“Yeah. Exactly. So the guy says to Ken, ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ And Ken says, ‘No. Sorry.’ So the guy lifts up his shirt, shows him his chest, and then Ken says, ‘Oh, hey, Sam, how’re you doing?’ Recognized the scar pattern immediately.”
“It was the motorcycle guy?” Jake asked.
“Yeah.”
Hannah shook her head slowly. “Ooh . . .”
“That’ll preach,” she and Nathan said in unison.
Mara
Tom couldn’t ignore her forever. She would give him the weekend, and if he still didn’t reply to her multiple texts inquiring about the Orlando trip, she would send an email on Monday morning and copy in her attorney. “You coming to church?” she asked Kevin. He was awake uncharacteristically early for a Sunday.
He poured some cereal into a bowl and said, “Nah.”
No surprise, but it was worth asking. “Well, Hannah’s preaching this morning, so I’m going back to Wayfarer. And then I’ll call you afterward and see what you want me to bring home for lunch. I haven’t had a chance to get to a store.” Babysitting Madeleine all day Saturday so that Jeremy and Abby could get away for the day had been far more fun than her usual shopping outings. Especially since Maddie had happily demonstrated her new trick of rolling over. She’s gonna be like you, Jeremy, Mara said when they got home. That’s how you got around; you could roll in any direction. Not that he’d had far to roll in that one-room apartment his father had rented for them in secret.
She poured herself a second cup of coffee. “You haven’t heard anything from your dad, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nope.”
“What about Brian, has he said anything about—”
“Nope.”
“No, he hasn’t heard anything, or no, he hasn’t said anything?”
“He’s not talkin’ to me.”
“Not since the Disney World thing?”
“Yep.”
Brian hadn’t been talking to her, either. She had tried multiple times. Daily she reminded him that she was serious about going to bat for him with his dad but that she just hadn’t heard anything back yet. But don’t worry, she’d say. We’ll get it sorted. Brian never replied.
Kevin picked some marshmallows out of his bowl of Lucky Charms and popped them into his mouth. “I don’t know what he’s so mad about. Dad would just be going on all the baby rides with Tiffany and her kids. It’s not like he’d be paying any attention to what Brian wanted to do.”
Mara understood what Brian was mad about. He’d been replaced. She’d be mad too if she cared a whit about Tom. Which she didn’t. “Well, just try to understand how he’s feeling, okay? You’re happy because you don’t have to go. He’s sad because he wanted to.” Kevin was staring at his bowl. “Kevin?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Before she returned to her room to finish getting dressed for church, Mara quietly opened Brian’s door. When he was sleeping he looked like the little boy she’d had to frequently protect from Kevin’s teasing. She wished she could plant a kiss on his forehead, but if he woke, he would freak out. She pressed her fingers to her lips and then held her hand a few inches from his face. He didn’t stir.
Ever since meeting Hannah, Mara had assumed she was a good pastor. She’d experienced Hannah’s pastoral gifts firsthand. But she had never thought much about what kind of preacher she might be. As soon as Hannah began to speak, Mara knew. She was a deep kind of preacher. A compassionate one. Hannah had a pastoral presence in the pulpit—not charismatic like her own Pastor Jeff, whose preaching cadence was like music pulsating with energy and rhythm, but like a shepherd speaking gently to sheep who were wounded, frightened, and bewildered.
The resurrected One is the wounded One. Mara chewed on this as she listened. What did the wounds of Jesus reveal to her? Love. So much love. And understanding. The wounds revealed a suffering-with-us God who did not withhold himself from any of the trauma and pain. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not psychologically. Not spiritually. Thank you, Jesus.
What did the wounds of Jesus reveal? Not just suffering and compassion but victory. Victory! Victory over sin and evil and death. Victory accomplished not through fighting against evil and death—and here was a deep mystery—but by submitting to it. Mara wasn’t sure she would ever understand the paradox of victory accomplished through suffering, of power revealed in weakness. Mystery. But oh, what a glorious mystery!
Jeremy was on the edge of his seat, listening. Mara could tell. Abby was too. In fact, apart from some sniffling Mara heard from behind her, you could hear a pin drop.
What about her own scars? How did they reveal Jesus?
She didn’t have any physical scars that told a story. Her wounds were the invisible kind, the psychological and emotional ones she had tried for years to conceal, but which, by the grace of God, had been brought into the light of loving community and touched by a wounded, risen Savior. She did have scar stories. And maybe they could point others to Jesus.
From the corner of her eye she could see Nathan and Jake in the front row, and oh! the adoration and respect on Nathan’s face as he listened to his wife was something to behold. Mara wondered what her life might have been like if she’d had a husband who loved her like that.
But she wasn’t going to be jealous of her friend. She would rejoice for her. Thank God with her. Because Mara knew one thing for certain: you didn’t preach about hurt and pain and wounds and healing and comfort like that if you hadn’t experienced suffering yourself and been comforted by the wounded Healer.
