“We also need to make sure you get a good solid price for it,” Hannah said. Fair market value and higher, she and Nate had agreed. Once they knew what repairs would be required and what they would be looking at for costs to renovate it, they could determine a generous offer. “And there’s something else Nate and I feel really strongly about.”
“What’s that?”
“That you always feel welcome here. That you know you have a place to come and stay, whenever you need it.”
Becca stared at her lap. “Okay. Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I think I know how Mom felt after Dad died, how she just wanted to be rid of their house, how she couldn’t bear the thought of being in it again. So once I’m done with this place, I don’t know whether . . .”
Hannah waited for her to finish her thought. But when the silence billowed, she said, “No pressure. Just an invitation.”
Becca nodded. “The cottage was where my mom was happy, where life was good for her.” She ran her finger around the rim of her mug. “I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe I’m ready to take Charissa up on her offer and go over and see it sometime.”
That seemed to be a significant step. Hannah tried to keep her expression neutral. “The roses are in bloom.”
Becca eyed her inquisitively.
“There are these beautiful pink climbing roses your dad planted.”
“On the arbor?”
“Yes.”
“He built that for her,” Becca said. “She told me about it. But she didn’t tell me it was still there.”
“He built it for their first wedding anniversary, I think,” Hannah said.
“I’d like to see it.”
“Well, Mara and I are going over there to visit this weekend. I’m sure Charissa would be happy to have you join us.” When Becca hesitated, Hannah added, “Just for a picnic. Not a prayer group.”
“Oh,” Becca said. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe. I’ll call her.”
“That’s great news,” Nathan said when Hannah called half an hour later to tell him about Becca’s reaction to their idea.
“And you’re sure Jake is okay with it?” she asked. He had seemed okay when they first mentioned it, but maybe he had privately communicated something else.
“He’s more than okay. I even heard him telling a friend about it the other day, and he was excited. Like Becca, he’s wondering how soon it might be able to happen.”
“Then I’ll call the attorney tomorrow, see what we’re looking at for timing.” As she backed her car out of the driveway, she looked up at the Victorian house that might one day be home.
“And how about New Hope?” Nathan said. “Did you get us registered for the program?”
“I’m heading there now. I told Katherine I’d be dropping off a check for both of us, and she’s thrilled. She said she’s been gently encouraging you for years to train as a spiritual director.”
“That’s true. She has. Maybe I was just waiting to train with my wife.”
Next steps, Hannah thought as she wound her way there. These were all good, grace-filled next steps, ways to embrace God’s call and offer a wholehearted hineni. Together.
Becca
Charissa greeted Becca at the door Saturday afternoon with a warm embrace. “So glad you’re here! C’mon in.” Glancing around the room, Becca stooped to take off her shoes. “Oh, leave them on. The floor’s a mess anyway. And we’re going to eat outside. Mara and Hannah are already out there.”
She peered over Charissa’s shoulder into a ballet-slipper–pink room decorated for a baby girl. “Is she sleeping?”
“No, Mara’s got her.” Charissa smiled. “And I’m afraid she won’t hand her over very easily.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I was just wondering if that room there . . .”
Charissa followed her gaze. “Right! Yes. Your mom said that was—”
“Going to be my room?”
Charissa nodded. “If you want to spend some time looking around, that’s fine with me. Just excuse the mess. It’s been a bit chaotic the past couple of weeks, trying to get used to everything.”
Becca wished she had said yes to visiting the house while her mother was alive. She had thought it would be morbid, walking through the rooms and hearing stories about her parents’ life in that space. Now she wished she could hear the stories. She imagined her mom as a young bride being carried across the threshold, imagined her parents sitting together in front of the fireplace, imagined them gardening outside.
“There used to be a porch swing on the patio,” Charissa said, motioning toward the front door. “The hooks are still there. Your mom said she and your dad loved sitting out there. And in the garden too. It’s a beautiful garden. My mother-in-law says someone took a lot of care planning it. Someday I may actually get out there and do some weeding.”
“I wouldn’t mind helping,” Becca said. She wasn’t much of a gardener, but she could probably figure things out.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t head back to school until August, and I’ve pretty much cleared out the house now, so I’ve got lots of time on my hands.” Besides. Working in the garden her parents had once worked in might be therapeutic.
“Ahhhh, here she comes,” Charissa cooed as Mara carried Bethany into the room, followed closely by Hannah.
“She just fell asleep,” Mara whispered, handing her to her mom. Becca had never seen such a tiny baby. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” Mara said to Becca after greeting her.
“She’s beautiful.” Like a fragile little doll. She returned Hannah’s hug.
“So glad you’re here,” Hannah said.
“Thanks.”
