Fall From Grace
Page 4
But now, she was angry with God. Yes, he had taken Rachel home, and yes, that was sometimes comforting. More often, Stephanie was furious. Why now? Why Rachel? And God, why like this? It was all so far beyond her understanding that she couldn’t imagine what the bigger picture might be. A world without her daughter, where she was doomed to a lonely, miserable life? It wasn’t fair.
Then again, she had had the divorce.
Maybe that was it. A well of ancient guilt bubbled up inside of her, giving way to a geyser of fresh sorrow. Maybe the destruction of her marriage vows, the breaking of the promises she had made before God, had cost her Rachel’s precious life. Maybe she and Thomas together had doomed their innocent baby to a fate she never deserved.
A sigh escaped Stephanie’s lips as she tried to draw upon her memory of God’s promises and quell the tentacles of doubt trying to suffocate her. In spite of her pain and lack of understanding, she wasn’t ready to give up on God yet. There was so much God had done in her life to simply ignore as pure luck. She hoped in time, God would reveal His divine purpose for Rachel’s tragedy. And if not in her lifetime, then when she stood before Him in heaven.
Stephanie kissed the tips of her fingers, then reached out and touched the edge of Rachel’s grave. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered through her tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Ten minutes later, she walked into the church across the street from the graveyard. It was small inside, but lovely, with waterfalls of color spilling from the stained glass windows along the walls and above the altar. Tucked away next the entrance was the door to the pastor’s office. Stephanie headed towards the front of the sanctuary and knelt before a life-size replica of the crude wooden cross Jesus had carried on his journey to Golgotha. She bowed her head and recited a silent prayer in her head. Then she slid into a pew in the back and took up a Bible and bowed her head.
God, she felt, was lost to her, at least in this particular moment. But the reverent hush of the church was all-encompassing; it quieted her mind. Whether God was there with her or not, Stephanie found herself guided toward a purpose. She opened her eyes.
At the end of the sanctuary, against the wall to the right of the altar, stood a baptismal. It was the kind Stephanie remembered from her childhood, with a large glass pane so churchgoers could witness a new believer’s public profession of faith. Before she had become a believer, she had often watched with curiosity and conviction as the unsaved gave their life to God and professed their faith by washing their old life away in the cleansing water of the baptismal.
As Sundays went by, Stephanie could feel the Holy Spirit knocking at the door to her heart, but she would often resist, refusing to completely surrender her independent will to God. It wasn’t until she and Thomas started having marital troubles and the future of their relationship hung in the balance that she surrendered her life to God, letting Him take control of her life.
She could still recall the day she committed her life to God. The pastor had preached a message about how God wanted his flock to cast all their cares upon Him, and that He would take care of his sheep. The message touched her, like an arrow piercing through the center of her heart. It was a day she would never forget.
An elderly woman with grey hair entered the sanctuary, wearing an old-fashioned beige dress with a wool sweater. Stephanie gave the woman a smile and watched as she walked with a purpose, as if she had done it so many times in the past, and sat in the first pew, bowing her head to pray. Stephanie rose to her feet and headed back towards the entrance of the church. She needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her doubts and frustrations about God.
In her mind, there was only one qualified person who could maybe help her understand what God was allowing to happen in her life. Someone with a listening ear who could soothe the gaping wound inside, a wound that felt like someone had taken a butcher knife to her heart. Stephanie stopped in front of the wooden door with a brass sign that said Pastor’s Office. She took a deep breath and knocked gently.
Chapter 5
The door opened to show an older man. He had on a pair of loose fit jeans and white long sleeve shirt. The outline of a rounded stomach stretched his shirt, and he smiled at her when he saw her. Stephanie could sense the tenderness and compassion in the pastor’s eyes as he gazed at her. Pastor Allen had a stellar reputation in the community, and his congregation would be the first to vouch for his wisdom and sincere desire to help someone in need.
“Hello, my dear, can I help you?” The pastor gave her a warm smile.
“Hello, Pastor Allen, do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course, I do. That’s what I’m here for.” His hand gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Stephanie introduced herself and slid into the oak armchair before placing her hands on her lap.
Setting the blue ballpoint pen in his hand down on the desk, he asked, “So how can I help you?”
Stephanie lowered her head, and her upper lip began to quiver. “I-I just came from burying my daughter.” She managed to choke the dreaded words past the lump in her throat.
“Oh my, Stephanie. I am so sorry for your loss.” Pastor Allen leaned forward in his chair. “I can’t imagine how devastated you must be.” His smile vanished as his lips tightened, turning down at the ends.
“I have so many questions, so many emotions that I’m feeling. Right now, I feel God is very far away.” She looked past his desk, but her eyes saw nothing.
“It’s normal to experience the feelings of confusion and doubt that you’re having. Anyone who has lost a child or loved one goes through it. We question why God took a loved one so early or why their guardian angels didn’t protect them.”
“But the Bible says He’s a loving God. How can He love Rachel and yet take her away so early from me? She was barely a teenager, Pastor Allen, a baby . . . my baby.” A line of tears began streaming down her face.
