Her Father was reaching for her, wrapping her close to His heart, inviting her to pour out her heart, her desperate longings. And leave them to Him.
But it was even more than that. She’d already given Him her longings. What she hadn’t done was give Him Faith’s. And so she bowed her head, thanking Him, and laying in His mighty hands her precious daughter’s dreams and hopes. Her longing to be loved and accepted. Her fears.
Everything.
Please, Father. Let her find You.
He could bring about the healing, the restoration they so desperately needed. He could save Faith. Could save them.
Yet, even as her heart bent in obedience, even as she finally let go and surrendered to the Father’s will, Anne knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But like Mary watching her beloved son, bruised and beaten, carry the cross that would take His life, Anne knew she had no choice. She would walk this path her daughter had chosen—this path that Anne as well as Faith had put them all on—bathing every painful step in prayer. But she did not walk it alone.
The Shepherd of truest love, who knew in His own eternal heart the unending pain of losing a child, walked beside her.
twenty-one
“There are two kinds of people:
those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’
and those to whom God says,
‘All right, then, have it your way.’ ”
C.S. LEWIS
IT WAS COLD. SO COLD.
Faith pulled her coat around her and shivered.
Miserable weather. Was any place more miserable in the winter than Illinois? Nothing but miles and miles of snow and ice. Why had she ever come here?
Because Dustin wanted to live in Chicago. No rhyme. No reason. Just, “It’s where I want to be,” and that was it. He spoke; I followed.
Dustin. Faith still couldn’t believe what a fool she’d been. She’d trusted him with everything. Believed he meant it when he said he loved her, would take care of her. She walked away from her home, her family, because he promised her something better.
That night—that horrible night a year ago—she’d gone up to her room, angrier than she’d ever been. A knock on her window told her Dustin was there, and she rushed to open it and let him in. Trista slid in after him. When she told them what happened, Dustin put his arms around her.
“You deserve better than this, babe.”
“We all do,” Trista agreed.
Faith stepped back. “Yeah, well, good luck.”
“You gotta make your own luck, girl.” Trista folded her arms, giving Faith a hard look. “No one hands it to you.”
Faith looked from one to the other, understanding dawning. “You’re running away. Both of you.”
Dustin grinned. “Nah, we’re running to, darlin’. To life and freedom. And we want you to come with us.”
One look at Trista told Faith the we was an exaggeration. Clearly, Trista preferred Dustin to herself. Jealousy streaked through her. Dustin was her boyfriend! What did Trista think she was—?
Dustin’s hand taking hers stopped her thoughts. His thumb moved over her palm, coaxing. “Come on, Faith. There’s nothing holding you here.” He tugged her into his arms, whispering in her hair. “Come with me.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. It had taken all of fifteen minutes to make their plans. Faith would pack her things, then slip out the window and meet Dustin just down the road.
It had worked perfectly. He’d been there, waiting, on his hog. A quick ride to Trista’s, and they had all their things packed up in her old beater of a car. She got in the car, and Dustin slid onto the bike, holding his hand out to Faith. “Let’s get outta here.”
She took his hand without looking back.
Dustin promised her heaven.
Instead, he brought her hell on earth.
Four months with the two of them was more than enough to know she’d made a mistake. They wanted to try anything and everything. Faith didn’t. Each time she opted out of their plans, something shifted in Dustin’s eyes, in the way he looked at her. Still, she convinced herself it would work out. That Dustin loved her. Nothing could come between them.
She’d been an idiot.
That had been painfully clear the day she’d come back early from trying to find a job. It was another day of disappointment, and she was tired and frustrated. She climbed the twelve flights to their dingy apartment—the elevator never worked—and shoved her key in the lock, ready for a hot bath. Maybe even a nap.
She’d pushed the door open, started to close it behind her, then stopped. Cocked her head. Listened.
What was that noise?
She listened again, and sudden, horrified understanding slammed into her, stealing her breath, almost knocking her flat.
Heart pounding, she flung her purse down and went to throw open the bedroom door. Her bedroom. Hers alone.
No matter how Dustin pleaded and cajoled, Faith hadn’t slept with him.
“Sex is for marriage.”
Yes, Faith gave up on the other rules. But that one, she kept. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she did. She was tempted, of course. Dustin could be very persuasive. But every time they got close, she’d stop, push him away.
Finally, he’d quit asking. Faith w
as relieved. And touched. How many guys would be so understanding?
As the door to her bedroom swung open, and she took in the scene before her, Faith knew the real answer.
None.
Absolutely none.
Dustin had quit asking Faith for sex because he’d found it elsewhere. With Trista.
Remembering that scene now—the way they’d been wrapped in the sheets, so engrossed they didn’t even realize she was there until she screamed at them—sent a wave of nausea coursing through Faith.
She blinked dry eyes, refusing the tears that wanted to come. Stop it! He’s not worth one single tear! Even so, it hurt when she thought about him—about the way he’d betrayed her. Then, a few days later, abandoned her.
He hadn’t even had the guts to tell her he was leaving. She woke up two mornings later to find Dustin and Trista gone. Along with all of Faith’s clothes and money.
She’d stayed in the ratty apartment as long as she could. But the manager was big and ugly, and he stomped his way up the stairs to tell her it was either get out or start paying for the room. And since he knew she didn’t have any money, he said she’d have to use “whatever you got.”
No contest. She got out.
The streets were home for a while. She’d done okay, taking what handouts she could scrounge. But too many people offered to “help” her in ways even she wouldn’t accept. She had to get out. So she started walking.
She’d made it as far as a deserted rest stop on the tollway that night, then bad weather hit. Unable to walk in the fierce wind and snow, she huddled against a building.
Desperation, as heavy as the snow covering the ground, cloaked her. Hunger gnawed at her gut. Shivering so bad she could hardly stand it, Faith pressed her face to the frigid concrete and did what she’d sworn she’d never do.
God, help me.
That was it. No big, wordy prayer. Just, Come on, give me a break. Not that it would help. Still, she had to admit she felt a little better. She was about to doze off when things went dark. She jumped up, fists ready, but her heart plunged to her shoes when she saw what had caused the massive shadow to fall across her.