She opened her laptop again. “I’ll send an email right now to thank them. What have you told them?”
“That you’re trying to finish up the semester and feeling really sick.”
“They probably think I’m terrible.”
He bit into the apple and did not reply.
She deserved this. All of it. So much for any progress she’d thought she had made in her spiritual life. John was right. All she ever saw was her own reflection. She might as well tell Dr. Allen that it would be impossible for her to write any kind of authentic integration piece about her spiritual formation this semester. It was all entirely superficial. Every bit of it.
How are you being formed in Christ? Dr. Allen often asked.
I’m not, Charissa thought as she opened her inbox.
How are you nurturing Christ’s life in you? Dr. Allen often asked.
I’m not, she answered.
The question that next came to mind startled her. Would they even find a heartbeat if they were to do an ultrasound of her soul?
Rogue tears stung her eyes.
Maybe—just maybe—she’d had a miscarriage after all.
Part Three
In a Place Like This
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Psalm 46:1-5
nine
Mara
Mara hadn’t been sure if she could rely on Kevin to text and let her know what time they expected to arrive home from their ski trip. But at noon on Sunday, just after she left church, Kevin sent a message to say they were on their way. Mara immediately called Hannah. “They’ll be here by two o’clock.”
“How about if we bring lunch to you in half an hour?”
Mara wasn’t sure she could eat, but it was a kind offer. “Great. See you in a bit.”
She sat down at the table and tried to distract herself from imagined scenes of explosive confrontation. She didn’t know if having Hannah and Nathan in the house would inflame Tom or restrain him, but Hannah had persuaded her that it would be good for him to see that she had friends supporting her. Help, God. Please. At least she had managed to convince Jeremy that his being there would just make things harder for her. “Okay, Mom,” he’d said. “But I’m going to be texting you all afternoon to make sure you’re okay.”
Dawn and Hannah were right about that part: Mara wasn’t alone. And that was no minor thing. “I want you to keep meditating on what it means to be loved and chosen by God,” Dawn had told her. “With everything going on right now, it’s very important that you continue to grow in seeing yourself as beloved, not rejected. Every morning I want you in front of your mirror saying the words, ‘Jesus loves me. He has chosen me to be with him. He will never reject me.’ I don’t care how silly you feel doing it, I want you declaring it. Out loud. In fact, do it every time you’re in front of a mirror. Every time you see your reflection. Not just in the morning. Practice doing it. Make it a habit. Ask your friends to keep reminding you.”
Pastor Jeff had preached a similar theme from John 1 that morning, reminding all of them that Jesus was born into a world that rejected him. “Listen,” he said. “Jesus came to his own people and they said, ‘No, thanks. We don’t want you.’ But to the ones who said yes to him, to the ones who received him, he gave power. Power for what? Listen again. ‘But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.’ Don’t you dare forget who you are!”
Mara had especially liked the version of John 1 that Pastor Jeff had printed in the bulletin. While she waited for Hannah and Nathan to arrive, she pulled her sermon notes from her purse and read the passage from The Message again. “The Life-Light was the real thing: Every person entering Life he brings into Light. He was in the world, the world was there through him, and yet the world didn’t even notice. He came to his own people, but they didn’t want him. But whoever did want him, who believed he was who he claimed and would do what he said, He made to be their true selves, their child-of-God selves. These are the God-begotten, not blood-begotten, not flesh-begotten, not sex-begotten. The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish.”
God-begotten. Not sex-begotten. God-begotten. She could spend a lifetime chewing on that one. Help me believe it, Jesus. Show me my true, child-of-God self. Thanks for moving into the neighborhood and putting up with all our crap. Help me see your one-of-a-kind glory, even in all this mess.
She looked out the window at Alexis Harding’s glittering house taunting her from across the street. No doubt she would be thrilled to see the Garrisons moving out of the neighborhood. In fact, the whole cul-de-sac might rejoice to see a For Sale sign go up in the front yard.
She uttered some choice words about Tom and put her sermon notes away.
“Thanks for coming,” Mara said when she greeted Hannah and Nathan at the door with hugs.
“Glad to be with you.” Hannah gave her a colorful bouquet of flowers. “We brought soup and fresh bread.”
Nathan was carrying bags from a local restaurant. “We weren’t sure what kind you’d like, so we brought a variety.” He followed her to the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. “Chicken and dumpling, tomato basil, butternut squash, plain old chicken noodle.”
“You didn’t have to do all this for me.”
“We’re happy to.” He started unpacking the contents. “Go ahead and sit. We’ll serve.”
“Point me in the direction of a vase,” Hannah said, “and I’ll put those in water for you.” Mara motioned to the cabinet next to the microwave. Hannah filled a vase with water, trimmed the stems, and set the arrangement in front of her.
“I don’t think anyone has ever given me flowers before.”
“Well, we’ll have to keep you stocked, then,” Hannah said. “As reminders of God’s love and care for you.”
Nathan placed the bread and bowls of soup on the table, then sat down. “Take your pick,” he said. Mara chose chicken and dumpling. Hannah chose butternut squash. Nathan took tomato basil and reached for their hands. “Let’s pray.”
