Barefoot

by Brown, Sharon Garlough;

  Dawn sat back in her chair and shook her head slowly. “Mara, I am amazed.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Listen to you! Listen to everything you’ve been able to process and pray about and do! Look at your willingness to confront the hard things—to forgive the hard things!—and to press forward. Like you were saying before Christmas. You’ve been watching for how Jesus is being born in the mess. It’s extraordinary, Mara. Truly extraordinary. I am so incredibly proud of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “But there’s so much more for me to work through!”

  “True enough. There’s always more. But you’re on the journey with Jesus, Mara. And look how far you’ve come.”

  Maybe Dawn was right. Maybe all her circles really were ascending spirals up a mountain, not endless cycles leading nowhere. Mara glanced up at the painted figure on Dawn’s bookcase, the little girl with her arms extended, her hands open, releasing and receiving. “She’s got bare feet,” Mara said.

  Dawn followed her pointing finger. “What does that mean to you?” she asked.

  Mara shrugged. “Like she’s not worried about stepping on rocks or glass. Or stubbing her toes. She’s just free.”

  “What a good image,” Dawn said.

  And Mara said, “That’s what I want to be. Free.”

  Hannah

  Ten minutes before the memorial service, Hannah couldn’t find Becca. Mara searched bathrooms in the church; Charissa searched corridors; Nathan searched outside. Finally, on a hunch, Hannah headed downstairs, where lights had been turned on in the children’s wing. Making her way quietly down the hallway, she peered into each room until she found Becca seated cross-legged in front of a mural, her tear-stained face positioned in a mirror.

  Becca saw Hannah in the reflection and spun around, quickly wiping her eyes. “Is it time?” she asked.

  “No rush,” Hannah said.

  “Sorry,” Becca said, reaching into her purse for a package of tissues. She sounded just like her mother when she blew her nose. “When the minister mentioned Mom being here . . .” She slumped forward, her shoulders heaving in sobs.

  Hannah knelt and wrapped her arms around her.

  “What am I going to do without her?” Becca murmured, her head against Hannah’s breast.

  Hannah had no answer.

  “Simon doesn’t believe in any of this stuff,” Becca said, casting her hand around the room. “He says there’s no afterlife, that the people we love live on in our memories and that that’s good enough for him.”

  “And what about you?” Hannah asked gently. “What do you believe?”

  Becca blew her nose again. “I don’t know. Part of me is desperate to think I could see her again. Part of me thinks that’s just a fairytale. Like Simon says. Simon says faith is naive. A crutch for weak people.”

  Hannah bristled. It would be impossible to count how many times she’d heard that accusation over the years. But it was fruitless to argue over what Simon said, what he believed. “Your mother wasn’t weak, Becca. She was very brave.”

  Becca looked surprised.

  “She never would have said that about herself,” Hannah went on. “But she loved well, right to the very end. And that’s always brave.” Becca took a deep, steadying breath. Hannah waited for her to compose herself and then asked, “Ready?”

  With one final glance toward the mural, Becca nodded and followed Hannah to the sanctuary.

  They sang their defiant hope with exclamation points, other voices carrying on when Hannah’s voice faltered.

  Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia! Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia! Once he died our souls to save, Alleluia! Where’s thy victory, boasting grave? Alleluia!

  Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia! Following our exalted Head, Alleluia! Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia! Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!

  Hannah fixed her eyes on the cross as they sang, Meg’s white amaryllis blooming alongside the flowers of spring. Defiant. Resilient. Hopeful. Easter people, Pastor Dave said. We are people of the resurrection, practicing our hope in the midst of sorrow, trusting the One who has conquered death and brought us into life. Eternal life. And we gather to celebrate that Meg has now joined her voice with the heavenly choirs, singing Alleluia.

  Becca leaned her head on Hannah’s shoulder. Hannah draped her arm around her. If Rachel had been there, she might have sneered. But Rachel was not there because she had a business trip she “couldn’t change.” So be it. Meg would not have been surprised.

  But Meg would have been touched by the beauty of Becca’s offering: a collage of pictures featuring Meg from childhood to adolescence to marriage to motherhood, including the last photos of mother and daughter together, arm in arm on the staircase. She would have been moved—deeply moved—when Becca rose not only to read the verses of love from the Song of Solomon but when she went on to testify extemporaneously to the ways her mother had loved her. She would have been astonished when Mara and Charissa and Hannah and others, following Becca’s lead, also rose to speak at the microphone about the difference Meg’s kindness and compassion had made in their lives. She would have been overwhelmed.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about something,” Becca said while Hannah followed the hearse in a slow procession later that morning. “I’ve been thinking about how excited Mom was to be in your wedding. She told me how special you are—were—to her and—” Becca’s voice broke.

  Hannah kept her blurry gaze fixed on the taillights ahead of her.

  “I was thinking about what my mother might want, about how I might do something for her and—” The hearse turned into the cemetery and wound its way up the hill toward the oak tree. “And I was wondering, Hannah. . . . Would it be okay with you if I stood in Mom’s place at your wedding? Or would that be weird?”

