The Forgiving Hour

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Martha therefore said to Jesus, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died. Even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You.”

  Claire believed that. She didn’t doubt Christ could do miracles, even raise the dead. But He couldn’t wipe out the past.

  She continued reading.

  Jesus therefore again being deeply moved within, came to the tomb. Now it was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.” Martha, the sister of the deceased, said to Him, “Lord, by this time there will be a stench, for he has been dead four days.”

  Dead four days … A stench … The stench of death … The stench of decay.

  Jesus said to her, “Did I not say to you, if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

  “I need to see your glory, Father,” Claire whispered.

  And so they removed the stone …

  She stopped reading, then went back a few verses. Had she nearly missed the lesson she was supposed to learn? Was there a stench of death and decay around her?

  She felt like there was.

  And when He had said these things, He cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come forth.” He who had died came forth, bound hand and foot with wrappings; and his face was wrapped around with a cloth.

  Raised from the dead. Symbolic of the new birth in Jesus. But there had to be more than that. She needed there to be more than just symbolism.

  Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

  Her heart began to race. She read it again.

  “Unbind him, and let him go.”

  An inexplicable excitement burbled up inside her.

  “Unbind him,” she repeated aloud. “Unbind him, and let him go.”

  And suddenly she understood why God had brought her to this book, this chapter, this verse. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, but Lazarus was still bound by his grave clothes. Jesus had to tell those who were watching to unbind him, to free him from those rags.

  “That’s me, isn’t it, Lord? You raised me from death into life, but I’m still dragging all that old stuff along with me. All those old grave clothes are still binding me.” She closed her eyes. “But how do I get out of them? Who’s going to unbind me and let me go?”

  Forgive Sara.

  The command didn’t surprise her. She’d heard it before. “I don’t know if I can, Lord.”

  Forgive her, beloved.

  Almost without realizing what she was doing, Claire slipped from the chair and to her knees, folded hands pressed tightly against her forehead.

  “Father, I don’t want to live in these rags. I don’t want the stench of death hanging over me. I forgive her. Not by my power but by Yours.”

  Now go to her. Tell her.

  She caught her breath. A chill rolled over her.

  No. No, she couldn’t.

  Restore her.

  “No.” She shook her head as she began to weep. “I can’t. I can’t do it. Not that.”

  Tell her, beloved.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she raised her head and shouted, “You’re God! You tell her! Don’t ask this of me!”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Sara was up early on that Saturday morning, early enough to be sipping a cup of coffee as the first fingers of dawn began to play across the earth. The sun rose slowly over the mountains in the east, spilling its rays upon ripples in the river’s surface, causing them to dance with flashes of gold.

  The air was chilly, but Sara didn’t want to go inside for her bathrobe. She didn’t want to miss even a moment of daybreak’s breathtaking display. Instead, she drew her knees to her chest beneath her nightshirt and stayed where she was.

  Perhaps she was hoping with the new day would come … something.

  Last night had been one of the worst. Loneliness had been building within her for days, and last night it had overwhelmed her. She’d clung to every promise of God she could remember, repeating them over and over in her mind, but they hadn’t been enough to stop her tears. She’d cried until her pillow was wet with them. She’d cried until there were no tears left.

  Shades of gray faded and colors brightened as the sun triumphed over the last vestiges of night, escaping the mountain peaks and soaring in freedom over the valley, its brilliance reflected in windows of the homes and apartments along her street.

  O God, let me soar free like the sun. Let me escape this wretched sorrow.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  Grasping for comfort, Sara repeated aloud a verse she’d memorized many months before: “Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my groaning. Heed the sound of my cry for help, my King and my God, for to Thee do I pray.”

  She choked over a sob. Quickly, she pressed her face against her knees.

  “Did you see the sunrise, Dakota?”

  How she longed to share these little pleasures with him. For a few short months, it had been within her grasp, to have the man she loved beside her. But no longer.

  She lifted her head, looked toward the river.

  “Oh, Dakota, how shall I ever bear losing you?”

  How shall I bear it, Abba Father? I feel so utterly alone. I know You’re with me. Let me feel Your comfort.

  The fullness of morning was upon the earth now. Joggers appeared along the greenbelt. Already outside to play, children shouted in the distance. A car door slammed somewhere in the parking lot.

  Life goes on.

  “And so must I,” she whispered. “So must I.”

  Claire stood in front of Sara’s door, unable to knock. It had taken her three days to get here. Three days of fighting the will of God. Three days of rationalizing and reasoning. All to no avail. She’d surrendered in the wee hours before dawn, and once she did, she knew she had to come immediately. She couldn’t wait. Not even until a more reasonable hour.

