by Alana Terry
God sets the lonely in families ...
In a few minutes, I’ll join hands around a table with Sandy and her son as her husband thanks God for the food. While we eat breakfast, Sandy will pray over the names on her various lists and her husband will read a passage from the Bible and out of that morning devotion book he loves. It will never replace what I’ve lost. Never make me forget the pain I’ve suffered.
But maybe the point isn’t to forget.
Maybe the point is to keep on remembering.
CHAPTER 36
Springtime. I’ve always loved the spring. And today’s going to be perfect. Time to get myself up and out of bed.
Ow.
That sun sure is bright in my eyes. I love that Sandy has let me take over her guest room all these months. I just wish she had slightly better blinds. What this room needs are some heavy-duty blackout curtains.
A knock from the hallway. “Mia.” Sandy’s voice is cheerful. Melodic. Sometimes I miss Mom’s rat-a-tat-tat on my door so much it hurts.
“I’m awake,” I tell her.
The door slowly opens, and Sandy’s standing there in her flowered skirt, her hair hanging in one long French braid. Wispy strands of gray stick out around her temples. I hope I’m as beautiful as she is when I reach her age.
She gives me a smile. “You still want to do this?” she asks. “The weather’s holding out nicely. I think it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
I nod my head.
I’m ready.
Strange to think it’s taken this long for me to get to this point. The grief counselor I’ve been seeing says that I probably needed to get through all the pre-trial hearings first. Once I sorted out some of my fear and other emotions wrapped around my dad, I could walk through all the other steps of grief.
And there have been many.
It’s strange losing two people at once. Some weeks I cry myself to sleep every night because I’ll never walk down the aisle and marry Chris. Other times, something will remind me of Mom, and I’ll wonder how I could ever think that my fiancé’s death could cause half the same level of despair that comes from losing a parent.
My counselor’s right. There’s been a lot of fear. Once I started talking to Drisklay and everyone else involved in the case, I realized there were even more things about my dad, secrets of his I’d been hiding for years. My testimony alone would be enough to land him with a dozen life sentences. Thankfully, my brother’s agreed to testify as well, even though Marco’s still in jail for crimes of his own.
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the day that changed all our lives. The day that was wiped out of my memory for so long. After breakfast, Sandy and I are going over to Chris’s grave. A few of my old friends from high school will be there. Kelsie’s coming back from New York to meet us at the cemetery. A few others will be there too.
I feel a little guilty that it’s taken me this long before I’ve felt ready to watch the recording of Chris’s funeral. Like maybe that means I loved him less than I thought I did. Sandy tells me to be patient with myself, that everyone heals at different rates.
I’m glad I’m finally ready today.
At breakfast, the devotion we read is from Charles Spurgeon, one of Carl’s favorite preachers.
Our spirit, attracted by the tempting glare, darts into the halls of pleasure, but soon is frightened and alarmed by the rough voice of conscience and the demands of insatiable passions.
It’s taken me a while to understand the style of language Spurgeon writes in, but Carl reads him often enough I’m getting into the flow of it.
Man, without God, is like the mariner in the story, condemned to sail on forever, and never to find a haven.
I think back to my lost months, forever gone from my memory. If God hadn’t intervened, would my imprisonment have endured indefinitely?
Long have you tugged the oar of ambition, or of the lust of pleasure, or of avarice, or of care. But rest a moment, I pray you, and listen to the witness of those who declare to you that escape from bondage is possible, and that rest is to be found even now.
I glance over at Sandy, who’s beaming lovingly at her husband. Sometimes it hurts to watch how close Carl and Sandy are, to realize that I’ll never share that kind of relationship with Chris. Other times it’s comforting to know that happiness still exists in this world.
What if your chains should be broken today, and your labors should be ended, and you should enter into perfect peace! If so, it will be the gladdest Sabbath that your soul ever knew.
Carl pauses to explain that Spurgeon is speaking of heaven here. Early on, in those first few weeks of meetings and hearings and mourning, people would tell me I should be glad because my mom and Chris are both in a better place. I hated hearing that then. If heaven’s so great, why couldn’t God have let me die and join them there as well?
But I’m starting to understand a little more. I even have a letter I’m going to leave at Chris’s gravesite today. I did the same thing for Mom several months ago, but I didn’t feel ready for Chris’s until now.
And others shall share in the gladness, for we who may be privileged to help you shall participate in your joy, and even spirits before the throne of God shall rejoice when they hear that another weary one has found rest in Christ Jesus.
