by Lea Sims
He made a few more remarks about the contributions she’d made to Refresh Station Church, shared a funny memory of Elizabeth trying to lead a spontaneous round of worship at one of their retreats, and talked about how much they would all miss her. Drew and Abby then got up to sing another song.
Drew strapped on his guitar and began to play it softly. He spoke quietly into the microphone. “Ms. Elizabeth loved worship more than just about anything else on earth. She told me once that the first time she stepped out of her comfort zone and put her hands up in the air to worship the God she had loved all her life, she felt like she’d stepped from earth into heaven. We were all blessed by her here, but I think Abby and I and the rest of the worship team were the most blessed. We get to stand up here on this platform every Sunday and lead you guys in worship, but Elizabeth was back there in that sound booth leading us.” His voice quavered as he pointed to the sound booth. “To watch her back there with her arms raised and her heart lifted in worship was an inspiration to all of us up here. She worshipped from a heart that had been set free by the amazing grace of God.” He looked at Abby, who nodded in agreement, and then both of them began to sing.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
The congregation stood, and by the end of the first verse, the room was filled with the beautiful unity of worship. Delaney looked around to see a room full of people, most of them strangers to her, lifting their voices and their arms to God. There was both sorrow and joy in their singing, a resonating sweetness that washed over her. This was a funeral, and while their tears flowed freely in grief, there was such peace on their faces. She could do nothing but stare at them all. She had a dawning and heart-wrenching realization that these people had tapped into something she had never possessed. Peace and joy were utterly absent from her life. She wasn’t sure she would recognize them if she felt them.
My chains are gone, I’ve been set free, my God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood, His mercy reigns, unending love, amazing grace.
The words of the song, some new and some familiar, tugged hard on doors she did not want opened. She tore her eyes from the people around her, who were experiencing something she could not relate to. She felt like a stranger at a holiday party, where everyone had received a gift except her. She couldn’t join in their sorrow nor share in their joy. The confident and successful New York designer who negotiated deals every day, signed her divorce papers without flinching, and lived life on her own terms was standing in a small church in Georgia as unsure of herself as she had ever been in her life.
From his stool on the platform, Drew watched Delaney. He had never seen anyone more beautiful or in greater pain. When she had interrupted Jason in the middle of his message, Drew had been more disturbed by her question than surprised by it. It was obvious she was carrying a very heavy burden, and Drew was certain someone had hurt her badly. As he looked down at her now, a myriad of emotions dancing ill-concealed across her face, he felt a familiar little tingle in his heart, one he had not felt in a very long time. He was a sucker for anyone in need of a rescue. It was very tempting to ride in like a hero, especially to rescue so beautiful a damsel in such obvious distress, but Drew knew better.
Delaney Anderson needed the kind of rescuing only God was capable of.
“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.”
—Harriet Beecher Stowe
After the service was over, Pastor Jason motioned to Delaney and had her come forward with Claire to stand beside Elizabeth’s casket. The three of them would constitute the receiving line that would greet guests filing up the main aisle. She stood there awkwardly, unfolding and refolding the Kleenex she had fidgeted with all through the service but had never needed to use. Claire put an arm around her waist, leaned in, and whispered, “How are you holding up, honey?”
“I’m okay, I guess,” she responded quietly. “I just want it to be over.”
“I know how you feel,” Claire said, sighing. “I am holding on to a good cry until later tonight, but part of me doesn’t want it all to be over yet.” She paused, voice catching in her throat. “Because then I’ll have to face the fact that she’s gone…really gone.”
Before Delaney could reply, a line of people formed in front of them, and she and Claire turned their attention to greeting the attendees who had come up to pay their respects. An elderly couple in their 80s were first in line, and Delaney recognized them instantly. John and Susan Tucker were her aunt’s neighbors. They had lived next door for as long as Delaney could remember, and they also attended Shady Oaks Community Church. They greeted both Claire and Delaney respectfully and moved on. The next few in line were members of Refresh Station, then several teachers who had worked with her Aunt Beth before she’d opted for early retirement to spend more time serving the church, then a few more people who had grown up with her aunt and attended Shady. It went on like that for nearly thirty minutes.
As people came through the line, Delaney noticed that they greeted her with respect but very few did so warmly. The people from Refresh Station were friendly but eyed her curiously, and she couldn’t help but wonder what her Aunt Beth had told them about her. The people she knew from Shady were less guarded in their response, many of them shaking her hand stiffly and others doing nothing to hide their disdain. Her stomach clenched, as did her teeth. This was the exact moment she’d been dreading since Saturday morning. She couldn’t stand these people. They had always been extremely small-minded and judgmental. But Delaney also noticed they were giving Claire some of the same cold shoulder.
“I know why they hate me, but what’d you do?” Delaney murmured to Claire when everyone had come through the line and they were heading down the stairs. Claire’s eyes widened in confusion and then realized what Delaney was asking.
“Well, I had the audacity to leave their church,” she said with an unrepentant grin, “but they’re more upset that I went non-denom on them. I’m a heretic now.”
