Barefoot

by Brown, Sharon Garlough;

  “Thank you, Charissa. You’ve gotten us out of a significant bind.” She paused. “And you’re feeling okay? You don’t think this will tax you, be too much?”

  “I’ve been feeling great, thank you. I’m past the first trimester now, and everything’s fine. This kind of work will energize me. I know it will.”

  Dr. Gardiner nodded. “Spoken like someone who knows her calling. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Syllabus and textbooks in hand, Charissa floated down the hallway to her next class, breathing prayers of gratitude.

  John boosted the heat as he idled the car outside the Kingsbury University library. In the twilight he could see Charissa near the entrance, her white knit beret illuminated by a street lamp, her hands animated in conversation.

  Beneath her winter layers, Charissa managed to conceal any visible signs of pregnancy, showing only the slightest curvature of belly in the privacy of their apartment. Daily she monitored her weight, lamenting that she was “almost too big” for her clothes. John had threatened to pitch the scale.

  She wouldn’t be one of those women who publicly chronicled her “pregnancy journey” by posting weekly update pictures on Facebook. Maybe someday he would persuade her to pose for a single photo.

  Dr. Allen. That’s who she was talking with. He had just stepped into the light to shake her hand, and John recognized his profile.

  Maybe he would suggest that Charissa seek Dr. Allen’s advice about their latest conflict regarding which church to attend. She seemed to respect his opinion about spiritual matters. “Just tell her she has to honor your spiritual authority as head of the household,” Tim had said over lunch, quickly adding, “Kidding!” when John gave him a “You must be insane” look.

  “Sorry!” she said when she slid into the passenger seat. “Bumped into Dr. Allen.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Just coordinating some details for something.”

  John waited for her to fasten her seat belt before pulling forward.

  “You’ll never believe what happened to me today,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Gardiner asked me to teach a freshman comp section.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I know. Still can’t believe it. Class starts tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “One of the teaching assistants got sick or something, so she asked if I’d step in and do it.”

  “You already said yes?”

  She looked at him as if he had asked an idiotic question. “They needed an answer right away. They were in a bind.”

  He blew out a puff of air.

  “What’s that for?” she demanded.

  “You have to ask?”

  “Ummm. Yes! Because I just told you about something incredible that happened, and I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  He shook his head slowly. “We have got to find a different way forward.”

  She spun toward him. “You’re mad because I didn’t ask your permission?”

  “No, I’m mad because it didn’t occur to you to talk with me about something like that before you said yes! We’ve already got enough on our plates, don’t you think? Between the move and the baby and the course load you’re already carrying? What are you giving up?”

  Silence. Arms folded against her chest. An icy stare forward.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.” He flipped on his left turn signal. “Have fun with that.”

  Charissa slammed the car door shut with her hip when they reached their apartment, John’s voice echoing in her head: we have got to find a different way forward.

  Like what? Her playing the “obedient wife”?

  What was she supposed to have done? Tell Dr. Gardiner to hold off until she could talk to her husband and jeopardize her chance to do the very thing she had dreamed for years of doing?

  No.

  If she could prove herself now in the classroom, maybe—maybe she’d consider taking a semester off once the baby was born. And then, once she began the dissertation process, she could manage many things from home. Lots of women did it. Dr. Gardiner had done it. With twins. It didn’t have to be either-or. Charissa would demonstrate it could be both-and. No matter what her husband or mother-in-law said.

  They entered the apartment in a cloud of irritable silence. John flung his coat onto the couch and opened the freezer, inspecting the contents and removing a single serving of frozen pasta before thwacking the door shut again.

  “Is that what you’re having for dinner?”

  In reply, he shoved the container into the microwave and punched numbers into the timer.

  Fine. She and the baby would have a ham sandwich without mustard. And a piece of string cheese. She unwound the twist tie on the loaf of oat nut bread. “I can do this, John.”

  He watched the timer count down.

  “I can. The syllabus is already done, and I can note-share with the other section leaders. There won’t be much prep work involved.”

  The timer beeped. He yanked the handle open.

  “This is the best possible time for me to do this—before the baby is born. I won’t even be seven months when the semester finishes. Lots of women work right up until their due date.”

  He peeled back the cardboard cover and stirred, then set the timer again, arms crossed in front of his chest as he waited.

  “What do you want me to do? Email Dr. Gardiner and tell her I can’t do it?” That would go over great. Dear Dr. Gardiner, My husband is not supportive of my teaching this semester. Hope you can find someone else.

