Ribbon of Years

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  For a long time, neither of them spoke, neither of moved. them Miriam would have thought he was gone, except the machines continued to make the same sounds as always.

  Finally, she heard a sweeter sound. The sweetest sound of all. In a voice too soft to be called a whisper, Luke spoke the name: "Jesus." Then he slipped from consciousness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  FOR THE NEXT FORTY-EIGHT HOURS, LUKE DIDN'T STIR. THE doctor advised Miriam that it was doubtful he would awaken again.

  As if he'd sensed Luke's time was near, Keegan didn't leave the house that morning. It was just before noon when he entered Luke's bedroom and softly said, "May I speak with you, Mrs. Tucker?"

  "Of course."

  He motioned with his head toward the opposite end of the room, then led the way. Once Miriam arrived, he turned to face her, his expression grim. "Look, I know what you think about me and Luke. About the way we live."

  "I don't believe you do."

  "Yeah, right. I've heard the intolerance of your type before."

  Miriam drew a deep breath before speaking. When she began, her voice revealed her sorrow. "Mr. Teague, it's true that I disapprove of the lifestyle you and my son have lived. I disapprove because God's Word says it's a sin."

  He flushed with anger and opened his mouth to speak.

  Miriam lifted a hand to stop him. "Hear me out. Your relationship with my son is no worse in God's eyes than a man and a woman having sex outside of marriage or a father teaching his child it's okay to keep the extra nickel a clerk mistakenly gave in change. Sin is sin. Lust is as evil as adultery. Anger toward a brother is as evil as murder. God doesn't rank one sin as lesser or greater than another. He hates them all."

  Her reply seemed to catch Keegan unaware, surprise him, confuse him.

  "Sin separates mankind from a holy God, but while God hates sin, He loves the sinner. He loves us so much He sent His Son to die for us." She reached out and touched his forearm. "That's the only real truth there is."

  "Miriam," Sean said from Luke's bedside. "I think he's waking."

  She hurried across the room, followed by Keegan. She took the hand Sean offered her and leaned into him for support, involuntarily holding her breath as she stared at her son.

  Luke's eyelids fluttered. A soft groan sounded in his throat. Miriam glanced at Rick, who stood at the foot of the bed, but he was also watching Luke.

  She bent forward. "Luke, honey, we're here with you. We're all here. All of us who love you. It's okay. Whatever happens next, it's okay. Jesus is with you. He loves you most of all."

  Luke opened his eyes then, meeting her gaze. She could tell it was a struggle for him to focus. He rolled his head to the side, looking toward the opposite side of the room. "Pho-to," he rasped.

  Miriam followed his gaze to the dresser. It was covered with photographs, as was the wall above it. She took his hand. "Which one, Luke?"

  "There." He tried to lift his free hand, but it fell limply back upon the mattress.

  Sean left her side, walked to the dresser, and while looking over his shoulder at Luke, slowly touched first one, then another, then another, each time asking, "This one?"

  Finally, Luke whispered, "Yes."

  Sean brought the photograph, encased in a wrought-iron frame, to the bed.

  "Give . . . Mom."

  Miriam took it from Sean.

  "Look . . . at . . . it."

  She did as he'd asked. It was a black-and-white shot of a spectacularly rugged mountain range. It had been taken at sunset or sunrise, and the sunlight reflected off a body of water, forming a brilliant cross of light between camera and background.

  "Home," Luke wheezed.

  "Yes, it reminds me of Idaho, too." She returned her gaze to Luke. "Are these the Sawtooth Mountains? Or maybe the Tetons?"

  "No. Home." Somehow he found the strength to lift his hand, and with his index finger, he touched the photograph right in the heart of the cross. "Home."

  Miriam began to weep. She hadn't meant to. She'd wanted to wait a little longer, but it wasn't to be.

  Her thoughts tumbled back through time. She remembered standing by another hospital bed, remembered another man who'd told her he was going home. She'd argued with Del. She'd begged him not to leave her. She'd wanted her own way. She'd wanted to keep him with her, no matter what.