“Then why are they here?” Delaney was annoyed but not surprised. Christian groups tended to stick together and hold in suspicion anyone who didn’t have the good sense to align their theology with a respectable denomination. “They must have thought Aunt Beth was a heretic, too.”
“Oh they did,” Claire rolled her eyes. “But that wouldn’t keep them from coming anyway. They know it would be petty and un-Christian not to come and pay their respects to Elizabeth. She served that church faithfully for many years. If any of them had said no to coming, I’d have gone door to door to round them up, shove them into my car, and drive them here myself. Besides, curiosity alone brought them all out. They probably have been dying to figure out what we left Shady for.”
Delaney considered that. “This place and the worship probably blew their minds. Not to mention Pastor Jason’s message.” They both stepped to either side of the black town car parked at the curb, opened their doors and slid into the back seat.
“I was so proud of Jason,” Claire said with smile, settling into her seatbelt. “I’ve never heard anyone speak the way he does. All his messages are good, but this is the first funeral I’ve heard him preach, and you could have heard a pin drop in that room. He has a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter.”
“He definitely does,” Delaney said to her, nodding. “When he pulled that chess piece out of his pocket, I thought to myself…Ok, things just got interesting.”
Claire looked pleased. “I grew up with preachers who gave well-rehearsed sermons, always knowing exactly when to turn up the intensity and when to dial it down, with all the right, perfectly timed gestures and inflections. They put on a real show. But over time, I began to notice the same pattern over and over, and it started all feeling a bit too rehearsed. When I came to Refresh, I found Jason to be a breath of fresh air. He’s humble and thoughtful, and there’s just somethin
g about the way he speaks that makes your inner ears perk up because you sense that what’s being said is important.”
“He is definitely different,” Delaney said, then slapped her forehead slightly and shook her head. “I can’t believe I blurted those questions out in the middle of his sermon. Aunt Beth would be rolling over in her grave…um…if she was in it yet.” Realizing that sentence had just ended awkwardly, she shot wide eyes at Claire. They stared at each other for a beat and then burst out laughing.
“Oh, Laney,” Claire said with a sad sigh as their laughter subsided. “How am I going to watch them put my best friend into a hole in the ground?”
“Because you know your best friend is elsewhere, Ms. Claire,” Delaney responded softly. Her answer surprised them both. Claire’s eyes crinkled up at the corners, tears welling up and spilling out of them. Delaney wasn’t sure why she’d said something she struggled to believe for herself, but she didn’t retract her answer. She knew it would be of great comfort to Claire to be reminded that Elizabeth Lowell was not really inside that box in the car in front of them.
“That’s right. That’s right, honey. Thank you for reminding me.” Claire patted her hand in gratitude.
Delaney chewed her bottom lip to keep from grinning. Southerners loved to pat your hand. Some preacher somewhere had probably deemed it the safest place on the human body for touching when one Christian wanted to express support to another Christian, and thus, hand-patting had taken the South by storm. Preachers and elders always gave you the handshake-hand-pat combo. Of course, hand-patting was a cardinal rule in the women’s ministry handbook. The instant someone’s voice cracked or tears started flowing, Kleenex would be passed and anyone within arm’s reach was expected to reach over and pat or squeeze that person’s hand. The hand squeeze was almost as popular as the hand pat. And Delaney had always wanted to put a video camera in the ceiling over the sanctuary pews so she could go back later and count all the hands being patted or squeezed during the sermon. It was a frequent response to various parts of the message. Any time a pastor would preach on the parable of the prodigal son, heads nodded and hands were patted with the timing and precision of synchronized swimming.
And while it amused her greatly, Delaney considered anew the impact of that seemingly silly little gesture. It had the power to communicate in an instant what is often so hard to put into words. It says “I understand and I’m sorry” when no comforting words can be offered to someone grieving. It whispers, “Don’t worry, friend. That wayward child is going to come home” to the mothers of those prodigal sons. It says “I love you” to the spouse sitting next to you in the movie theater, “I’m right here” to the family member in the hospital bed, and “It’ll be okay” to the friend across the table at a restaurant who has just shared the worry or fear that has been keeping her up at night. When life leaves you feeling helpless and empty-handed, the clasp of a hand communicates that you are neither. You’re not alone. You have resources. It had been a long time since Delaney had been patted by anyone, and as she looked down at Claire’s age-spotted hand resting tenderly on hers, she realized she’d missed it.
They pulled into the Shady Oaks Community Cemetery a half hour later and followed the newly paved asphalt drive through the masonry patchwork of headstones to a section in the right rear of the property. A faded green lawn tent with several rows of folding chairs had been erected at the gravesite. People filed out of their cars and made their way toward the tent. While some traipsed obliviously across the well-manicured landscape of the dead and buried, most painstakingly tiptoed around grave sites and headstones—darting, pausing, and hopping over graves to avoid “stepping on someone.” Delaney had always found it curious that the same people who had just spent an hour in a church talking about loved ones in heaven would show up at a cemetery and superstitiously avoid walking on graves.