They all stood in silence, each staring at the sleeping baby. She looked so peaceful. So content. Becca wished she had some photos of herself as an infant cradled in her mother’s arms, but in all of her sorting, she hadn’t found any. There was no baby book with details, no record of her milestones or her mother’s musings, probably because she was in too much grief to think about taking pictures or writing anything down.
All Becca had was a single story, a story her mother had told her a few days before she died, a story about a chaplain coming to the hospital room to pray after she was born, some story of coincidence her mother had marveled over, but Becca hadn’t paid enough attention to the details, and now it was too late to hear them. One more opportunity lost.
Unless.
Maybe.
She cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “I was wondering,” she said, looking around the circle, “did my mom ever tell you guys a story about when I was born? Something about a chaplain?”
Mara and Charissa shook their heads. “No,” Mara said. “Sorry.”
But Hannah said, “Yes.”
While Charissa gently rocked Bethany in her arms, Hannah recounted the story of how Katherine, the woman who had led the retreat where they all met, had been the chaplain on duty when Becca was born on Christmas Eve.
“You’re kidding,” Mara said.
“No. And they only made the connection during one of Meg’s spiritual direction sessions. Meg remembered a female chaplain coming into the room to pray with her, and it turns out it was Katherine.” Hannah looked at Becca, her eyes brimming with emotion. “Katherine held you and prayed a blessing over you. And it meant so much to your mom to remember it all and make that connection because she had felt so alone when you were born. So frightened. Suddenly she realized she hadn’t been alone, that God—”
When Hannah cut herself off mid-thought, Becca sensed she was debating how much more to say. Not wanting to miss any details her mother might have shared, she gestured permission for her to continue. “That God . . .” Becca repeated.
“That God was watching over her and taking care of her. That God was with both of you, loving you.”
Becca’s eyes burned.
Like a little lamb lost in the wood, she thought. Lost and found. Found by someone who would watch over her. Someone, her mother
would say, with wounded hands.
“That’s incredible,” Charissa said. “Such a small world.”
A coincidence without meaning, Simon would have insisted. But what did she believe? “Can I see the roses?” Becca asked.
So this was the trysting place her mother had spoken about, the place her parents were sitting when the pair of mourning doves landed on the arbor and nuzzled their necks like lovers. A holy moment, her mother said, and they hadn’t dared breathe for fear of frightening the birds away. A holy moment, her mother said, because their wedding verses were about doves calling in springtime and a lover summoning the beloved. A holy moment.
Becca sat down and traced with her finger the words carved on the bench: For the woman I love.
Was it sentimental to imagine her parents being reunited? Sentimental to imagine them seeing her and loving her, even here, even now? Was it only sentiment and a desperate longing for connection that prompted and stirred her thoughts about their faith and their God?
Words from her mother’s letter echoed in her mind. I’m praying I’ll be able to point her to God’s heart, that she’ll come to know how much the Lord loves her.
Why couldn’t she grant the answer to her mother’s prayer? Say yes and cross the line of faith? Becca’s heart said, You can give her that gift. Even here, even now. But her head replied, How can I trust God’s love when this world isn’t safe?
If only the universe, heaven, her parents, God, Jesus—someone!—if only someone would give her a sign, send a dove, a butterfly— something!—to help her believe. Something. But the only sound she heard in the garden was a gust of laughter wafting from the small deck behind the house, boisterous laughter that welcomed others to join in.
Becca picked up a fallen rose petal and stared at the sky. If you can see me . . . If you’re listening . . . But there was no coo of a mourning dove, no rustle of the wind.
Nothing.
She glanced over her shoulder as she heard someone approach.
“You okay?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.”
“No, it’s okay.” Becca scooted sideways to make room.
It was silly to want a sign, she thought as Hannah sat down, silly to plead for a mourning dove to appear, silly to expect an answer like that. Maybe holy moments weren’t for her. She rubbed the petal between her fingers. “I’ve been sitting here remembering a story my mom told me about mourning doves and why they were special to her.”
Hannah nodded. “Her wedding verses.”
Yes. Wedding and funeral verses. They were also the verses Hannah had been reading aloud in the hospital room when she died, which meant—she hadn’t thought about this before—they might have been the last words her mother heard. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come.
Becca scanned the sky again. Still no sign.
Nothing.
She sighed and stared at her feet. What was the old saying? A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step? She slipped off one sandal, then the other, and scrunched her toes against the soft grass. “I don’t really like sensible shoes,” she said.
Hannah laughed. “Then wear heels. Or go barefoot. Your journey doesn’t need to look like your mom’s.”
True. She wasn’t being called to walk in her mother’s footsteps. She couldn’t do that even if she wanted to.
