Running from Monday

by Lea Sims

  She mentally shook herself. She was being dramatic. But she couldn’t dismiss the question blaring in her brain like a trumpet. Is that you, God?

  When the session was over, the women began milling about and filing out of the classroom. Claire spotted Delaney from the front of the room and beckoned her to come up. She then turned back to speak to a young woman who had been sitting at her table. As Delaney approached, she realized that Claire was praying for the woman, so she stood off to the side and simply listened.

  “…and give her wisdom, Lord, to navigate this difficult transition. She needs your strength and your clear voice in her ear right now to make the right decisions for herself and for these children. Lord, we pray for her husband…that he will open his eyes and turn his heart back to you and to his family. And I pray that in the meantime, you will protect Bethany and heal her heart. Just be who you are, God. Give her the peace to know that you are fighting this battle for her. We know you will bring good from it all—that somehow you will turn this story around. We stand in faith together and ask all of this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the woman whispered tearfully when Claire was done praying. They hugged tightly and then turned toward Delaney.

  “Delaney, this is Bethany Foley,” Claire said. “Bethany, this is Elizabeth’s niece, Delaney.”

  The women shook hands, and Bethany conveyed her condolences. Delaney could see that Bethany was older than she had initially thought, probably in her late thirties. She was at least six inches shorter than Delaney, with a petite frame and an athletic build. She was wearing black leggings and an asymmetrical gray T-shirt. But it was her hair that captured Delaney’s attention. It was long and thick and such a rich, luxurious brown that it looked like a waterfall of milk chocolate that started at her scalp and cascaded down her back. She had some copper-toned caramel highlights threaded lightly throughout, and the effect was striking. Her eyes were a shimmering gray that, at the moment, were chock full of bleak clouds.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said quietly, brushing the brimming tears from her eyes. “Sorry. I cry at the drop of a hat these days.”

  “I understand,” Delaney said. “I’m walking through some things myself at the moment, so I get it. I didn’t mean to intrude on your prayer.”

  Bethany waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s okay. My life’s an open book. I’m going through a divorce and just trying to figure it all out.”

  “Delaney’s just been through a divorce herself,” Claire said. “See, honey, you’re not alone.” She looked back and forth between the two women in front of her, suddenly realizing they had a lot in common.

  Bethany turned again to Delaney, eyebrows raised curiously. “You too? Did your husband have a mid-life crisis and decide he didn’t want to be married anymore?” Her attempt at a smile could not mask the sorrowful tremor in her voice.

  Delaney crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No, not exactly. We just didn’t suit.” That was all she was going to say to a stranger about the crash-and-burn narrative her marriage had become.

  “I almost wish that was the case for my marriage,” Bethany replied with a heavy sigh. “It would be a whole lot easier if I wasn’t still in love with my husband.”

  “God’s got a plan, Bethany,” Claire said. “Don’t lose heart.”

  Bethany nodded firmly, thankful for the reminder. She hugged her Bible and study workbook to her chest. “Thanks, Ms. Claire. I’m going to head back to the studio and spend some time thinking about today’s lesson. It was nice to meet you, Delaney.”

  “Studio?” Delaney asked, as they watched Bethany weave her way through the tables and leave the room.

  “She’s a dance teacher. Owns and runs Savannah Central Dance Conservatory. She was a ballerina for some famous dance company in New York, I think.”

  “Huh…I wonder which one,” Delaney said, thinking of some of the ballet companies New York was famous for.

  “No idea,” Claire said, shrugging. “You ready for some lunch?”

  “Definitely! I haven’t eaten this morning, so I’m starved.”

  “The Patisserie is only about two blocks from here. They have an amazing croque monsieur and, of course…the bakery,” Claire said with wide-eyed emphasis. “If it’s not too humid, we can sit out on the veranda on the second floor.”

  Delaney agreed that this sounded like the perfect spot, and the two of them walked to the Ruban Bleu Patisserie together. After a short wait, they were taken up to a quiet cozy table in one of the balustraded turrets accessible on the second-floor veranda. Ruban Bleu, French for “blue ribbon,” was a two-story historical society building of the Second French Empire style common to the mix of downtown Savannah architecture. Its chimney accents, corner pinnacles, turrets and domes had been beautifully restored to their seventeenth century standard. On the street side, visitors entered through a small wrought-iron gate and garden entryway to a wide flight of marble steps that led to ornate double doors. Once inside, guests could shop the patisserie bakery and gift shop on the first floor or seek a table for lunch in the bistro upstairs.

  Everything about the Patisserie was a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach, and Delaney was reminded of why she had been drawn to attending design school in the city. Savannah was breathtaking, full of historical gems like this one that delighted the romantic, beauty-loving soul. The veranda on the backside second floor overlooked one of Savannah’s famous secret courtyard gardens, and she and Claire settled into a pot of tea, a scrumptious lunch, and tray of mouth-watering macarons.

  “I shouldn’t be eating these,” Claire murmured half-heartedly, sinking her teeth into a salted caramel macaron and sighing delightedly. “They may come from heaven, but they go right to the hips.”