Once everyone had been seated or had found a place to stand, Pastor Jason welcomed everyone to the service. Small program cards had been placed in each chair, and he proceeded with a short program of prayer, scripture, and another statement about how God had received Elizabeth Lowell into eternity. He then read Psalm 23. Delaney closed her eyes and recalled the day this same psalm had been read at her parents’ funeral. She remembered how little comfort it had given her at the time. But as Jason began reading the words to the psalm, she opened her eyes to watch the pastor recite them. When he was done, he closed his Bible and tucked it under his arm.
“The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want,” Jason repeated. “These are some of the most beautiful words in all of scripture. They represent the relationship God truly wants to have with us—where we let him lead us and trust him to meet all of our needs. This scripture invites us to live a full life with God, where regardless of what we tangibly have or don’t have, we are never empty, never lacking. You know, some of the best memories I will carry with me of Ms. Elizabeth are of our church meals together. At the end of the meal whenever anyone would ask her if she was ‘full,’ Elizabeth would always say, ‘I came in full!’ I came in full. Elizabeth brought fullness everywhere she went. She was full of patience, full of joy, full of wisdom, and full of life.”
“Amen, Pastor,” Claire said sitting next to Delaney on the front row. When Delaney thought of her aunt’s bright blue eyes and animated face, her sweet smile and encouraging nature, she nodded vigorously at Jason’s words. Her Aunt Beth was full of patience, joy and wisdom. More so than Delaney had ever understood or appreciated.
“And she was full of love, Pastor,” Delaney said in an aching voice, the truth of it allowing a few tears to finally escape and slip down her cheeks. Jason nodded and others agreed. She looked down and scanned her lap and the empty chair to her right looking for a tissue, but she had not brought one with her. Drew, standing off to the side at the edge of the canopy, stepped forward and handed her the box of Kleenex that the cemetery staff had placed under the chair at the end of the row. She looked up, startled, and took the box from him gratefully. He gave her a gentle smile and nodded, stepping back off to the side. She watched his movements surreptitiously, taking in his quiet strength and felt comforted by just the sight of him. There was definitely something about Drew that conveyed safety. It occurred to Delaney that he didn’t have to be here at the graveside service. There was no music planned for the short commitment ceremony being held here. He was there because her Aunt Beth meant something to him.
Jason closed the service with a beautiful prayer and invited people to come forward and take a lily from Elizabeth’s casket, motioning to Delaney to go first. She walked forward and pulled a crisp, fresh-cut lily from the arrangement on top of the casket and then ran her hand along the stitching of the quilt that draped it. The quilt had been made by Delaney’s grandmother, who had died when Elizabeth and Veronica, Delaney’s mother, were in high school. It had been kept in a cedar chest in the corner of Aunt Beth’s living room. Seeing it now over the casket brought a fresh wave of tears to Delaney’s eyes, and she dabbed at them with the tissue Drew had given her.
She moved to the end and she stepped off to the side to get out of the way of the ladies behind her. She came to an abrupt halt in front of the large granite headstone on the ground behind the open vault. It had been blocked from her view during the graveside service, but now she came face to face with it. The upright polished marker had the name LOWELL etched across the top, with a frosted image of an oak tree down the center. Delaney’s eyes slid to the name on the left side of the tree, JAMES EDWARD. She paled and went perfectly still, staring at the word “Jimmy” carved into the second line. A familiar ice crept through her veins.
She could picture her uncle as clearly as if she’d seen him yesterday—his small close-set brown eyes and thick bushy brows, the dark stubble of his unshaven face, the ruddy flush of alcohol on his nose and cheeks, and the thin meager line of his lips. She recalled the charming but lopsided grin he could produce at all the rig
ht moments for all the right people. With others, he was gregarious and funny, never knew a stranger, always had a ready joke for everyone. To acquaintances and strangers, Jimmy Lowell was the life of the party.
But for those who lived with him, he was a complicated man. Some days he could be easy-going and relatively easy to get along with. But most days he was somber, moody and hard to predict. He had two faces when it came to Delaney—the fatherly mask he put on when other people were looking and the warped, possessive one that lay behind it, which he showed only to her. When her aunt wasn’t looking, Uncle Jimmy’s dark eyes were always watching Delaney, tracking her every movement. She would refuse to look at him because she knew he was always silently willing her to turn her head and catch his eye—waiting for her to look at him so he could make a sexual gesture or touch himself with her watching or motion her over to him so he could touch her somewhere. Recalling the gripping anxiety that she’d felt every second she’d lived in that house with him, Delaney’s heart began to pound in her ears and she suddenly felt a little dizzy.
At the touch of a hand on her elbow, Delaney jumped, wrenched her arm forcefully away and spun wild-eyed to see Drew standing behind her. He stepped back, surprised. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “You startled me.” She reached up to smooth her hair and cleared her throat. She gave him a tight smile and then stepped around him to walk over to Pastor Jason.