Two Steps Forward

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  “Meg!” Hannah threw up her hand and signaled, then maneuvered around the crowd, clutching her bouquet of flowers.

  Meg set down her bag and returned Hannah’s embrace. “Welcome home,” Hannah said. “You must be exhausted.”

  Meg nodded.

  “The flowers are for you,” Hannah said.

  “Flowers in winter,” Meg murmured. “Thank you.”

  Hannah picked up Meg’s carry-on, and the two of them made their way to baggage claim. “Mara really wanted to be here,” Hannah explained, “but Brian was being difficult about something, so it didn’t work out. But she’s got some ideas about getting together. I told her we’d see how you’re feeling and then make our plans. No pressure.”

  “Thank you. All I can think about right now is getting home and trying to sleep. You’re staying at my house, right?”

  “As long as I’m not in the way.”

  Meg’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t think I could bear being alone in that house right now.”

  “Then I’m glad to be with you.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “And I’ll keep holding you in prayer.”

  Meg gasped when she saw the front porch with the twinkling lights, winter urns, and wreath. “Oh, Hannah . . .”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Like it?” Meg echoed. “It’s beautiful!”

  “Well, it was Mara’s talent. She put everything together. Go take a look. I’ll get your bags.”

  While Hannah retrieved the suitcases from the trunk, Meg walked up the steps and fingered the pine boughs and willow branches. “It hasn’t been decorated in years,” Meg remarked. “And never like this. My mother didn’t bother much with decorating. Too much trouble, she said.”

  Meg unlocked and opened the door, the bells jingling their greeting. Meg froze in place. Hannah nearly bumped into her with a suitcase.

  “You okay?” Hannah asked.

  Meg didn’t reply at first, and Hannah felt a twinge of regret. Maybe they’d overstepped the boundaries by decorating the foyer and parlor. Maybe she should have asked specific questions about how and where they could decorate. “Sorry—we kinda went overboard on everything.”

  “No—no. It’s incredible, Hannah.” Meg jingled the bells again, appearing lost in thought. “Beyond incredible. Like it’s been transformed.”

  She took off her coat and shoes and stared into the parlor, shaking her head back and forth slowly. “I’m glad there are bells on the door. And I’m glad there’s a tree where there should be a tree. I never would have done something like this on my own. I’m glad you did. Thank you. It’s just what I need. I was dreading walking into a sad and empty house.”

  She knelt down, unzipped her carry-on bag, and removed an object wrapped in tissue paper. “I bought myself a snow globe at Harrods,” she explained. She shook it before placing it on the mantel. “It looks good there, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect,” Hannah replied. “How about if I make us a pot of tea?”

  Tuesday, December 23

  7 a.m.

  Meg was holding up pretty well last night until we went upstairs to go to bed. Then the grief swept over her. I’ve been sleeping in Becca’s room, and Meg came in to sit awhile. Just seeing the photos of Becca on her desk and some of the stuffed animals arranged on the windowsill made her weep. I offered to pray for her, and we ended up praying a long time for Becca, that the Lord would soften her heart and reveal himself to her. Of all the heartaches right now, I think the one that is most painful to Meg is Becca’s resistance to faith. Help her persevere in hope, Lord. She longs for Becca to see you, to know your love, to turn away from sin and receive your grace. Her mother’s heart is breaking. You keep count of all her tossing and hold her tears in your bottle. Draw near to comfort and restore. Please. And keep reminding me to pray for Becca. She may not want to hear her mother testify to Jesus, but she has no defenses against our prayers.

  I’ve been reading Luke 2:8-14 this morning. One of my favorite texts. There’s something about the shepherds’ story that always evokes deep emotion in me. Thank you, Lord, for revealing your good news first to outcasts.

  “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!’”

  What caught my attention was the phrase, “Do not be afraid; for see!” And then I started thinking about the King James Version. “Fear not; for behold . . .” That word “behold” again. Don’t be afraid. Look! See! Perceive! Comprehend! Don’t miss it! Listen to the good news of great joy for all the people! Let Becca hear the good news, Lord. May she one day run like the shepherds to investigate what it all means. Let her behold you. Stir her heart to long for you. Give her an intense dissatisfaction with the way she has chosen and bring her home to you, Lord. In Jesus’ name.

  I’m still getting used to my earrings. Not a bad thing to be frequently reminded of the spiritual marker and God’s ongoing work in my life. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, my eyes immediately go to the gold studs, and I’m reminded of Mara’s “I’m the one Jesus loves” declaration. So I say it for myself. And then I think of Nate’s tattoo and hineni. And I practice saying a prayer for Laura. Sometimes.

  Help me continue to behold you, Lord, so that I can more readily say, Behold me.

  Meg

  Meg sat in the reception area at the New Hope Retreat Center waiting for Katherine to arrive for their one o’clock meeting. She hadn’t slept well. No doubt it would be several days before her body adjusted to the time change and much longer than that before her mind and heart adjusted to the disappointment.