  She wouldn't do the same with his son. She would trust in God instead.

  "I understand, Luke," Miriam said as she leaned close to him, smiling through her tears. "You can go home now. It is well."

  JULIANNA

  SUMMER 2001

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I KNEW BETTER THAN TO SAY ALOUD WHAT I WAS THINKING: THAT it wasn't fair. Miriam Tucker, poor woman, had lost all the people she'd loved most—her brother, her husband, her parents, and finally her son. All but her father had been tragically young when they died. It seemed more heartache than any one person should have to suffer in a lifetime.

  I pondered the things Miriam had told her son as he lay dying, and I found I wanted to believe that her words were true. That it wasn't too late. Not too late for me. Not too late for my life.

  Christy spoke, interrupting my musings. "It's gonna feel weird, another family living in this house. Dad remembers coming here to play as a kid when Grandpa and Mrs. Tucker were dating. He told me about the barbecues and the croquet games they used to have with a bunch of the neighbors and different folks from church."

  A lightbulb went on in my head. This girl was Andy Rey's daughter, Bert's granddaughter. I had to wonder why she was included in this group. She was so much younger than the others.

  As if to answer my silent question, Christy lifted the last item—the serving tray—from the box. "I learned so much from Mrs. Tucker in the months I was with her." She brushed her hand lightly over the tray. "This is the only thing in the life box that she didn't pick out herself. I put it in there after she died. It just seemed . . . right." She shrugged. "You know. Like when we remember her life, we ought to remember it all."

  MIRIAM

  JULY 3, 2001

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  MIRIAM AWAKENED EARLY, BEFORE SUNRISE WAS MORE THAN A promise in the eastern sky. Her bedroom window was wide open, and she heard the meadowlark announcing the dawn from the trees in her backyard.

  Good morning, Lord. I see You've brought me through another night. I thank You for Your provision.

  She sat up in bed, slowly lowering her legs over the side. Then she rose and shuffled to her favorite chair near the window. Her bones protested each and every step.

  It isn't that I mind getting older, Lord, but the process is no picnic.

  She took her favorite Bible from the table beside her. The leather cover was cracked with age and some of the pages were coming loose. She let the book fall open in her lap. The page corners were bent, the edges soiled from constant thumbing and flipping. Some passages were highlighted and underscored, and there were notes written in the margins, some dated, some not.

  Your Word sustains me, 0 God.

  She put on her glasses but didn't begin reading just yet. Instead, she turned her gaze out the window to watch as the sky changed the wispy clouds from pewter to peach to startling white.

  The last dawn of my seventies. How can that be?

  Friends were planning a surprise eightieth birthday party for her tomorrow. Supposedly they were coming for a Fourth of July barbecue, but she'd guessed what they were up to. She might not have the sharp vision she had when younger, but she could still read their faces well enough. Not to mention those hushed conversations whenever two or more came for a visit.

  You've been good to me, Your handmaiden. You gave me a family when I had none of my own. You've blessed me with so many to love, so many to love me. I'm thankful for them all.

  One advantage of growing old was that a person had time to reflect. For Miriam, that reflection brought many reasons to praise God.

  Her bedroom door eased open, drawing her ga
ze toward it just as Christy poked her head in.

  "You're up early." Christy pushed the door the rest of the way open. She was still in the oversized T-shirt and plaid boxer shorts she slept in. Her short hair stuck out in every direction, and her eyes looked bleary.

  "I'm always up early. But I'm surprised you are."

  Christy yawned and ruffled her hair with one hand. "I've got a ton of things to do. Thought I'd better get to it."

  "You young people always take on too much. So many plans, always in a hurry."

  "And you weren't in a hurry when you were my age?"

  "Well . . ." Miriam chuckled softly. "Come to think of it, maybe I was."

  Christy turned toward the door. "Want anything special for breakfast?"