She breathed deeply, listening. No rustling of a breeze. No cooing of a dove.
Nothing but a single word summoning.
Arise.
Acknowledgments
The LORD bless you and keep you;
the LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.
NUMBERS 6:24-26
With love and gratitude . . .
For Jack, my dearest companion. I thank God for the gift of life together and for all the ways you have revealed his love to me. I love you. Thank you for sharing the journey with me.
For David, our beloved son. I thank God for the gift of who you are, and I look forward to reading your scripts and books someday. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.
For Mom and Dad. Thank you for the gift of life and love and for always encouraging me in my dreams. I love you and thank God for you.
For Beth, the best sister in the world. You’ve brought me so much joy over a lifetime. Thanks for being my first audience as I write the stories. I love you and thank God for you.
For beloved longtime friends who have been witnesses to me in word and in deed, sacrificially modeling the love of Christ. You know who you are, and you have helped make me who I am. I love you and thank God for you.
For the ones who gently led me toward Jesus long ago, with wisdom and grace. Special thanks to Kathleen, John, Sarge, Colleen, Paige, and Katherine. I am eternally grateful.
For Mary V. Peterson, who walks with me. Thank you for all the ways you hold my story with tenderness and compassion. You are such a trustworthy companion.
For my faithful midwife team: Sharon Ruff, Debra Rienstra, Rebecca DeYoung, Amy Boucher Pye, Martie Bradley, Marilyn Hontz, Lisa Samra, Carolyn Watts, Elizabeth Musser, and Amy Nemecek. Thank you for your keen insights, prayer, and encouragement as I labored to cross the finish line.
For Jennifer Oosterhouse, whose artistic and prayerful vision for Redeemer’s annual Holy Week journey forever imprinted me. Thank you for giving so generously of yourself so that we all could be brought closer to Jesus in the beauty of his suffering and sacrifice.
For Shalini Bennett, who led the team of artists in Scripture meditation and prayer. Thank you for being so devoted to the ministry. Your wisdom lives on in these characters.
For the family of Redeemer Covenant Church. Our life together shaped me in such rich and profound ways. I thank God for the years he gave us to partner with one another in ministry.
For the original Sensible Shoes Club. I thank God for our season of walking together. Thank you for sharing the journey of formation with me.
For Julie and Mark VanderMeulen, who gave me a beautiful writing retreat space. Thank you for lavishing me with kindness and hospitality. You were an answer to prayer.
For Mindy Van Singel, who happened to answer the phone the day I called the hospital for research. Thank you for so generously giving your time to answer all of my NICU questions, both that day and afterward.
For all who assisted with research, particularly Sharla Ulstad and Anna Rapa. Your expertise is a gift to me.
For all who shared anecdotes that became part of the characters’ experiences, particularly Jeremy, Denise, Catherine, and Jim. Thank you for the gift of your stories.
For the wonderful team at IVP, and especially for my talented editor, Cindy Bunch. How grateful I am that you said yes! Thanks for bringing all of your gifts and wisdom to my books. It’s a joy and honor to work with you. Thanks, too, to Lori Neff, my creative marketer; Cindy Kiple, my intuitive cover designer; Allison Rieck, my gracious copyeditor; and Jeff Crosby, who is the best kind of leader and friend. I thank God for all of you.
For readers who have loved these characters wholeheartedly and who have encouraged me along the way. I’m so grateful for you. May the One who loves you continue to draw you deep into his heart.
And for you, Lord. All and always for you and in you and through you. You are my everything. Thank you. I love you. Hineni.
Amen! Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks
and honor and power and strength be to
our God for ever and ever. Amen!
Revelation 7:12
Companion Guide for Prayer
Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baka,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength,
till each appears before God in Zion.
PSALM 84:5-7
You are invited to engage with material from the characters’ prayer notebook. Included in this guide are three new prayer exercises designed for both individual and group meditation. The other three exercises the characters used are referenced by page number for your convenience.
A day of silence and solitude can be a wonderful gift, and I encourage you to practice this both individually and in community (see here). For those of you who desire to experience a Journey to the Cross similar to the one at New Hope, you’ll also find that resource here.
May the Lord guide you deeper into his love as you walk the pilgrim way.
Sharon Garlough Brown
Meditation on John 11:17-44: Resurrection and the Life (here)
Meditation on Mark 14:1-11: A Beautiful Thing (here)
Meditation on John 21:9-22: Embracing the Call (here)
MEDITATION ON PSALM 13
How Long?
Begin with a brief time of silence, quieting yourself in the presence of God. Then read Psalm 13 aloud several times, with a few moments of silence between each reading.
For the director of music. A psalm of David.
How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the LORD’s praise,
for he has been good to me.
An Extra Mile Page 34