  She blew her nose.

  Becca had sounded cheerful when Meg phoned to say she had arrived home safely. “I’m glad!” Becca said. Meg wasn’t sure if she meant she was glad Meg had gotten home safely or if she was glad Meg was home, period. She then went on to describe a shopping spree with Pippa. “I got an outfit that looks amazing with the hat and purse and boots you bought me at Harrods.” If Meg had known she was contributing that day to a wardrobe for Paris, she might not have been so generous.

  She looked at her watch. Five minutes past. Katherine wasn’t usually late. She was usually in her office, ready to light the Christ candle in prayer. But her office was dark, and the administrator was on her lunch break.

  She fiddled with the laces on her boots.

  She had spent the morning trying to organize her thoughts so she would reap the most possible benefit from her time with Katherine. Hannah had been kind to give her plenty of space, not demanding conversation. The two of them sat in the front parlor, the fireplace lit for the first time in years, the lights sparkling on the Christmas tree, the fragrance of evergreen filling the house. Her mother would have objected to the pine needles on the rug.

  Much as she was grateful that Mara had also wanted to meet her at the airport, Meg had been mildly relieved when she exited the terminal to see only Hannah standing there. Mara, she knew, would be effusive with her sympathy, barraging her with questions and commiserating with her suffering.

  Her suffering. Who was she to speak about her “suffering” when someone like Mara was facing so much worse? When so many were facing so much worse? She needed to remember to rehearse gratitude as well as name her grief.

  She looked at her watch again. Ten past.

  Okay. Points of gratitude.

  One. She was able to spend a couple of weeks in a fascinating city. She had enjoyed expl
oring London, even on her own. Come to think of it, perhaps part of what she had discovered was that she did have wings after all. Thank you, Lord.

  Two. She hadn’t crumpled under the weight of disappointment. She was able to express herself honestly to Becca, and the two of them were still able to embrace one another and affirm love for each other. Thank you, Lord. Forging a new normal wouldn’t be easy, but at least they hadn’t rejected one another in anger.

  Three. She had looked Becca in the eyes and asked for her forgiveness for withholding stories and memories about Jim. Even if Becca didn’t understand why she felt compelled to ask for forgiveness, she offered it, in her own way. Now maybe Meg needed to offer it to herself.

  Hmmmm. That was something she hadn’t considered before. She had asked for God’s forgiveness. She had asked for Becca’s forgiveness. But now that she had seen firsthand the consequences, or at least, what she presumed were the consequences of hiding Jim from Becca—after all, who wouldn’t think that Becca was chasing after some absent father figure—could she actually forgive herself?

  She looked at her watch again. Sixteen minutes past the hour.

  Just as she was ready to wander down the hallway to see if Katherine had arrived through a back door, the main door opened and Katherine entered, buffered against the cold in a black-hooded parka. She removed her gloves, stamped the snow off her boots, and extended her hands. “Meg, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a cell phone number for you, and Jamie’s away from her desk.”

  “It’s okay.” She had never seen Katherine’s face look so drawn. Maybe she was sick. Meg followed her down the hallway. “Are you okay?”

  Katherine removed her coat and hung it on a rack. “I’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital to visit someone from our church who’s in her last hours. It’s so hard on families, especially this time of year. Everything’s amplified. The joys and the sorrows.” She ushered Meg into her office and turned on several lamps. “Much as I loved my years as a chaplain, I’m glad I’m officially retired from it.”

  “You were a hospital chaplain?”

  “For a long time. At St. Luke’s.”

  Meg had a vague memory of Katherine mentioning her hospital work during the sacred journey group. Something about working with rehab patients on a burn unit, maybe. She took her usual spot on Katherine’s couch. “When were you there?” Meg asked.

  Katherine sat down in her armchair and removed her boots. “Oh, let’s see . . . from 1984 until about ten years ago.”

  So she would have been working there when Jim died. And when Becca was born.

  Meg didn’t remember much about the chaplain who met with her after the doctor delivered the news about Jim. He sat with her in a little room first, before they walked down the corridor. He offered to pray with her, stayed with her while she went in to see Jim’s body, helped her try to reach someone who could give her a ride home. Not safe for you to drive, he said. Who can be with you right now?

  She remembered more than she thought.

  Her eyes burned.

  Mrs. Anderson, her childhood neighbor, came to pick her up at the hospital because she couldn’t reach her mother. Mrs. Anderson drove her to 1020 Evergreen, the little house they had so lovingly prepared for their baby. Mrs. Anderson helped her pack two suitcases, took her to Mother’s house, stayed with her until Mother got home that night, helped her plan the funeral.

  She remembered more than she wanted to remember.

  Katherine moved the box of tissues on the coffee table so that it was within Meg’s reach. Meg took a tissue and blew her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No need to be sorry.”

  Meg rumpled the tissue. Katherine retrieved a wastebasket from beside her desk and set it in front of her. Meg nodded her thanks. “I don’t know if I ever told you that Jim died at St. Luke’s when I was seven months pregnant with Becca. She was born on Christmas Eve. Twenty-one years ago tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Meg . . .”