  "No, dear. Whatever you fix will be fine."

  "Then it'll be French toast and bacon." The girl left the room, still looking half asleep.

  It was good to have someone else living in the house again, although Miriam hadn't been happy with the reason. A bad fall a year ago had damaged her hip, and instead of getting better, it had steadily worsened until Miriam had a difficult time seeing to her daily needs.

  Ever faithful, the Lord had brought Christy to her door at just the right time. Otherwise, she feared she would have had to move into one of those retirement villages. She shuddered at the thought. She wasn't ready to give up her home. She was comfortable here. So many memories. Over half of her lifetime had been spent within these walls.

  Christy had come to Boise to attend the university, and her father had insisted she pay a call on Miriam. After Bert died some years back, Andy and his family had moved to Oregon, and Miriam had lost touch with them. Then suddenly there was little Christy, standing on her front porch, like an answer to prayer. Miriam needed someone to live with her, and when she offered a room to Christy, the girl was quick to leave the dorm and move in with Miriam.

  She's the granddaughter I never had, isn't she, Lord? Thank You for sending her to me.

  Miriam closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair.

  You're a God of the smallest details and design, and I'm in awe. Way back in the beginning of my life, You knew the end because You were already here. How intricately You planned it. How carefully You've provided what I needed when I needed it. You withheld those things that would have harmed me, and You brought into being those things that were for my good.

  She smiled, remembering Christy's question: "And you weren't in a hurry when you were my age?" Oh my, yes. She'd been a reckless, strong-willed girl, and there was no denying it.

  Funny, wasn't that only yesterday?

  The front page of the morning paper had a color photograph of United States Senator Sean Lewis on his return from a diplomatic trip overseas. There he stood, waving at the camera, his wife one step behind him.

  Miriam studied the photo with a sense of pleasure.

  In his late forties, Sean wore the mantle of leadership well. "Compassionate conservatism" was how one reporter had described Sean's ideology.

  Not that he didn't have his detractors. Sean was a man who stood by his principles and beliefs. He didn't compromise in matters of ethics or integrity, and he cast his votes in accordance with his Christian worldview. That could—and oftentimes did—make him unpopular in some segments of Capitol Hill. But the voters in his district admired him, and he'd won his second term to the senate by an overwhelming majority.

  But it was the night of his first election that held one of Miriam's fondest memories.

  "There isn't anybody in this room," Sean had said from the podium in the Riverside's ballroom, "who doesn't know that I was a kid looking for trouble, and I found plenty of it. Since the newspapers dug up that part of my history before even I knew I was running for office, you've read all the gruesome details. But I'd be remiss if I didn't publicly thank the person responsible for turning my life around before I messed it up completely."

  He'd held out his arm toward Miriam, who was seated nearby, watching him with tear-blurred eyes.

  "Miriam Tucker," he'd said, talking to her instead of to all his campaign supporters who were jammed into the ballroom, "you loved me when nobody else would, because I wasn't very lovable, and you showed me the more excellent way. You did it by example, not just by words. I watched you live it, day in and day out. No matter what came your way, I saw you rejoice in God. Thanks, Miriam, for being a mother to me when I needed a mother, for being a friend when I needed a friend, but most of all for being a witness for God's truth when I needed God."

  My goodness, she was crying as she recalled his words. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then put her glasses in place and read the newspaper article.

  If I live long enough, she thought when she was done, I just might get to address him as Mr. President.

  Now wouldn't that be something.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE TELEPHONE RANG AT A QUARTER AFTER TEN THAT MORNING. Miriam answered it on the eighth ring. "Hello?"

  "Oh, thank goodness you're all right."

  Miriam moved her walker off to the side and sank onto the chair next to the telephone. "How are you, Sally?"

  "That was my question."

  "I'm perfectly fine. I just wasn't near the phone."

  "You need a cordless to carry with you. What if you were to fall and couldn't call for help?"

  "Sally Farnsdale, you're a worrywart."