  John did not look at her as he said, “I’m tired of feeling like you never take me into consideration. For anything. Like we had this big wedding, said our vows, and you went right on living like you did before we got married—only thinking about yourself.” The timer beeped. He put the container on a plate and started eating, standing up.

  She arranged two slices of ham on a single piece of bread and folded it in half.

  “I can’t do any more than I’m already doing,” he said. “I can’t. And now you’re going to be even more unavailable. Right when we’re getting ready to move.” He blew on the pasta to cool it down. “It’s not just the prep work for class, Charissa. It’s all the emotional and mental energy you need for teaching. And the papers to grade. And I know you. You won’t be satisfied using someone else’s notes. You’ll want to write your own lectures.”

  He had a point. “Okay,” she conceded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I got all caught up in the excitement and honor of being asked to do it. I should have called you before committing to it.”

  He set his plate down on the table. “I wouldn’t have told you no, Riss. I know how important this is to you. But it doesn’t just impact you. It impacts me. Us. And after the baby is born, these kinds of things impact our child. We have to have the conversations together. We have to practice doing that now. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And you need to eat more than half a sandwich.”

  “Okay.” She peeled a banana.

  “And I’m serious, Charissa. I really need us to think about where we worship. I’m not doing the mommy’s church, daddy’s church thing like we did yesterday. First Church is always going to be your church. Your family’s church. I need a place where I can grow, where I can connect with a pastor for support. I need that. You’ve got your group, your friends. Even Dr. Allen. I’ve got no one speaking into my life right now, no one encouraging me spiritually. Except for Tim. And I need more than that. I can’t become the husband and the father I want to be without some support. I need some mentors. So, please. At least visit a couple of places with me, okay? It doesn’t have to be Tim’s church. Just somewhere we find together.”

  She looked at his earnest face and said, “Okay.”

  Mara

  Mara didn’t blame Charissa for being cautious (“I hate to miss the group, but I can’t risk getting sick right no
w—sorry!”), but she was disappointed the four of them couldn’t be together for prayer and conversation. Though Meg was still struggling with her bronchitis, Mara wasn’t going to miss the chance to meet. No way. With all the soul viruses swirling around her, she suspected she was more at risk for getting sick spiritually than for catching Meg’s cough. “If you’re sure Meg is up to it,” Mara told Hannah on the phone, “then I’ll be there. I need a spiritual shot in the arm right now.”

  When the three of them gathered around Meg’s kitchen table Friday night, Mara handed them a copy of the prayer exercise. “I wasn’t sure what to choose,” she said, “but this one grabbed me—probably because it’s what I’ve been trying to work on the past few months. And now that I’ve got even more crap going on, I feel like I have to keep coming back to God’s love, over and over again. No matter how much I practice trying to know I’m the one Jesus loves, I keep forgetting.”

  “I’m with you,” Hannah said. “I think it takes a lifetime to practice.”

  Mara stared at the handout. “So, should we each take a turn reading or what?”

  “Let’s light the Christ candle first,” Hannah said. “And then maybe take a couple of minutes for quiet. Is that okay?”

  Mara nodded and struck a match, then tried to calm and quiet her soul on the lap of God.

  Meditation on Romans 8:31-39

  Confidence in the Love of God

  * * *

  Quiet yourself in the presence of God. Invite the Holy Spirit to bring God’s Word to life. Then read the text from Romans 8:31-39 aloud a few times.

  What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

  For Personal Reflection (45-60 minutes)

  What then are we to say about these things? Ponder the height and depth, length and breadth of the love of God revealed to you in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. What do you want to say to God about these things? Offer words of praise, thanks, confusion, doubt, or longing to God in prayer.

  If God is for us, who is against us? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? Who is to condemn? Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Name to God the people who have caused you to doubt the love of God: the ones who have opposed you, brought charges against you, condemned you, rejected you, or made it difficult for you to approach God with confidence in his love. Ask the Spirit to bring these people to mind. Is there anyone you need to forgive?

  It is God who justifies. It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Is there anything you need to seek forgiveness for? Anything you need to forgive yourself for? For each charge levied against you, declare, “It is God who justifies.”

  He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Name to God the times or circumstances when it seemed that God was withholding good from you. What has caused you to doubt God’s trustworthiness and generosity? Is there any disappointment or resentment you need to express honestly to God?

  Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Name to God the times of hardship, suffering, distress, scarcity, or danger that have caused you to doubt the love of God, to feel separated from the love of God. Is there anything you need to grieve to God?

  Offer your litany of personal experiences to God in prayer: For I am convinced that neither [this person] nor [that person], neither [this experience of lack] nor [this experience of suffering or sorrow]—nothing will be able to separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Then answer the question again: What then shall I say about these things?