Hannah
Nine months, Hannah thought as Nathan lit their unity candle Sunday night. It had been almost nine months since Steve entered her office and announced that she was being given a sabbatical, almost nine months since she first arrived in West Michigan, bewildered, disoriented, grieving, and yes, resentful. Nine months. The imagery wasn’t lost on her. Maybe the barren, wombless one had been pregnant after all.
Never in her tenure at Westminster had Hannah preached a sermon that evoked such a deep and passionate response from listeners. Anointed, Neil said when he shook her hand and thanked her. She’d had the privilege of bearing the Word, and the Word had taken on life, a life far beyond the words printed on her page. In the mystery of God’s grace, the Word had been enfleshed through her. Hannah didn’t yet know what it would mean, but something new, something beautiful was being born.
Part Four
All Things New
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on
the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up;
do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the
wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
ISAIAH 43:18-19
twelve
Mara
Having read Monday’s missive from Tom twice, Mara read the last part of the email again. If Brian was upset about not going to Orlando, Tom said, then it was Mara’s fault. She was the one who suggested to Tiffany that the boys not go.
One boy, Mara thought. She had suggested that one boy not go. And when she suggested it, she’d only had one of her boys in mind. That’s where she had failed. She had only regarded Kevin’s desires and needs.
Tom was right. Brian losing out on Disney World was her fault. And if Tom ever told him—and Tom would, she knew he would—Brian would never forgive her.
She lowered her head onto her desk. Now what? She could try to spin it, tell Brian that his soon-to-be stepmother was the one who had decided she only wanted her kids to go and that his father had sided with her and against him. Brian’s moodiness—that was putting it mildly—was no secret. That approach might work.
On the way to the orthodontist later that afternoon, when she had a few private moments with Brian captive in the car, she decided to implement her strategy. “I finally got an email back from your dad about Florida. It sounds like Tiffa
ny thinks you”—she caught herself before she said “would ruin her kids’ trip”—“like Tiffany and your dad are worried it won’t work to have you there with her kids. Any idea why they would think that?”
“Nope.”
“Has something happened between you and the boys?”
“Nope.” He sounded just like Kevin. What she needed was an open-ended question, something that might invite a multi-word answer. C’mon. Think.
“So why would they . . .”
He flicked his seatbelt and pounded the car door with his fist. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why they would think that.”
“Okay. I just wondered if maybe something had happened to make Tiffany—”
“Tiffany’s stupid. And her kids are stupid too. I don’t want to go with them anyway.”
But the crack in his voice betrayed him. “Okay, then I won’t push it with your dad. But maybe you and Kevin can go somewhere else with him—just him—this summer. Want me to talk with him about that?”
“I don’t care. Whatever.”
“Well, I’ll see what I can do.”
She had dodged a bullet. Thank God. She had possibly even set herself up to be a hero, whether Brian acknowledged those heroics or not. She ought to feel relieved. Elated. But she did not.
If she didn’t find some way to be truthful with Brian about her role in everything, it would come back to bite her. Tom would make sure it did.
“Brian, I want to apologize to you.” Had she ever said those words to him before? She couldn’t remember. She felt sick with apprehension speaking them now. “I played a part in your dad’s decision.” He did not move his head but looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I talked with Tiffany at the hotel that day about Kevin not going to Florida—I’d promised Kevin I would try to help get him out of going—but I think she misunderstood what I said. I didn’t say anything about you. But she obviously took it that way, and I’m sorry for that. I never meant for your dad to take the trip away from you. I know it meant a lot to you, and I’m really sorry. If there’s something I can do to fix it, I’ll do it.” He was silent. “If you want me to try.”
She drove more slowly than necessary through the parking lot and up to the front door, where she turned to face him. The vein on his left temple was pulsating. “I can try, Brian, if you want me to.”
He flung open the car door.
“Brian?”
Over his shoulder he said, “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”
When he slammed the door behind him, she drove to a secluded parking space, lowered her head on the steering wheel, and deep-breathed her way into prayer.
“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she said to Charissa when she dropped off an egg casserole and blueberry muffins just before five, “but it’s huge that he didn’t lash out.” Mara had been marveling over that for the past two hours.
“Exactly,” Charissa said from the couch. She adjusted the waistband of the sweats Mara had seen her wearing the day before. “I think you were brave to tell him the truth. You took away Tom’s power over you when you did.”
“Right. At least now if Tom tells Brian it’s my fault, Brian heard it from me first.” If nothing else, it was progress in her relationship with him, even if it seemed like a baby step forward. Maybe Brian would someday come to view her as an advocate rather than an adversary. That would be a miracle. “It’s Disney World he wants,” Mara said, “so he must’ve figured his best way to get it is to have me help him.”
You’re gonna have to show Tiffany and your dad that you can be good with the boys, she’d told Brian when he finished his appointment, that you’re willing to play with them, have fun with them. Maybe the little boys will even beg for you to come. That was obviously a strategy that hadn’t occurred to him, and he’d seemed intrigued by it. Not grateful—no, that would be overstating it. But open. And that was progress. Maybe she and Brian would one day be united as allies against a common adversary, like she and Kevin had been. What a miracle that would be.