  Delaney nodded in mute agreement because she was holding her bite of chocolate praline macaron against the roof of her mouth and reveling in the rich way it melted on her tongue. She had a weakness for French pastries, something undoubtedly wired into her from a childhood spent coming into Savannah to bakeries just like this one. And during her four years at SCAD, it was croissants, macarons, and madeleines that had sustained her during late-night term paper writing and cramming for final exams. Thank goodness she ran every day or they would have had to roll her up to the podium at graduation to receive her degree.

  “I forgot how much I love Savannah,” she admitted sheepishly. “It really is a great city.”

  Claire smiled, looking around proudly. “It’s the prettiest little city in the South, that’s for sure. But I’m probably biased. I’ve lived my whole life here.”

  “Did you ever want to leave? Make a life somewhere else?”

  “You know, I never did. I know a lot of people want to leave home and explore the world, no matter how good home is, but that was never me. I just wanted to get married and have kids. And sing!”

  Delaney smiled back at her warmly. “You always had the best voice in the Shady choir, Ms. Claire. Did you ever think about joining the worship team at Refresh Station?”

  “Aw, thank you, honey.” Claire’s apple cheeks blushed in appreciation. “I did think about it when we first got there. Elizabeth nagged me about it constantly. She said it would be a crying shame if at least one of us didn’t get up there on the platform. But it only took me a few Sundays at Refresh to realize that the kind of worship music I was hearing was very different from the hymns I’d grown up singing in church. Don’t get me wrong, I love our worship songs. But I knew my choir-style soprano voice wasn’t a good fit for the Refresh worship team. Even I know I’m old school.” She chuckled good-naturedly.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Delaney said. “Were you upset?”

  Claire shook her head. “I was a little disappointed at first, but it wasn’t long before I found the ministry I was called to, trust me. Next to singing, there’s probably nothing I love more than coo
king. That’s my ministry—to love on people with food. I believe my job is to set the table for the Holy Spirit…literally. I love the kind of fellowship and conversation that good meals beckon people to have with each other. The act of breaking bread and sharing a meal lowers people’s defenses, opens and tenders their hearts, and makes them much more receptive to the way the Holy Spirit moves in and through the people around them. I’ve seen more breakthroughs in people’s lives at our church tables than almost anywhere else.” Inspired by her own words, she decided to love on herself with another macaron.

  “Drew said you oversee the lunch outreach program, which…oh my goodness…is amazing,” Delaney said. “I got to see a little bit of it on Wednesday morning before the memorial service. I was very impressed.”

  “Thank you. It’s been life-changing. I love being a part of it. Let me tell you, I have seen more people healed and set free through this lunch outreach than almost any other ministry I’ve ever been a part of.”

  The mention of healing and being “set free” reminded Delaney of the woman in the video earlier that day. “The woman teaching in your video this morning used those same words—she talked about being set free. Who is she? What was that class?” she asked curiously.

  Claire’s eyes lit up instantly. “Ohhh, that was Beth Moore, and the study we’re going through is called Breaking Free. It’s a study to help women find freedom from strongholds.”

  “Strongholds…I don’t know what that means.”

  “Well, a stronghold is anything that has an unhealthy hold on us, and usually the root of it is in our past. What Breaking Free teaches us is that most of the time, we don’t know these things have a hold on us because strongholds tend to get established when we’re real young. They are integrated into who we are. We don’t realize how they’ve shaped the way we think, the way we act, and the choices we make. A lot of times, they come from generational patterns in our own families. This study helps you dig through those things to get to the root of them.”

  “Why is that important?” Delaney asked. “Why dig all of that stuff back up again?”

  “To get rid of it, of course!” Claire exclaimed. “Strongholds keep us from living a life of freedom. They manifest themselves in patterns of behavior that can be very self-limiting and often self-destructive. We limp along through life with the shackles of our strongholds around our wrists. The trouble is, we can get so used to the weight of them, we don’t realize we’re dragging them around.”

  Delaney listened intently to Claire’s explanation. “Give me an example of a stronghold. What kind of stronghold might someone be dragging around?”

  Claire thought for a moment and said, “A child that grows up in a home where he hears nothing but harsh criticism will grow up with a stronghold of insecurity and never feeling good enough. He’ll also have a tendency to look through the same critical lens at others and be quick to find fault in everyone around him as a means of boosting his own self-esteem. Recognizing where those behaviors come from is the first step toward healing the wound and letting God replace old patterns of thinking with new healthy ones.”

  Pausing to hand her lunch plate to their server and wait for him to refill her water glass, Claire watched Delaney’s reaction to what she’d said. There was an ill-concealed hunger for answers etched in her beautiful brow. “Delaney, I’ve been a group leader for Breaking Free for a while now, and I can tell you that nothing negatively impacts our emotional health more than abuse.”

  “I’ve never given much thought to emotional health. I mean, I would hear people talk about healthy emotions or unhealthy emotions, and I wouldn’t even tune in…because I think of myself as an unemotional person.” Then she rolled her eyes. “At least I was until this week.”