  The other woman laughed. "I suppose I am."

  "Christy takes good care of me. I'm fortunate to have her here."

  "She's the fortunate one, Miriam. I was thinking only yesterday what an impact you had on my life."

  "Me?"

  "Of course, you. Don't you remember when I was going out with Hadley?"

  Miriam shook her head slowly. "Hadley Abernathy. I'd forgotten that young man."

  "Tad and I, we raised our girls to know there are natural and spiritual consequences for the things they say and do, for the choices they make." She cleared her throat. "Do you realize that's one of the most important lessons I learned as a teen? And you taught it to me, Miriam."

  The words warmed her heart. "How kind of you to say so."

  "Not kind. Just true." There was a moment or two of silence before Sally continued, "Listen, I was wondering if it would be all right for me to come a bit early for the barbecue tomorrow. I'd like to do my baking there rather than haul it from River Bluff."

  "Of course it's all right, Sally. I always enjoy your company."

  "Great. I'll be there around noon."

  "Good-bye, Sally. I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

  The mailman came at eleven-thirty, delivering a package, three bills, and at least a dozen colorful card-sized envelopes.

  "Your birthday, Mrs. Tucker?" He set the package on the entry-hall table, then handed her the rest of the mail.

  "Tomorrow, Mr. Jones."

  "Don't worry. Turning thirty isn't so bad."

  "I'm glad to know that, young man," she replied with a laugh.

  He gave her a wink. "Well, you have a great one, and if there's any cake left over, you know where to find me."

  "I'll save you a piece."

  Whistling softly, Mr. Jones turned and strode down the sidewalk.

  After closing the front door, Miriam dropped the mail into the pouch on her walker, then pushed the walker into the living room. Sunlight filtered through leafy trees outside the windows, making the room bright and cheerful.

  Thanks for the sunshine, Lord.

  It was fun going through the cards. There was one from the women's Bible study she had attended up until the last year; it was signed by all ten members of the group. There was one from Rose Ireland, who had retired to Florida after Charlie died. There was one from Andy Rey and his wife, and one from each of Jacob McAllister's five children and their families.

  The ninth card she opened was from Philadelphia, but she didn't need the return address to recognize Rick Joyner's handwriting. They'd been exchanging letter
s regularly for more than a decade. Although, come to think of it, it had been nearly a year since she'd received a letter from him.

  She smiled as she read the humorous birthday greeting inside the card, then unfolded the accompanying slips of white stationery.

  Dear Mrs. Tucker,

  Sorry it's been so long since I last wrote to you, but when you hear the reason, you'll rejoice with me.

  I've begun the most incredible new adventure. At 45, God's called me out of the nursing profession and into full-time ministry. He's plunked me down in a storefront church in Philadelphia. It's the last place I expected to be, I'll tell you that. God has a way of changing our human plans to meet His divine one, doesn't He?

  I spent a lot of time serving Him, when what He wanted was for me to spend time loving Him. I used to think the eternal life He offered was a destination, a place I'd get to in the future. But then He showed me, through something you said a couple years ago, that eternal life isn't a place or a destination. It's a relationship, a fellowship. "This is the way to have eternal life—to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, the one you sent to earth" (John 17:3).

  Who knows how many times I've read that without really seeing what it said. But I do now, and it changed the course of my life.

  So here I am, called out of my comfort zone and into the work He prepared for me. I don't know what's waiting in my future, but that's okay. As long as I stay in touch with Jesus, I don't need to lean on my human understanding. Makes for a pretty exciting time.

  One last thing before I close. While leading an evangelism class at the church, I met a terrific woman whom God has shown me is to be my wife. I haven't actually proposed to Sharon yet, but I think she knows, too. If I were a gambling man, I'd lay odds you've been praying for this to happen. Am I right?

  Have a great birthday on the 4th. (Hope this letter reaches you before instead of after the festivities.) Write soon. I promise to be better at my correspondence.

  Love in Christ,

  Rick