She stretched her bare feet and wriggled her toes. She could do with some color on her nails. Maybe she would bring over some bottles from her massive collection and paint Charissa’s toenails too. It might be nice for her to stare at something fun and sparkly if she had to lie on the couch all day. “I think I’d go nuts if I were you,” she said.
Charissa fiddled with her ponytail. “It makes you see how many ordinary things you take for granted every day. Like showering. Or washing my hair.”
“So how about if I wash it for you?”
“My hair? No.”
“C’mon. You can sit in a chair, and I’ll wash it at the sink.”
“You’ve already done enough, bringing over more food.”
“Anybody can bring food. How many people have offered to wash your hair?”
Charissa laughed. “One.”
“Okay, then.”
“I’m sure John would help me again if I asked nicely.”
“Well, John’s not here, and I am.” She rose to her feet. “Didn’t I ever tell you I dreamed of being a hair stylist when I was a little girl? Well, that and a chef.”
“You’re already a chef. A good one. Just ask anyone at Crossroads.”
Mara had never thought about it that way, that her job at Crossroads was in some sense a fulfillment of a childhood dream. “Thanks for that.” She was no fancy chef at an elegant restaurant, but she cooked simple meals for grateful guests, and that was its own reward. As she headed down the hall for towels and shampoo, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror. Beloved. Chosen. Blessed. And favored to bear Christ. That was the gift. She had been chosen in love to bear Christ with love. Mara found the stack of plush white towels in the cupboard and grabbed one to roll beneath Charissa’s neck and another to dry her hair. “You got any chairs with wheels?” she called.
“Back in the bedroom at the desk.”
When she found it, Mara rolled it out into the living room. “Your chariot awaits,” she said, and Charissa laughed again.
It was the water, the sensation of water running through her fingers that brought to mind another occasion of washing, not of hair but of feet. As Mara gently massaged Charissa’s scalp, she remembered Meg pouring water into a basin. She heard again her soft, high voice explaining why she had chosen the prayer exercise about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. She wanted to take the opportunity to remember Jesus together while they had the chance, Meg said. She didn’t know how much longer she would have, she said, and she wanted to take the time to express her love and gratitude to her friends. As it turned out, she only had another day. Life just wasn’t fair. Why was it that people like Meg died and people like Tom got to go right on their merry way? It didn’t make sense.
Mara shielded Charissa’s forehead with her hand as she rinsed out the shampoo with the sink sprayer. “Hannah said Becca’s coming home next week.”
“I heard. Becca emailed me. She’s going to need her car back.”
“Oh. I didn’t even think about that.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon. I hope.”
“I hope not too,” Mara said. “Something must’ve happened with Simon, don’t you think, to make her change her mind about Paris?”
“She didn’t say that, but it’s not hard to read between the lines.”
“Poor girl. Hope she’s the one who broke his heart and not the other way around.” Mara paused. “What do you think she’s gonna do? I can’t imagine she’ll want to stay in that big house all by herself.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like she has family she can go to.”
“Her aunt’s still not—”
“No. Not in the picture at all, as far as I can tell.”
The front door creaked open, and Mara leaned sideways, sprayer still in hand. “Hey, John!”
“Hey! What’s this?”
“Full service salon,” Charissa replied. He set down his briefcase.
Mara finished rinsing and turned off the tap. “Just helping out.”
“Not ‘just helping out,’” Charissa said. “This is way beyond ‘just helping out.’” She leaned her head back far enough to make eye contact. “If I’d had a sister, I don’t think she would have loved me any better than you.”
Mara wrung out some water from Charissa’s hair, reached for the towel, and said, “That’s what sisters are for.”
Becca
Becca spent more time at the library during her last two weeks in London than she had all school year. It was one surefire way to avoid running into Pippa. Early in the mornings she would leave her flat, grab a coffee and a pastry, and head to campus. Then, when she finished her classes and assignments, she would spend the afternoons at museums. That was one surefire way to avoid running into Simon.
As her departure date approached, she inventoried the places she wanted to see one last time and methodically checked them off her list: the Globe Theatre, Kensington Gardens for a picnic, shopping on Oxford Street. And because Claire had been kind to her—and to her mother—Becca had invited her to see a West End production of Stomp. It was one of the few shows she knew would not make her cry. “I’ll ride with you to the airport on Wednesday if you’d like some company,” Claire said when they left the theater. “I’ve got the morning off.”
“Then don’t spend it going to the airport. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure? I don’t mind. I don’t fancy the thought of you being all alone.”
But “all alone” was Becca’s life now. She might as well get used to it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, and tried to believe it.
Becca was emptying her closet into suitcases Tuesday afternoon when there was a knock on the door. “Becks?”
Pippa. Becca snatched two more blouses off hangers.
“Can I please come in?”
Becca tossed the blouses onto the growing pile of clothes on the bed. She would never fit all the stuff she had accumulated into two bags.
An Extra Mile Page 27