My cup overflows, Lord. My cup overflows.
Mara
Tess Gerald was not on Facebook. At least, not under that name. There was one Tess Gerald in Ohio, but not near Dayton, where Jeremy was born. What was she supposed to do? Send a letter and see if it was the right woman? “It’s not my place to give you advice about that,” Miss Jada said when Mara told her what had come to light during their prayer exercise. “What does your counselor say?”
Mara emptied some frozen rolls out of a bulk bag and placed them on a tray. “She’s still out of town.” It was unusual for Dawn to be out of town for so long. The receptionist had said she would be away another couple of weeks because of a “family emergency.” No other details. Mara went ahead and made an appointment for the end of February. With everything going on, it seemed an awfully long way off. But family emergencies couldn’t be helped, that was for sure. “I thought I’d be working on forgiveness stuff with Tom or Brian or the neighbors, like you were saying last week. Instead, this stuff with Tess came up.”
“Well, I can only tell you what we do here in the program,” Miss Jada said. “Sometimes I have people write letters, just for themselves to start with. And then if it seems right to send one out, I have them use a safe return address—not here, if they’re staying here. But sometimes a church address, if their pastor’s okay with that. Or some of them send a letter with no address on it. Or an email. Depends on what feels safe. What’s wise. And that’s different for each person. Talk it through with the people you trust. Pray it through.”
While Mara started rinsing heads of lettuce, Miss Jada tasted the tomato soup in a pot on the stove and voiced her approval. “I’ve been thinking about something else, Mara, been wanting to talk to you about it.”
Mara glanced over her shoulder, hands still under the faucet.
“I’ve been watching you around here, how you treat the guests with respect, make them feel welcome. How you serve the meals, how you cook. You’re a really good cook! You make do with the ingredients we got here, you make them stretch, you know? You do good work, Mara. Really good work. So I got to thinking, especially with what you got going on with Tom and everything, I was thinking, what if you came and worked here? Part-time to start with, just to see how it works out. We need some part-time help around here, been needing it a while now. And you’re a good fit. A real good fit.”
A job? Mara turned off the faucet and set the lettuce in a large metal colander.
“We can’t pay much—you know what it’s like around here—but you think about it and let me know, okay?”
“Can I say yes right now?” she exclaimed, resisting the impulse to throw her arms around Miss Jada.
“If you’re sure you don’t need more time to—”
“I just need to make one phone call,” Mara said. “I promised my son and daughter-in-law I’d watch my granddaughter for them when Abby goes back to work. I’ll talk to them and then let you know, okay?”
“Deal.” Miss Jada gave the simmering pot of soup another stir and left the kitchen humming.
As soon as Mara got the boys home from school, she called Jeremy’s apartment, startled when he picked up on the second ring. She’d expected Abby to answer. “Hey, Jeremy! What are you doing home?”
“Got off work early.”
“Everything okay?”
A loud sigh. “One of the jobs we were supposed to work the next few weeks fell through. A big one.”
“Oh, honey! I’m so sorry.” Jeremy had worked construction jobs long enough to roll with the unpredictability of employment, especially during winter. But now with a baby . . . “Will you guys be okay?”
“Okay for now. I’ve got a few small jobs I can work on the next month. But if you hear about anyone needing a handyman—”
“I’ll keep my ears open. Maybe Crossroads has some projects. I’ll ask Miss Jada. You sure you’re gonna be all right?”
“We’ll figure something out,” he said. “Abby and I were talking about it, and since I don’t have anything to do the next few days, we’re gonna head down to Ohio and see her parents.”
Mara shifted position on the sofa. If only there was something she could do to help. “Does Abby know for sure yet what her schedule will be at the hospital, like whether she’s going to be on nights or—”
“Don’t know yet.”
“I was just wondering because I was at Crossroads today and Miss Jada offered me a part-time job and—”
“Take it!”
“No, I mean, I’m sure I can work around Abby’s schedule, and taking care of Madeleine is my number one priority, you know that. I just wondered if anything’s been set yet, that’s all.”
“Nothing’s set. Don’t know when it will be. Everything’s up in the air.”
Hearing the stress in his voice made her heart hurt. Whoever said a mother’s worries stopped when kids grew up was a liar.
“Can I call you later, Mom?”
“Sure.” She patted the cushion on the couch. Bailey jumped up and nuzzled her hand with his cold nose. “How about if I come over and babysit Madeleine for a while? Give you guys a break?”
“Not now, okay?”
“I’ll treat you guys to a date night. Take Abby out to dinner or to a movie or something.”
“Maybe another time.”
“But let me do something to help, Jeremy. Maybe I could—”
“I really gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Okay.
She supposed she needed to learn the fine art of recognizing when help became interference.
“Dad says to call him,” Kevin said from the kitchen doorway as soon as she hung up the phone.
Now what? “Okay. Thanks, Kev.”
“Like, now.”
A rush of adrenaline. “Did he say why?”
“Nope.” He opened a bag of Doritos. “But he sounded mad.”