Hannah
When the garage door hummed open forty-five minutes later, Hannah watched Mara go rigid at the sink, hands frozen beneath the running water.
Nathan removed his glasses, breathed on them, and slowly polished the lenses with the edge of his burgundy V-neck cardigan. “We’re here, Mara,” he said. “We’ll be praying the entire time Tom’s in this house. And we won’t leave until he’s gone.” He and Hannah seated themselves at the kitchen table, just as the three of them had discussed, while Mara retrieved coffee mugs from the cabinet.
Kevin entered first, a navy duffel bag with a Nike logo slung over his shoulder, his nose still badly bruised. “Hey, Kev!” Mara said in a voice that sounded artificially cheerful. “How was skiing?” He shrugged without replying and glanced over in Hannah and Nathan’s direction. “This is my son Kevin,” she said. “Kevin, these are my friends, Dr. Allen and Miss Shepley.” He nodded slightly but did not return their verbal greeting.
Brian and Tom followed moments later, in matching military-style crew cuts, sparring about their fantasy football league and the impact a certain player’s injury would have on someone’s playoff chances. Tom broke off in mid-sentence, his mouth twitching either in surprise or anger when he saw two strangers sitting in his kitchen. Mara seemed uncertain what to do regarding introducti
ons. Nathan rose to his feet and introduced himself. Hannah followed suit.
Tom ignored Nathan’s outstretched hand. “What are you? Jehovah’s Witnesses or something?”
“No, we’re Mara’s friends,” Nathan said very steadily, never breaking eye contact with him. “Here to offer some support.”
Tom, built like a rugby player, the curvature of his muscles visible beneath his long-sleeved shirt, planted his legs like tree trunks on the brown tile floor and crossed his arms against his substantial chest. Nathan, several inches shorter and a good hundred pounds lighter, did not sit down. “Is that so?” Tom said, lips twisted into a snarl, eyes now riveted on the back of Mara’s head.
Mara spilled some coffee on the counter while she was trying to pour. “That’s so,” she said, still turned away from him. “You’ve got some packing to do. They’re gonna keep me company while you do it. Better get started.”
Brian glared at her. “We’re watching football.”
“Not right now, you’re not,” Mara said. “You’ve been gone all weekend, and now it’s time to unpack and do your homework.”
Given the expression on Brian’s reddening face, Hannah half expected him to become physically aggressive. Instead, he tossed his bag on the floor, the noise startling Mara and causing her to jump. “Whatever,” he growled.
Nathan’s jaw was clenched, and Hannah could imagine the thoughts running through his mind.
Mara still had her back turned toward them. “Pick up your bag, take it to your room, and put your things away. Then do your homework.” Brian cast a look of appeal to his father, who, surprisingly, gave a barely perceptible nod of command. Brian stormed out of the room with his bag. Tom followed. Nathan raised his eyebrows at Hannah before sitting down at the table again. Hannah exhaled slowly, attempting to calm her racing heart.
“You okay?” Nathan asked quietly when Mara gave him his coffee, steadying it with both her hands.
“Okay,” she replied.
For the next hour Tom traipsed through the kitchen carrying boxes. He never spoke, and Mara never questioned him about what he was removing. Clothes and personal items, probably. Hopefully. Nathan kept their conversation around the table flowing by talking about life at the college and sharing humorous anecdotes about teaching. Hannah could tell he was being very deliberate, not only in setting the content but the tone—relaxed and friendly, demonstrating familiarity with one another while offering the gift of a non-anxious presence. He was masterful. Hannah could well imagine him in his church office years ago, deftly diffusing volatile pastoral situations as skillfully as any military-trained bomb specialist.
After Tom carried out his final load, he summoned the boys. “I’ll be back in town on Friday,” he declared for everyone’s benefit, “and you two can stay with me at the hotel over the weekend, without anyone telling you what to do.” Mara looked like she was going to respond, then perhaps thought better of it. “Remember what I told you,” Tom said as he fist-bumped each of the boys in turn. Hannah wondered what instructions had been given. Both the boys disappeared again as soon as Tom left, Brian scowling and muttering something under his breath.
“And I thought my divorce was ugly,” Nathan said as he and Hannah drove away an hour later. “God, help her.”
Sunday, December 14
9 p.m.
I’m exhausted. I felt completely wiped out after leaving Mara’s. There are some very dark and oppressive powers at work there. Nate and I talked about it afterward. Tom fits every profile mark of an abuser, and if he hasn’t been physically violent toward Mara, it’s been a miracle. As soon as he entered the house, I felt something shift in my spirit, and I was in prayer the entire time we sat there, asking God for his protection and power. I know Nate was praying, too, even as he was keeping conversation going. Being there today gives both of us a better idea of how to pray for Mara. And not only for Mara, but for Tom and the boys, that God would deliver them from the grip of the evil one and set them free from captivity to sin. Please, Lord. Bind the powers of the enemy, break and destroy evil’s grip. Let your kingdom come. Set them free to enter into Life. Save Tom, save Kevin, save Brian. Please.