  Quivering, both inside and out, she lifted her arm and rapped her knuckles against the door.

  Perhaps Sara would still be asleep and wouldn’t hear her knock. Perhaps she wasn’t even at home. Perhaps …

  The door opened.

  Surprise flashed instantly across Sara’s face.

  She’s been crying.

  Claire felt the young woman’s heartbreak and pain as if they were her own. She drew in a deep breath, and asked, “May I come in?”

  Sara nodded and took a step backward, holding the door open wide.

  As Claire walked in, the enemy assaulted her with memories of the past, of her own heartbreak years ago, of the part Sara had played in her life’s drama. But before self-righteous anger could overwhelm her, she felt an invisible hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

  She turned around.

  Sara stood in her nightshirt, her abundant red hair caught in an unruly ponytail. She was holding a coffee mug; Claire could see that her hands were shaking.

  How do I begin, Lord?

  Sara motioned toward the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I … I think I’ll get my robe. Excuse me.”

  God … how do I find the words?

  Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives, do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.

  Sara returned, now clad in a terrycloth bathrobe. She’d washed the tear stains from her cheeks, but her skin was abnormally pale, her hands still shaking nervously.

  Peace I leave with you.

  “Sara, I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.”

  “My forgiveness?”

  Softly, “I’ve hated you in my heart.” She stared at the floor. “Even before I knew your name, I hated you. All these years. So much bitterness. So much wasted emotion.”

  “You had every right to hate me.”

  Claire looked up, meeting Sara’s gaze. “No. No, I didn’t have every right. I thought I did.” She offered a weak smile, tears beginning to blur her vision. “But I was wrong. I have no right to hate anyon
e.”

  “But it’s me who needs to be forgiven.”

  “You already are.” As she spoke those three simple words, something miraculous happened inside Claire. The grave clothes fell away. There was no longer the stench of death lingering in the air. Instead, she smelled the sweet fragrance of God’s abiding love.

  Joy warmed her heart. She was set free. Free forever. No longer chained to the hurts of the past.

  She blinked back the tears, wanting to see Sara. The younger woman had covered her face with her hands; her shoulders shook as she wept. Claire rose from the sofa and went to her, kneeling on the floor in front of her chair. She reached out and drew Sara’s hands from her face.

  Help me to unbind her too, Father. Help me to unwrap her grave clothes.

  “Please don’t cry,” Claire whispered, choked by her own emotions.

  “I … I never meant to hurt anyone. Not you or Dakota. I sinned against you both so grievously.”

  “What sin, Sara? God’s forgotten it.” Wonder and awe flooded Claire’s heart as she spoke. “And now,” she added softly, “so have I.”

  It was a sweet hour of the morning, that hour of forgiving.

  And as the two women embraced, a song of praise rose from Claire’s heart toward the very throne of God.

  EPILOGUE

  VALENTINE’S DAY — EIGHT MONTHS LATER

  The sanctuary of Sunrise Fellowship Church was filled with white and red roses. White tapers flickered in candelabra. The sides of each pew were adorned with huge red and white bows. The pianist played softly while guests continued to fill the church, music and voices drifting down the hall to the dressing room.

  “Oh, Claire,” Sara whispered, anxiety clear in her voice. “I look absolutely dreadful. This was a mistake.”

  Claire turned around to see Sara staring woefully at her reflection in the full-length mirror. “But you look lovely,” she argued.

  “Lovely? What I look is fat. You should have asked one of your friends to do this.”

  “But I wanted you.” Happiness filled her as she spoke the words, for with them came a rush of love for Sara. Of all the things that had happened over the past year, the love she felt for her daughter-in-law was the most miraculous of all.

  Sara faced Claire, both of her hands resting on her gently rounded abdomen. “I’m not big enough to look pregnant and not small enough to disguise it. Just think what your wedding photographs are going to look like with me in them in this getup.”

  “What could be more beautiful than an expectant mother? I’ll love every photo you’re in.”

  Before Sara could respond, a soft rap sounded at the door, followed by Dakota’s voice. “Mom, it’s time. Are you ready?”

  An unexpected flutter of nerves erupted.

  “Mom?”

  Casting a smile in Claire’s direction, Sara opened the door. “She’s ready.” She stepped back. “Brides don’t come any prettier than your mother.”

  His look of approval was a balm on her frazzled nerves. “Wow! Mom!” He grinned that special lopsided smile of his.

  The butterflies settled. Joy welled up again, spilling over like David’s cup in the Twenty-third Psalm.