  “It’s like what you just said about everything being amplified this time of year. And especially this year when I’m trying to be brave about remembering things I haven’t thought about in a long time.” She reached for another tissue. “I don’t remember who the chaplain was who took care of me when Jim died from the car accident, but I guess you would have known him.”

  Katherine nodded. “There was a small group of us that worked together,” she said. “Wonderful colleagues, every single one of them. And we prayed together every week, for all the people we had been privileged to care for.”

  “So you would have prayed for me,” Meg said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  The news that a group of strangers had held her before the Lord in prayer at a time when she had been unable to pray herself brought unexpected comfort. Emmanuel. God with me. Even then.

  Katherine lit the candle and gave a few minutes for silent prayer. She needed it. This was the first time Meg had mentioned giving birth on Christmas Eve, and now that she had sequential pieces of the narrative, Katherine remembered. Certain details of certain traumas had been imprinted over the years, and though she had not been the chaplain on duty the day Meg’s husband died, Katherine remembered her colleague Peter speaking about it. It wasn’t just the cataclysmic convergence of death and pregnancy that had affected him. Peter had confided to the peer group about how worried he had been, how fragile the young woman seemed, how alone she was, unable to reach her mother. Katherine remembered. As the weeks went by, Peter had monitored the maternity wing, waiting for Meg’s return, wanting to be a prayerful presence for her and her little one. Katherine remembered.

  Oh, what a small world Kingsbury was.

  Oh, how mysterious God’s ways in weaving stories together.

  When Katherine opened her eyes, Meg was staring at the candle, looking pensive. “I’ve been sitting here,” she said, “thinking about that chaplain who took care of me when Jim died and about how your group would have prayed for me, way back then, and I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like something just shifted. Like I’m able to see that even at the darkest moment of my life, when I felt so alone, God was taking care of me, and I didn’t even know it. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “Like a reframing.”

  “Yes. Like my vision and perspective on it changes. That I wasn’t alone. There were people with me, helping me.” Meg leaned forward slightly, hands folded together on her lap. “And I’m also sitting here, remembering when Becca was born. All I saw that day was that Jim wasn’t there, that all of our hopes and dreams had turned into the worst possible nightmare. And I was overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed. But suddenly I’m remembering people who were there and that I wasn’t alone. Like a nurse who held my hand and told me she was praying for me. And the midwife who was so patient and coached me through every breath and told me to keep going, that I needed to keep going, that I was so brave.”

  Yes, Katherine thought. So brave. So very brave.

  Meg’s eyes were riveted on Katherine’s face. “And one of the nurses called a chaplain to come after Becca was born, and a woman—a female chaplain came and prayed with me . . .”

  Meg remembered.

  And there was no pastoral purpose served in not confirming the memory.

  Katherine nodded slowly. “I always worked the day shift on Christmas Eve.”

  Meg closed her eyes and tried to see the blurry details more clearly. “You held our daughter,” Meg murmured. “You held her and prayed for her. For me.” She could not see Katherine’s face in the scene, but she remembered a fleeting sensation of peace. Of hope. That somehow, in spite of everything, somehow all would be well. The chaplain—Katherine—had cradled their baby and spoken words of blessing.

  She remembered.

  Emmanuel. God with us. Even then.

  Even now.

  Meg buried her face in her hands and wept.

  twelve

  Hannah

  Ha
nnah waited in the front parlor, listening for the sound of Meg’s car in the driveway. She placed another log on the fire and watched it crackle, read a few paragraphs of a novel she’d picked from the bookshelf, and set it down again. The grandfather clock sighed four o’clock, then quarter past. A car door slammed. Hannah peered out the window. Meg was trudging up the walk, lugging shopping bags.

  Hannah held the front door open, the wind rushing into the foyer, jingling the bells. “Here, let me help.” She took several bags from Meg.

  “Thanks,” Meg said, stamping the snow from her boots. She carried the bags to the kitchen, then took off her gray wool coat and draped it over the pineapple finial on the bannister. “I’ll go change my clothes,” she said, “and then I want to tell you about my time with Katherine.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Hannah said. Once Meg disappeared upstairs, she took a towel from the kitchen and mopped up the snow that had melted and pooled near the discarded boots.

  Meg returned a few minutes later, wearing red sweatpants and a Mind the Gap T-shirt, her hair pulled back away from her face with a clip. As the two of them put away groceries, Hannah listened to Meg recount the story of Katherine being the chaplain on duty when Becca was born. “And then Katherine invited me to spend time remembering God’s faithfulness, in all sorts of different situations in my life. To see and name how God has been with me, how he’s enabled me to keep going through some really dark times.”

  Meg removed two mugs from the cupboard, one with flowers, the other with her name. Hannah brewed tea in the Brown Betty teapot Meg had brought her from England and put some of Mara’s snickerdoodles on a plate.