  Unable to summon her voice, Hannah parked the car beside the oak tree, turned, and embraced Meg’s girl.

  “Of course I’ll help!” Mara exclaimed on the phone later that afternoon. “What’s Becca’s number? I’ll call her right now.”

  “She’s out with some friends right now, so maybe wait a bit.” Thankfully, a group of high school friends had come back into town especially for the funeral. Hannah wondered what Becca thought about her aunt not coming to offer support. Becca hadn’t said; Hannah hadn’t asked. She had her own strong feelings about it, which she kept to herself.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll need to make many alterations to Meg’s dress,” Mara said. “She and Becca are about—were about the same size.” Mara sniffled. Hannah pressed the back of her wrist against one eye, then the other. She hated having to refer to Meg in the past tense. “I think it’s amazing that Becca wants to stay and do this,” Mara went on. “It was her idea to wear the dress?”

  “I told her I would buy her something else, but she said, No. Said it was really important for her to do this for her mom. To stand in her place.” Hannah tilted her head back, trying to halt the advance of tears. Meg would have been moved—so deeply moved—by Becca’s offering.

  If our loved ones are with Christ and Christ is with us, Pastor Dave had said, then our loved ones aren’t far away.

  Perhaps . . .

  In the mystery of the communion of saints, perhaps Meg knew about this gift of love from the daughter she’d loved so dearly. Perhaps Meg knew about all the gifts of love and words of testimony that had been offered that day in her honor. Perhaps Meg saw clearly for the very first time the quiet, rippling impact of her life in the kingdom of God. Her kindness, her compassion, her gentleness, her love—these were the jewels in the crown she would lay at her Lord’s feet.

  “You okay?” Mara asked.

  Hannah wept.

  Wednesday, February 25

  5 p.m.

  I’ve been running on adrenaline the past few days, just trying to manage all the details and preparations. Tonight’s the first time I’ve rea
lly sat with the weight of my grief.

  I miss my friend.

  And somehow I have to find a way to shift gears toward joy. Toward celebration. Meg would want that. She would hate for any kind of shadow to be cast over the wedding because of her. I know that. So right now, Lord, help me focus on the joy of resurrection rather than the searing pain of loss. And fix my eyes on the joy of being united with Nate.

  The hymn lyrics from this morning keep running through my head. Good ones to pray with in the coming days. This stanza caught my attention from “O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go.”

  O joy that seekest me through pain,

  I cannot close my heart to thee;

  I trace the rainbow through the rain,

  and feel the promise is not vain

  that morn shall tearless be.

  I thank you that Meg has seen that morn rise. She has seen your kingdom come. Grant the rest of us the vision to also see its coming, in all of its beauty.

  Alleluia. Amen.

  Late Sunday afternoon, just as Hannah was getting ready to change into her wedding dress at New Hope, Nathan handed her a small package. “A birthday gift from Meg,” he said.

  Taken aback, Hannah removed the silver wrapping paper and lifted the lid on a jewelry box. Earrings. Exquisite gold floral earrings. She gripped her neck, hand trembling.

  “She had them designed especially for you,” Nathan said, “had me pick them up the day we got our rings. And she left a letter for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Thought I’d better give you this before you put your mascara on.”

  Hannah smiled as tears pooled in her eyes. “Good thinking.”

  He gave her a lingering kiss, then squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you soon,” he said before heading down the hallway to change into his tuxedo.

  Hannah glanced around, seeking a secluded place where she could read without being interrupted. On her way to find a deserted classroom, she passed the labyrinth courtyard. Perfect. That was the perfect place for quiet. Buttoning her coat, she made her way to the corner bench where she and Meg had sat together months before in a bower of late summer roses. Then she opened the letter. She could almost hear Meg’s soprano voice speaking the words.

  My dear Hannah,

  If you’re reading this before your wedding, I am so sorry I wasn’t able to stand with you. But the veil, I believe, is very thin between this world and the next, and somehow, both of us will be in the presence of Jesus when you make your promises to Nathan and when he makes his promises to you. I will be with you in spirit.

  I want you to know how dearly I love you and how grateful I am for your presence in my life, for all the ways God worked through you to bless me in the short time we’ve had together. Go forward with joy, my sister, deeper into the heart of the One who loves you.

  And always, always remember, beloved. The flowers are for you.

  All my love,

  Meg

  Hannah remained in the prayerful, hovering stillness, clutching the letter to her chest, until the whistling of wings caught her attention, and she lifted her head to watch a mourning dove fly away.

  “You look beautiful,” her mother said. “I’m not going to kiss you because I’ll get lipstick on you.”

  Hannah laughed. “Thanks, Mom.” She straightened the front of her gown and checked her reflection in a hallway mirror. Meg’s earrings were the perfect complement to her dress.

  “You found a good one,” her father said. “I look forward to playing tennis with him.”

  “You’ve got to watch out for him, Dad. He’s extremely competitive.”