She petted Bailey’s fur in long, deliberate strokes. Maybe Brian was relaying horror stories about what an awful mother she was. “Okay, I’ll call him.” Kevin waited in the doorway. “In a little while, Kevin. I’ve got some other things I’m doing right now.”
Like worrying about Jeremy. What if work didn’t pick up soon? Then what? They couldn’t survive on Abby’s salary, could they? Maybe Abby’s parents could help them out financially. She could email Ellen and make sure they knew what was going on. But then again, that wasn’t any of her business, really, was it? And she shouldn’t risk doing anything that might offend.
Since fretting would get her nowhere, she rose from the couch to figure out what else she could do instead of calling Tom. She already had a lasagna in the oven, and she’d already put away the boys’ laundry. She looked at Bailey, willing him to whine and demand to go outside. Instead, he stood, stretched, and flopped down on the spot where she had been sitting. Figured.
Maybe she could call Charissa to find out about her first day of teaching. Or call Hannah to talk about bridal shower plans. Or call Meg to see if she was feeling any better. Or write a letter to Tess.
Or call Tom and get it over with.
With a whispered prayer for help, she dialed the number. He picked up before the first ring finished. It wasn’t about Brian. It was the mattress. She had forgotten about the mattress. He had just seen his credit card statement.
She held the phone away from her ear, then realized that Kevin, who was loitering near the pantry, could hear every word. She shooed him away.
If she thought she could charge whatever blankety-blank-blank she wanted, then she had another blankety-blank-thing coming to her. And he’d see to it that she’d never do it again, did she understand him?
She steadied herself against the kitchen sink.
Did she blankety-blank understand him?
She did.
Did. She. Blankety-blank-blank. Understand. Him?
“Yes.”
With a final expletive, he hung up. She added her own.
“Are we gonna
have to move?” Kevin asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Will we have to go to Crossroads?”
“What?”
“If Dad doesn’t give you any money, then we won’t have a house, right?”
That’s why he had lingered nearby, trying to hear. “No, Kevin. No. That’s not how it works.” She immediately regretted all her unguarded, resentful “If your father gets his way . . .” remarks. Kevin had probably been fretting ever since hearing Jeremy talk about living at Crossroads. “Your father’s gonna have to pay a certain amount each month to make sure you and Brian are taken care of, that you have what you need.”
“Yeah, but Brian wants to go live with Dad.”
“I know.” She wondered what else Brian had communicated to him.
“So he gets to?”
The way Kevin put it, Brian would be winning some kind of grand prize. She sighed. “Your father and I will be working that out with our lawyers.” Bailey rolled over and yawned. Kevin rubbed a spot on his back that caused one of his hind legs to twitch. “What about you, Kev? You want to be with your dad too?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to move.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement for life with her. “I can’t promise we won’t have to move,” she said. “We’ll have to wait and see. We won’t be homeless though. Okay?”
But not even a new pillow-top mattress and a little dog curled up beside her could soothe her to sleep that night.
seven
Meg
Two weeks after being diagnosed with bronchitis, Meg, at Hannah’s urging, sat in the doctor’s office again in a paper gown, trying to take a deep breath so he could listen with his stethoscope. But each deep breath hurt her chest and sent her into a fit of coughing. “You’ve still got quite a rattle,” he said, removing the earpieces and sitting down again. He rolled his stool over to his computer. “I’m going to order a chest x-ray, just to see if there’s anything else going on.”
“They’ll call to schedule it,” Meg said when Hannah got back to the house later that afternoon. “Early next week, I guess.” With the weekend upon them, that was the earliest she could hope for. In the meantime, she had a prescription for a codeine cough suppressant. Maybe that would knock her out so she could sleep for more than an hour at a time.
Hannah hung up her keys in the kitchen and took off her coat. “Did you say anything to him about feeling depressed?”
No. She hadn’t said anything about that. “I think I’m just tired. Worn out. I’ll be okay once I feel better.”
Hannah furrowed her brow.
“Really. Besides—there are so many happy things to think about right now.” Meg pointed to the kitchen counter. “I got you a bridal magazine while I was out, thought you might have fun looking at pictures.”
“Thank you!” Hannah grinned. “I think Mara has called three times in the past couple of days, each time with a different idea for a shower.”
“I know. She’s so excited. She wants to make sure we have something special for you before you head off to Israel.”
“Plenty of time before that,” Hannah said. She sat down at the table with the magazine while Meg poured herself another glass of orange juice. “Look at these gowns!” Hannah held up a page for Meg to see. “I don’t want anything that fancy. I told Nate I’ve presided at way too many stressful weddings over the years, met my fair share of bridezillas. We’re going simple. Small.”
“Any more thoughts about a date?”
“No, not really. Nate’s not putting any pressure on. He knows I need to think things through with the church. And I haven’t talked to Steve yet. He’s been away all week.” She turned another page and showed Meg some cake photos. “Look at this! Who spends that kind of money? I’m thinking sheet cake from Costco.”
“Really?”
Hannah laughed. “I don’t think my mom will let me get away with that. She’s got all kinds of ideas about what the reception should be like. And I’ve got to figure out how to include her without compromising on the things that are important to Nate and me.”