Brian is a spitting image of his father, and I’m really concerned about what he will do when his dad is gone. Lord, please protect Mara and give her courage. Thank you for the privilege of being able to pray for each of them. Keep bringing them to mind. Show me how to keep pointing Mara to your light. Your light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. Let us see your kingdom come and your will be done here on earth, even as it’s perfectly done in heaven. Let your kingdom break forth in her family. Please.
Nate’s pastor preached beautifully this morning from Isaiah 11 and Mark 13 on the kingdom of God and Christ’s second advent. While we wait for him to return to establish a perfected kingdom, we groan and struggle and weep and long for his coming, not just for ourselves, but for the world. So much groaning, Lord. Thank you for groaning with us with sighs too deep for words.
I was thinking of Meg and Mara as we sang God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen. My practice of praying with carol lyrics prepared me to hear it with fresh ears, and I was praying it as I sang it. Gift. It struck me this morning. Here’s a text calling us to rest in joy, to remember Christ’s coming, to let nothing dismay us because our Savior has rescued us from Satan’s power and delivered us from sin. It’s a song of hope and a declaration of comfort and good news, and it’s in a minor key! We’re called to rejoice and take comfort, even in our groanings. Remind me, Lord. The lyrics of that carol are good words to pray for Meg and for Mara tonight.
As I listened to the sermon about the kingdom, I remembered all of us rising to sing along with Handel’s Hallelujah chorus Friday night. “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ! And he shall reign forever and ever! King of kings and Lord of lords! Hallelujah!” Yes, Lord. Yes. Let that be our song as we wait for your kingdom to be revealed. No matter what it looks like from down here, you win, Lord. You win.
Hallelujah! Amen.
Meg
In a small room adjacent to the hotel lobby, where Bing Crosby crooned his Christmas wishes, Meg sat alone, staring at a computer screen. Hannah’s latest email contained an update and prayer request for Mara, some Scripture verses for encouragement, and news about Charissa and John. “I haven’t talked with Charissa lately,” Hannah wrote, “so I don’t know many details. Just that they got good news after their miscarriage scare—the baby’s fine—but their house deal fell through. Not sure when she finishes her semester.”
Though it had been more than twenty-five years, Meg remembered the excitement—and frustration—of searching for a house. After losing several houses to higher bids from other buyers, she and Jim, newly married, found a small cottage they could afford to rent. Six months later, the landlord offered to sell it to them. “See?” Jim exclaimed as he scooped Meg into his arms. “I told you God had a plan.”
She closed her inbox and opened a Kingsbury real estate website. 1020 Evergreen. There it was, still for sale. Just before Thanksgiving, after years of avoiding the street, Meg had summoned the courage to drive by the home where she and Jim had been so happy together. Seeing the For Sale sign in the yard stirred deep and unexpected longings, and she had contemplated attending an open house, just to walk through it and say good-bye, one more time.
Charming 1924 cottage with character in need of some gentle TLC.
How fitting, Meg thought. How fitting that her old home, once so dearly cherished and cared for, was in need of some tender restoration and new life.
Meg knew nothing about the people who had purchased the house after Jim died; Mother had handled all the details of the sale. Since no interior pictures were posted on the listing, Meg clicked on the exterior ones, from all different angles: the front room that would have been Becca’s, the rear window above the kitchen sink where she and Jim had washed dishes together, the side view where their bedroom
had been. The front porch swing was gone, perhaps removed by someone who wanted to take it with them in a move. She and Jim had spent long hours on that porch swing, weaving their hopes for the future, offering their apologies to one another, sharing the intimacy of silence while listening to the summertime cadence of tree frogs and crickets.
She’d had a fleeting thought after first seeing the For Sale sign: maybe she should sell her mother’s place and move to another house in Kingsbury where she could start fresh. She’d even thought for a moment—only a moment—that she could return to the cottage and be happy there. But there was no returning. She knew that. There was only moving forward in hope. There was redeeming. And healing. And closure. Deeper and deeper levels of healing and closure.
Maybe . . .
Just maybe . . .
She copied and pasted the house’s link, composed an email to Charissa, and, with a prayer for her and John and their baby, pressed Send.
from: Meg Crane
to: Hannah Shepley
date: Monday, December 15 at 11:03 a.m.
subject: Re: Praying for you
Dear Hannah,
Thank you so much for your email and for sending along your sermon notes. I want to pray with Isaiah 11 and think about longing for the kingdom, not just for my sake but for the world God loves. What a good reminder for me to look beyond my own struggles and also hear others groaning. Sorrow and disappointment can make me so self-
focused, and I don’t want to become nearsighted. Thank you for letting me know about Mara. My heart aches for her, and I will definitely keep her and her whole family in prayer. I just sent her an email to let her know she’s on my mind. Please let me know if any specific needs come up this week. I told her she is welcome to stay at my house, any time. I want it to be a blessing to others, for as long as I live in it. I’m so glad you’re there. I also emailed Charissa with details about my old house being for sale. It might not be anything they’re interested in—it’s very small and looks like it’s a fixer-upper—but I thought it was worth offering. I don’t know anything about the people or families who have lived there the past twenty years, but it would make me so happy if a young family could live there.
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