  “Well, so am I. We’ll be a good pair.” He touched her chin lightly. “And since I don’t have lipstick on . . .” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Mara, Charissa, and Becca emerged from the dressing room in their gowns. “Okay, Hannah,” Mara said. “I’ve got this idea—let me know what you think. And if you don’t like it, tell me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mara lifted her dress slightly to reveal a blue and white striped sneaker. “You know how we were going to wear sensible shoes?”

  Hannah nodded. She was still wearing her own sensible pair.

  “How about if instead, the three of us go barefoot with you? Like you were saying about standing on holy ground. Or is that a dumb idea?”

  Hannah took her friend’s hand in hers. “I think it’s a beautiful idea,” she said. “Let’s all go barefoot for the processional. We can carry our shoes along with our flowers.”

  “Love it!” Mara and Charissa chorused. Becca looked at Hannah with her mother’s eyes and nodded.

  While the sun set in lavender splendor beyond the evergreens in the courtyard, the wedding party gathered outside the chapel with Katherine to pray, Hannah holding the bridal bouquet Nathan had presented to her. “Ready?” Nathan asked after they offered their amen.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling.

  Hineni, Lord. Here I am.

  Jake, the best man, placed a shy kiss on her cheek, then took his place beside Nathan at the front of the chapel. Her young nieces twirled in their dresses and readied themselves at the door with their baskets of rose petals. The pianist began to play “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.”

  And Hannah and the others removed their shoes.

  Acknowledgments

  I thank my God every time I remember you (Philippians 1:3).

  With love and gratitude . . .

  For my husband, Jack. None of this would happen without your love and support. Thank you for showing me God’s heart, over and over again. God blessed me with you.

  For our son, David. Your kindness, compassion, and creativity are such beautiful gifts from God. I’m so proud of you.

  For Mom and Dad. Where would I be without your love and encouragement? Thank you for all of the generous gifts you’ve given.

  For my sister, Beth. You wept with me through the writing of this book. Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.

  For my brother-in-law, Mitch. Thank you for being my doctor-on-call and for making me laugh in the midst of the sorrow.

  For Aunt Sally and Uncle Frank. Thank you for leaping into the research process with passion and enthusiasm. You went far above and beyond the call of duty.

  For the family of Redeemer Covenant Church. What a privilege and gift to have served God with you! The Sensible Shoes Club and books would not have happened without you.

  For Mary V. Peterson. Thank you for helping me to hold joy and sorrow in the same overflowing cup. You’re a truly trustworthy companion on the journey.

  For my faithful editor, Cindy Bunch. What a joy and gift it is to work with you! I’m so grateful. And to the devoted and talented team at IVP, thanks for your encouragement and for the privilege of partnering in ministry with you. All of you are wonderful servants of the Word and our words. Special thanks to Cindy Kiple for such beautiful and evocative cover designs, to Allison Rieck for skillful and intuitive copyediting, and to Jeff Crosby who works tirelessly to give books wings.

  For early readers who encouraged me with wise and generous feedback. Thank you, Martie Bradley, Shalini Bennett, Marilyn Hontz, Lisa Samra, Carolyn Watts, Elizabeth Musser, and Amy Nemecek. Your words strengthened me and helped me press forward in the midst of many tears.

  For dear friends, near and far. You know who you are. Thank you for holding me in prayer.

  For Rebecca DeYoung. Thank you for introducing me to Abba Macarius, memento mori, and so much more.

  For Debra Rienstra. Thank you for supplying notes for a suitably ridiculous lecture and for reading the manuscript with such care and insight.

  For Jana and Phil. Thank you for granting me permission to draw from such a memorable proposal story.

  For Christina. Thank you for bringing the first flowers so long ago. I’m so grateful for your smile.

  For Doug. Thank you for the gi
ft of the holding cross, which reminds me of all the ways I am held.

  For Dave and Cynthia. Thank you for rich fellowship that encourages and blesses us.

  For Kim. Thank you for welcoming me into your office and classroom with such gracious hospitality.

  For Betty. Thank you for the story of the wild cherry tree. What roots it must have had!

  For Cynthia. Thank you for the Scrabble words and for acts of bravery that inspire me.

  For readers of the Sensible Shoes series. Thank you for loving these characters and for taking their journey to heart. May you know the nearness of God’s presence and the trustworthiness of his love as you read. Remember, the flowers are for you.

  And for you, Lord. You’re worth absolutely everything. I wish I had bigger words to express my love and thanks to you. Maybe one will do. Hineni.

  For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen. Romans 11:36

  Companion Guide for Prayer and Conversation

  Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

  whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

  As they pass through the Valley of Baka,

  they make it a place of springs;

  the autumn rains also cover it with pools.

  They go from strength to strength,

  till each appears before God in Zion.

  Psalm 84:5-7

  You are invited to engage with material from the characters’ prayer notebook. Some of the exercises will already be familiar to you because they were used (or mentioned as potential choices) in the book. Others are based on Scripture texts that were meaningful to the characters on their journeys. In this guide I’ve provided eight exercises for individual and group meditation. For ease of reference, I’ve also included two prayers and some discernment questions that were embedded in the book. You may want to include these in your group life as well. For more resources for spiritual formation groups or book clubs, please visit my website: www.sensibleshoesclub.com.