“Stephanie, I would never wish the pain you’re feeling on anyone. There’s nothing a parent dreads more than burying their own child in the prime of their youth. While I can’t counsel from experience, I can counsel you on what God says in the Bible. In John 16:33, he tells us suffering will be a part of our lives. Unfortunately, no one is immune from this, including our children.”
“But it doesn’t make sense, what good could come out of taking a young child’s life?” Stephanie’s voice rose louder as she lowered her brows at the man.
Pastor Allen softly shook his head. “I wish I had the answer to your question. Right now, we see things imperfectly, through a clouded window. Only God knows the real reason why Rachel needed to go home. Unless He chooses to reveal the reason during your season of time on this earth, you’ll have to wait to ask Him yourself when you get to heaven.”
“I just don’t understand, Pastor. I’m trying to believe it’s part of His master plan, but it’s hard. I mean why? Why Rachel and why us? Why now? Why didn’t God take me instead?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried the questions to the pastor. She knew the man sitting across from her didn’t have all the answers. But she hoped he could offer some sliver of light into the mystery of Rachel’s tragedy, some beacon of hope to help her remain steadfast in her walk with God.
She began to sob as the pastor navigated around his desk, pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He consoled her and whispered soft words to comfort her. When her sobbing eased into a quiet whimper, he pulled back and gave her a sympathetic look.
“I know you’re hurting Stephanie, but remember that God didn’t create evil and suffering, it was because of man’s choice to walk away from God in the beginning that brought evil into his perfect world. Remain faithful and believe in His promises, that He will bring good out of Rachel’s tragedy.”
“I’m trying, Pastor. But it’s not easy.”
“I understand. Expect that it will take a long time to heal. But when you’re ready, I think it would be a good idea for you to join s
ome kind of grief counseling group. We don’t have one here at church, but if you look online, I’m sure you can find one nearby. It would be therapeutic for you, and you’ll gain the support of other parents who may have suffered the same tragedy as you.”
“Thanks for the advice. You’re right, I’m not ready for that now, but maybe in time I’ll consider joining one.”
Pastor Allen gave her smile. “Let me pray for you before you leave.”
With an effort, Stephanie smiled as she folded her hands together. “Thanks, I could use really use a lot of that right now.”
Pastor Allen prayed over her, asking God to pour out his blessings over her and to comfort her during her darkest hour of pain. When they had finished, Pastor Allen encouraged her to stop by his office anytime she needed someone to talk to.
“My office is always open when you need me. If I’m not here, Wendy, my secretary, knows how to get a hold of me. I will remember to put you down on my daily prayer list,” he said as he scribbled on a paper with a list of names.
“Thanks, Pastor Allen, you’ve been so helpful, and I’m grateful for all you’ve done by trying to answer my questions. I’m sure people bombard you with these questions all the time.”
“It’s quite alright, Stephanie. It’s part of my calling, and I’m more than happy to do it. God blesses me when I freely help others,” he said as his cheeks lifted into a smile.
Stephanie promised to keep in touch and visit at least once a week to let him know how she was doing. Before she left, she encircled the pastor with her arms and gave him a big hug, thanking him for all he had done. As she plodded her way back to the car, it felt as if someone had lightened the weight around her ankles, and she could sense a subtle peace blanket over her heart.
While she still couldn’t ignore the pain of a raw, bleeding heart, at least she knew God would provide the strength she needed to survive the calamity that struck in her life. She whispered a silent prayer, thanking God for answering Pastor Allen’s prayer by comforting her with the Holy Spirit. While she couldn’t navigate around what would feel like the valley of the shadow of death, she took comfort in the fact God had not forsaken her. The only question that nagged at her consciousness was what did God have planned for her future?
Chapter 6
She had gone through the windshield.
That’s what Kevin had learned after days of poring over all of Rachel Knight’s hospital reports. Toxicology showed no sign of harmful or behavior-altering substances in her system, not even cigarette smoke. Her thirteen-year-old lungs were pink and healthy, her bones strong. She had just begun a growth spurt. She would have been tall.
The only thing abnormal was the six-inch laceration on the back of her head, the one that had seared straight through her skull and perforated the brain matter underneath. The coroner’s report stated that the fatal injury was most likely caused by penetration of the vehicle’s windshield following a high-velocity collision. Kevin had read over the next sentence more times than he could count. Fatal circumstances attributed directly to the lack of proper restraints while inside the vehicle. Application of these restraints may have prevented resulting death.
Rachel wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The thought of it made Kevin almost physically ill. He could practically see it: four young girls goofing off as they sped down the highway, emboldened by the illusion of teenage bravado. In his mind’s eye, Rachel was clear as day, seated in the middle of the backseat. Was she smiling? Was she laughing when the driver’s phone rang? Did she notice that the car was veering off to the right? Did she know what was about to happen? Kevin hoped fervently that the last emotion Rachel felt was something other than fear.
He shuffled the papers together and slid them back into their folder, leaving it open as he leaned his head back on the office chair. For days, he had been unable to shake the girl’s face from his brain, and as time wore on, it was becoming increasingly difficult to separate her from his memories of Sarah. How long had it been—just over a year? He didn’t want to remember, but he couldn’t help it. The flashbacks came on their own, invading his consciousness like waking nightmares.