  “Your groom awaits.” Her son moved to stand in front of her. He lowered his head toward hers as he stared deeply into her eyes. “You really do look beautiful. Kevin’s a lucky guy. And he knows it too.”

  “I’m the lucky one. Who would have imagined all of this? You about to become a father. Me getting married again.” She released a shaky breath. “It doesn’t seem real. It’s almost too good to be true.”

  “Every good thing bestowed and every perfect gift is from above,” he quoted softly. He placed her right hand in the crook of his left arm. “Let’s go, shall we?”

  As they left the dressing room — Sara, her matron of honor, leading the way — Claire thought back over time. The power to sting, to hurt, to destroy, had been removed from the memories. The chains had been broken, once and for all.

  Thank You, Father. Thank You for never giving up on me.

  How beautiful you are, My darling, how beautiful you are!

  Thank You, Jesus, for giving me such a wonderful son and a daughter to love. And Kevin. Thank You for Kevin.

  Like a lily among the thorns, so is My darling among the maidens.

  Most of all, thanks for loving me with an everlasting love.

  Put Me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm. For love is as strong as death.

  Yes, the past had lost its grip on her heart and mind because love was stronger. Now what she saw when she looked back were the many ways God in His faithfulness had wooed her, had reached out to her in mercy, had called to her like the groom to his beloved bride, drawing her unto Himself.

  Into a place of forgiveness.

  Forever.

  A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR

  Dear Friends:

  Every so often, an author is given a special story to tell, one that is particularly meaningful to her and, in some ways, more difficult to write. The Forgiving Hour is such a book for me. While not truly autobiographical, I do know firsthand the heartbreak of an unfaithful spouse, and I also know what it is like to be called upon by our heavenly Father to forgive all parties involved.

  The lesson — of forgiving others, of forgiving ourselves, and of accepting forgiveness from God and those around us — is one of the hardest and one of the most important lessons we must learn during our walk on this earth. But with the learning of this lesson comes a beautiful and incomparable freedom.

  If you have a private heartache, if you are hiding pain in a secret place inside yourself, there is peace to be found in turning it over to God. I pray that you will reach out to Him today.

  Romans 5:8

  Robin Lee Hatcher

  www.robinleehatcher.com

  Praise

  Wholesome and heartwarming. Robin Lee Hatcher delivers.

  Debbie Macomber, bestselling author

  Break out the tissues. I loved The Forgiving Hour and so will you. Robin Lee Hatcher shows God’s grace and mercy in bringing healing into the most painful of circumstances. This book cuts through the darkness of betrayal and brings in the healing light of Jesus Christ.

  Francine Rivers, bestselling author

  Veteran historical romance writer Robin Lee Hatcher uses her wellhoned skills to craft a compelling story of betrayal and forgiveness that will leave readers both emotionally drained and spiritually satisfied.

  Library Journal

  The Forgiving Hour is more than inspirational … it is compelling drama that keeps the pages turning. As a lover of historicals, I am hooked on contemporary inspirationals because of Robin Lee Hatcher’s superior writing talent!

  Rosanne Bittner, bestselling author

  GOLD MEDAL – 4 1/2 stars. Popular historical author Robin Lee Hatcher debuts on the inspirational scene with an amazing book — clearly blazing her own way and setting her own fine standards with a life-changing book that readers will read over and over again.

  Romantic Times

  Robin Lee Hatcher has opened her heart in this book, and her devoted fans will find a treasure beyond imagining within these pages.

  Angela Elwell Hunt, bestselling author

  Powerful … anointed … a riveting look at broken relationships and how lives can be brought to refinement by the hand and the heart of the Father.

  Deborah Bedford, bestselling author

  From the first page, The Forgiving Hour gripped my heart and never let go. Each character’s journey toward the freedom of forgiveness rang true. The ending is more than happy — it’s triumphant! Hatcher’s seasoned writing skills shine through — so does her heart for God and His grace.

  Liz Curtis Higgs, bestselling author

  Readers won’t be able to put down this novel. Its theme is adultery—not just the betrayal but the lasting effects and the need for restoration. Hatcher’s entertaining story uses biblical principles to show how “r
eal” people can survive, and truly recover from, the devastation of adultery. The book contains wisdom and enough heart to make it worthwhile reading for every woman, including those who’ve experienced or caused adultery’s pain.

  CBA Marketplace

  ZONDERVAN

  The Forgiving Hour

  Copyright © 1999 by Robin Lee Hatcher

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  EPub Edition © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN:978-0-310-41693-7

  First Zondervan ebook edition, 2011

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  ISBN 978-0-310-41693-7, ePub

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