  “There’s no such thing, you know.”

  “No such thing as what?”

  “No such thing as an unemotional person,” Claire stated. “God gave us our emotions for a reason, honey. Emotions are wired into our DNA. That’s just biology. Some people have more emotional temperaments than others, but anyone who claims they don’t have emotions is deceiving themselves.” She gave Delaney a pointed look. “You have emotions just like everyone else, but you’ve been working overtime to stuff them down, lock them up, and ignore them. It’s just as dangerous to suppress your emotions as it is to let them run amok everywhere.”

  “I don’t know,” Delaney sighed, uncertain about that statement. “Emotions can really get in the way. Sometimes it’s just a whole lot easier to not feel anything at all.”

  “I know it is, but that’s not really what you’re doing. You can’t opt out of your emotions. When you choose not to process your natural emotions—not to feel them—in the moment, you’re pretty much hitting the snooze button on them and choosing to deal with them later. The more often you hit that snooze button, the more those emotions build up and back up over time, which is really unhealthy.”

  “Why does it have to be unhealthy? Isn’t it just as healthy to let go of them?” Delaney wasn’t sure if she agreed with Claire or not. It seemed to her that minimizing drama was a good thing.

  “But are you really letting them go? Is that what you’re honestly doing?” Claire shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think so. Put it this way—have you ever had a bill show up in the mail that you really didn’t want to pay?” Delaney nodded. “You tell yourself you don’t even want to open it. You know what it’s going to say, and you don’t have the money to pay it anyway, so you ignore it and throw it in the trash. Next month, that bill shows up in your mailbox again. You still don’t have the money and by now there’s probably a late fee, so you rip it up and throw it in the trash. This can go on for a few months, right?”

  “Yes,” Delaney nodded, beginning to see where this was going.

  “In the meantime, those late fees pile up, and then you start getting phone calls from collections agencies, and it just gets worse. Why? Because you owe that money, and eventually you’re going to have to pay it. It’s the same way with your emotions, dear heart,” Claire reached over to clasp Delaney’s hand. “You can hog-tie those emotions as long as you want to, but there will come a point where those piled-up feelings will refuse to be ignored anymore. You owe those emotions to the circumstances that caused them, and those experiences will come back around. They will show up at your heart’s door when you least expect it to collect what’s due. The bill has to be paid.”

  Delaney sat back in her chair, her eyes roving the garden landscape as she processed Claire’s words. “I think that’s what’s been happening to me all week. I have constantly been fighting off tears and being overwhelmed with emotion. It hits me out of nowhere or just wells up inside me. And I seem to have zero control over it. That’s so unlike me. And it’s more than just my Aunt Beth dying, Claire. It’s everything right now.”

  “You came home. This is where all your memories are, which means this is where all your triggers are. It makes sense that losing Elizabeth and coming back to this place would resurrect some things you’ve tried to bury.” She smiled tenderly into Delaney’s eyes for a long moment, and the kindness Delaney saw in the woman’s face wrapped around her heart like a bandage. She felt such a fierce and tender love for Claire in that moment, it surprised her.

  “Maybe having all your emotions bubble up right now is a good thing,” Claire suggested. “Your heart is trying to tell you that its wounds need healing. It’s time, honey. It’s time.” She squeezed Delaney’s hand, then took a deep cleansing breath and exhaled. “Didn’t I tell you that great conversations happen over a good meal?” she said with a sweet smile.

  Then she pointed to the coconut cream macaron still sitting on the tray in the center of the table.

  “So…you gonna eat that?”

  “May we have communion with God in the secret of our hearts, and find Him to be to us as a little sanctuary.”

  —Charles S
purgeon

  After lunch, Delaney and Claire walked back to the church and Claire drove them to Davenport & Carter, a law firm specializing in wills, trusts and estates. Hugh Carter had been Elizabeth’s attorney for many years and had handled everything for Elizabeth after Jimmy’s death. They spent an hour and a half talking through Elizabeth’s affairs with Hugh. There wasn’t much of anything in the will that surprised them. The funeral expenses had been prepaid, and once all outstanding bills and debts were settled, Delaney would get what was left, including the house. The only special stipulation Elizabeth had made was that she wanted her car to be given to the church. Claire told Delaney that Refresh had a ministry for providing cars to single moms and families in need.

  They discussed her options for estate disposal, and Hugh recommended a liquidator in Savannah who could handle the property appraisals and set up the tag sale. Once the property was cleared, Hugh’s team would coordinate the sale of the house through a contracted realtor. Later on the way back to the church, Delaney and Claire discussed her options.

  “I want to leave the lion’s share of this to the liquidator,” Delaney said. “But once we get an appraisal back on all of my aunt’s belongings, we’ll know if there is anything of value worth holding a sale around. I’d rather donate clothes and furniture and even household items to needy families at the church or to a local charity rather than hold a sale. Can you think of anything truly valuable my aunt had? Anything that would be worth selling or auctioning?