He was 29 then, working the graveyard shift at a different California hospital. His sister, Crystal, had him on babysitting duty that day, and as part of his unending quest to be the coolest uncle in the world, he’d decided to take Sarah to an amusement park called Magic Island a little way out of town. Magic Island was neither magic nor an island, but the part of Sarah that wasn’t already trying to grow up too fast loved it there. She had insisted that they go early to maximize their fun potential.
“C’mon, Uncle Kevin,” she’d said in the car on the way there, jabbing him playfully with her elbow. “You’re gonna win me one of those giant stuffed animals, right? I want one that’s as big as I am!”
He winked at her in the rearview mirror. “No promises, kiddo. But I’ll do my best.”
Most of that day was a blur, and Kevin wished it wasn’t. He wished he could recall every detail with perfect clarity and recite statistics from the top of his brain: how many times she smiled, how much he made her laugh, the rides they went on, the money he spent. But he had spent the previous twelve hours on call at the hospital, and he had gone to pick Sarah up without sleeping first. If he had known it would be his last day with her—her last day ever—he would have swapped shifts with another attending the night before. He would’ve gotten a full night of sleep. And Sarah would still be alive.
As it was, he spent the day downing cup after cup of acrid coffee as he tailed Sarah through the park, doggedly fighting off the warm fingers of sleep. It worked for a while, but as the day waned, he felt his energy slipping. He made several attempts to win Sarah her stuffed animal, but his sleep-deprived reflexes weren’t up to par. They left empty-handed. “Sorry, baby,” he said walking through the parking lot. “Next time for sure.”
She laughed at him. “That’s what they always say.” Then she nudged him gently. “It’s okay. I really had fun today. Thanks.”
“Anything for my favorite niece.” He swung himself into the driver’s seat. She clambered up beside him.
“I’m your only niece.”
He smirked. “Well, then I guess you’d have to be the favorite, wouldn’t you?”
It was almost an hour drive back to Crystal’s house, and for the first thirty minutes, Sarah had the radio on, singing quietly along to the strains of pop music. Kevin listened to her as he drove, focusing on the sound of her voice in order to ward off the ever-strengthening urge to close his eyes. But then the signal went out, tossing the station into a fog of white noise. “Aw man,” Sarah said. She twisted the tuning dial for a bit in search of more music but eventually gave up. “Oh well.”
“It’ll be back soon,” Kevin assured her. “We’re probably just passing between towers.”
“Yeah.” She lapsed into silence, watching the dark scenery roll by. It was the last thing Kevin would ever hear her say.
He’d just gotten off at their exit when it happened. He remembered pulling up to a red light and sitting with his foot on the brake, his head heavy. Gradually, despite his efforts, his eyelids pulled downward, cloaking him in blackness. The next time he opened them, he was staring blearily up into the hard fluorescent lights of his own workplace—the hospital.
He blinked twice before the reality hit him. He was lying in a hospital bed when he should be driving Sarah home. Frantically, he tried to sit up but found himself ensnared in a web of tubes. Seeing him flailing, a nurse hurried to his side.
“I need you to stay still, Mr. Pierce,” she told him calmly, placing a hand on the arm that didn’t have an IV. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You need to rest.”
Kevin sat back against the pillows, dazed. An accident? How? When? Why didn’t he have any memory of it? “My niece,” he said faintly. “My niece was with me. Sarah.”
The nurse flattened her mouth into a line. She patted his shoulder and slipped out of the room withou
t a word. He should have known then, but he didn’t. He just sat, surrounded by the towering bank of IV stands and machines, the mechanical beeps of his vital signs filling up his ears. His mind couldn’t seem to show him a picture of the events that brought him there—only that last red light.
Some minutes later, the door to his room opened, and Crystal stepped through. This part, he remembered with stunning, painful clarity as if it had only happened yesterday. Her face, normally bright with cheerful happiness, was blank, the eyes empty. She looked without seeing him.
“Where’s Sarah?” he asked. “How is she?”
Crystal’s eyes slid over his face for a long moment before she spoke. “Kevin ...” His name came raw from her mouth. That was when he noticed that there was no makeup on her, that her lids were red, puffy. She’d been crying. “Sarah’s dead.”
How much like Rachel’s mother he had been, how quick to plunge into denial. “No,” he’d told his sister. “No. That can’t be right. I just saw her. I was just with her. We were coming home.”
“What happened, Kevin?” Crystal burst out suddenly, her voice breaking. “Did you fall asleep? Why didn’t you see him?”
Kevin gazed at her, lost. “Who?” The word seemed to float in from somewhere outside himself. “Why didn’t I see who?”
She hauled in a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to reign in her emotions. “There was a drunk driver, Kevin. He ran through the intersection.” She paused. “I mean, he would have ... but you were there.” Her lip trembled. “You and Sarah.”
“He hit us,” Kevin whispered, abruptly understanding. “And ...”
“And now Sarah’s dead.” All of the emotion was gone from Crystal. She spoke as though she had no soul.