Meg had experienced the opposite problem: a mother who really couldn’t have cared less about wedding preparations. She and Jim paid for their own wedding. Meg found a pattern for a dress, and Mrs. Anderson helped her sew it. Meg found a recipe for a cake, and Mrs. Anderson helped her decorate it. Even her bouquet of flowers came from Mrs. Anderson’s garden of perennials. No father walked her down the aisle to give her away. Mrs. Anderson, Mother, Rachel, and a few high school friends filled two rows of chairs on the bride’s side.
It hadn’t mattered. All that mattered was standing there at the altar with Jim, looking into his shining eyes and speaking her promises—and crying with joy while he spoke his. The most beautiful girl in the whole world, Jim said when he removed her veil to kiss her. And you’re mine.
“Will you get married in Chicago?” Meg asked.
Hannah closed the magazine. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. “I don’t think so. It would turn into something too big. And then if you try to keep it small, you have the issue of church members being offended if they’re not invited. So I think we’re going to have it here. Not at Nate’s church—he says he’d have the same issues there with trying to keep numbers small—but maybe at New Hope. Katherine has been such a big part of both of our lives, we’re thinking of asking her to do the ceremony.”
“Oh! That’s a wonderful idea!”
“I know it would mean a lot to both of us to have her do it.” Hannah reached across the table and clasped Meg’s hands in hers. “And it would mean so much to me if you would be my maid of honor.”
Meg was so surprised she could hardly reply. “Really?”
“I always wanted a sister,” Hannah said, her eyes brimming with emotion. “For years I dreamed of having one—not that I don’t love my brother, but it’s not the same. And I’ve had good friends in ministry, great colleagues. But I’ve never had someone like you, Meg. That’s the truth. You’re the sister I always wanted. And it would be so special to have you stand with me that day. Whenever it is.”
“I’ll be there,” Meg said, their tears commingling as they enfolded one another in a sisterly embrace.
from: Meg Crane
to: Rachel Fowler
date: Friday, January 30 at 10:32 PM
subject: Please call me
Hi Rachel,
I’ve made my own copies of the photos you picked out and will send you the originals. I’ve found some others I think you’ll appreciate. I’ll also send those to you. There are a couple of pictures of the two of us with Daddy. It looks like we were at the beach together. I don’t know who would have taken the photo since you told me once that Mother didn’t come on those outings.
I know you’re really angry with me, but I’d like to talk to you. I’m sure you know that Becca isn’t taking my calls. I know I don’t have any control over what the two of you plan together, but I’d love for you to try to understand why I feel so upset. Even if we can’t come to an agreement over what is best for my daughter, I want you to know that I love you, and I want to find a way forward as sisters. Please call me.
Love, Meg
to: Becca Crane
subject: thinking of you
Hi Becca,
Just wanted to send a note to say I love you, and I’m thinking of you. I’d love to talk to you sometime. We don’t have to talk about Simon. I just want to hear how you’re doing and what you’re learning.
I’ve been really sick the past couple of weeks. The doctor diagnosed me with bronchitis, but he’s going to run a chest x-ray to make sure it hasn’t turned into pneumonia
Meg hit the delete button. Becca would only accuse her of trying to manipulate her into responding. She shut down her computer and opened her prayer journal with all of her notes from England chronicling her attempt to practice the prayer of examen. It had been weeks since she tried to review her day prayerfully with Jesus. Most d
ays it required too much energy to think about the ways she perceived the presence or experienced the hiddenness of God. And lately, even praying with a breath prayer was too painful. Maybe another prayer letter would help her process everything that was jumbled inside her and focus her attention on the love of God. She curled up in her recliner and began to write.
Dear Jesus,
Sometimes I’m aware of Your love, and Your presence is obvious to me, like in the gift Hannah gave me today—not just asking me to be her maid of honor but saying I’m the sister she never had. That was a beautiful gift to me. But then the moment I celebrate that gift of love, I remember my grief with Rachel and everything that is broken between us. I can’t make it right with her. I can’t force her to talk to me. And it wouldn’t be honest for me to apologize to her. I’m not sorry I asked her to leave my house. But I’m sorry for the damage it has caused. Or maybe there wasn’t much to be damaged in the first place. And that makes me very sad, too.
And what do I say about Becca that I haven’t already said to You a hundred times? Hannah gave me a card with the Serenity Prayer on it. I didn’t realize there was a longer version. Please take this as my offering to You, Lord. This is where I want my heart to be, even though I’m not there yet. And I don’t know how to get there.
“God give us grace to accept with Serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that You will make all things right, if I surrender to Your will, so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.”
I think I could pray that prayer every day for the rest of my life and still not reach the end of it. But please, Lord. Tonight I want to at least make a beginning. Lord, help me surrender to Your will and trust that You will make all things right, even if nothing works out the way I want. Please make me brave and wise and peaceful. Like You. Please help me receive the gifts You give each day without being worried about tomorrow. Please help me trust You. If hardship is a pathway to knowing You better, then please give me eyes to see how all of the pain with Becca and Rachel right now can make me more like You. And keep reminding me, please, that no hardship or trial or broken relationship has the power to separate me from You and Your love. Ever.
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