  For Group Reflection (45-60 minutes)

  What most stood out for you in the time of personal reflection?

  How can the group pray for you?

  Even an hour to pray and process through the questions didn’t seem like enough time. Mara could spend weeks—months, probably—and still not reach the end of the circumstances and people that had caused her to doubt God’s love. And as for people who could “bring a charge” against her, they could get in line behind Brian. I hate you! Brian shouted in her head. You’re always blaming me for everything!

  It was true. She was quick to believe the worst about him because he had given her good reason over the years not to trust him. Had it even occurred to her that he was telling the truth about the dog poop? What if the anonymous neighbor had found droppings in the yard and merely assumed it was from their dog?

  Then again, Brian had been angry about taking Bailey for a walk that morning and had probably forgotten to take a bag with him. And a neighbor had probably watched him from the window, waiting to see what he would do. The timing pointed to Brian’s guilt.

  And then there was the night she’d awakened to find him in her bedroom, the night the memory about his conception resurfaced. What did you think I was doing, you freak? I was just looking for my dog! She had been quick to assume a sinister motive because he had become such a bully. Just like his father.

  She would need to talk to Dawn about how to move forward with him. She was at her wits’ end. And yet, another week had gone by, and she still hadn’t called to make an appointment. No good excuses. Just avoidance.

  She stared again at the questions. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Hard as it was to believe, not Brian. Not Tom. Not the neighbors. Not anyone who had ever made her life miserable by rejecting and condemning her. No one could separate her from the love of Christ. No one.

  At least Jeremy didn’t bring any charges against her. Despite all her mistakes with him—despite all the difficulties Jeremy had experienced as a child and teenager—he had grown up to be a loyal, devoted son. One of God’s best gifts in her life.

  Unlike Kevin or Brian, Jeremy had been conceived in love. Or at least his father had claimed to love Mara. And Mara had loved him. Or thought she did. But Bruce had not loved her enough to leave his wife. And when his wife found out about Mara and Jeremy, all hell broke loose.

  Tess. That was the wife’s name.

  And that was the second time her name had come to mind the past couple of months.

  Meg started to write in her notebook. Hannah sat with her eyes closed. Mara stared at the page in front of her.

  Oh. God. Had she ever even considered this before?

  Who can bring any charge against . . . ?

  Oh. God.

  Plaintiff: Tess Gerald.

  Defendant: Mara Payne.

  Charge: Stealing a husband.

  And a child.

  Meg

  Hannah and Mara were right. Meg felt like she would need a lifetime to practice pondering the love of God. And she would need more than one evening to process and pray through the handout, not just for the shame and accusations she was continually subjected to in her own head but for the grudges she harbored against others.

  Who is to condemn? There was no condemnation for her from God. She knew that. But from Rachel and Becca: crazy, religious, judgmental. From Mother: weak, not resilient, too sensitive. And from herself: fearful, selfish, failure. The voices of condemnation constantly c
lamored in her own head.

  And then there were the charges she brought against others. Was there anyone she needed to forgive? When she imagined writing Simon’s name in her notebook, she felt sick to her stomach. Too much energy required to process her accusations against him. Same with Rachel. The wound was too fresh. And when she thought about voicing her charges against Becca, her chest hurt.

  She wrote down her mother’s name: Ruth Fowler. Maybe she could start the process of naming the pain in order to forgive, of naming the ways her mother had caused her to doubt the love of God. Maybe that was the first step toward writing a longer letter of forgiveness, the letter she had told herself she would write. Two weeks had passed since their last group meeting, and she hadn’t even written “To Mother” yet.

  Next to her mother’s name she listed some words: Cold. Critical. Impossible to please. Distant. Severe.

  Did she need to cite examples, give evidence?

  Wheezing, painful breath in. Emmanuel.

  Slow, rattling breath out. You are with me.

  She could start with the night Jim died.

  Mrs. Anderson had come to collect her at the hospital because she couldn’t reach her mother. And then, when her mother finally did come home, there were no comforting words. No tears. No embrace. The Body, Mother said when referring to Jim. Did you make arrangements for The Body?

  Breathe, Meg commanded herself.

  Breathe.

  Maybe she would move on to when Mother died.

  Meg had kept vigil for weeks, having quit her administrative job in order to be fully available to her mother in her last days of battling ovarian cancer. Even after they transitioned to hospice care, Meg refused to rest, determined to provide any kind of comfort her mother might need.

  Meg bit her lip, her pen hovering above the page.