I definitely know the weariness that Spurgeon’s talking about. I know what it is to be so depressed you don’t have the energy to leave your bed. I know what it’s like to have mental fog so heavy it’s exhausting just to get out a string of two or three sentences.
But I know that peace he’s talking about too. Not the peace I’ll experience in heaven. That day’s probably still decades off in my case. But I’ve felt the hint of it, the echo of heavenly music. The promise of divine healing.
I think about the verse Carl and Sandy’s son read just a few minutes earlier at family devotions where Paul’s talking to the Philippian church. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation.
In spite of everything that’s happened, I know God is with me, and I know he’s used the things I’ve gone through in this past year to shape me into the woman I am. In just a few more months I’ll be enrolling at NYU with a major in biology and minor in Spanish. I still want to become a doctor. I still want to open free healthcare clinics along the border. I feel like God’s given me a second chance at life, and I definitely don’t want to waste it.
After breakfast, I help Sandy clear the table. While she’s cleaning up the dishes, I retreat to the quiet of her guest room. I pull out my phone and find the YouTube video where Chris’s funeral’s been recorded. Strange to think that a year ago today, I was eating breakfast with my mom and boyfriend. I wonder if Chris was thinking about that dream of his, the one where he was standing in front of a church preaching about Jesus.
I read the description on the YouTube video. Celebration of life service for Chris Gomez, who went to be with the Lord on May 24, three weeks before he turned 19.
There’s no mention of his murder. That’s all. Celebration of life service.
I could stay in Sandy’s guest room all morning staring at the thumbnail, reading the description, trying to guess what life would have been like if Chris hadn’t been killed.
Or I could sit down, press play, and finally say goodbye to the man I loved.
I know exactly what choice I’m going to make.
CHAPTER 37
“Chris Gomez was a student, athlete, and friend.” Pastor Carl’s voice is as rich and booming as always. After a short introduction, the worship band gets on stage. I don’t think I can handle the emotional dam that will break if I listen to the music, so I skip ahead. I can always come back to the singing part later.
“Before God called him home,” Carl says a little later, “Chris lived his life for the Lord. He served here in the church. He volunteered with our local outreaches and was active in the youth group. Based o
n what I’ve heard from his fellow students, there wasn’t a single soul Chris wasn’t willing to help. But that’s not why I’m convinced his spirit is in heaven today. Plenty of good people live good lives and do good things, but if you die without knowing the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ, the Bible says you’re still lost in your sins.
“But Chris knew the grace of Jesus. In fact, I had the immense blessing and honor of sitting with him one night after youth group and praying with him while he asked God to forgive his sins. It was at that moment Chris’s soul was saved for eternity, and a few weeks later I had the privilege and honor to baptize him right here in this church.
“Chris will always be remembered as a kind spirit. A gentle and compassionate soul who loved God and loved others and thus fulfilled the two greatest commandments in all of Scripture. The morning before he died, Chris wrote this in his journal, and it’s with his family’s permission I’m sharing it with you here today.
“Last night, Chris writes, I had a dream. I was standing in front of a church, telling everyone there about Jesus. I didn’t feel stage fright. I didn’t feel nervous at all. I think it means God wants me to become a pastor. I feel scared and honored that he chose me for a calling like this.”
Carl looks up from the piece of paper he’s holding and smiles at his congregation. “Friends,” he concludes, “One of the saddest aspects of performing a funeral for someone this young is that Chris died with plans unfulfilled. With dreams unattained. You heard it in his own words. Chris had received a calling to go into the ministry, a calling I have no doubt he would have followed and obeyed if he’d remained alive. And not only that, he would have excelled in it. Why? Because like I said before, Chris loved God and Chris loved people. There’s no better recipe for a pastor.
“Chris never had the chance to go to seminary. Never finished a Bible college degree or got ordained. He never held office in a church. Never officiated at a wedding or a funeral.
“But that doesn’t mean Chris didn’t fulfill his calling. Today there are hundreds of people gathered here. Many of you are young. Many of you are Chris’s friends from school. Some of you have never set foot in a church building before. Some of you have never heard the good news that Jesus died to forgive your sins and purchased your way to heaven with his own blood.
“Chris isn’t standing before you today preaching. He isn’t holding up his Bible, urging you to be saved, encouraging you in the Lord. But I’m here to tell you that Chris has fulfilled his calling once and for all, because a godly life and testimony is the greatest sermon anyone on this planet can ever preach. And Chris lived his life and testimony with honor, with grace, and with love. And if he were here today, if he were standing here behind this pulpit, looking at you seated here in this sanctuary right now, he would urge each and every one of you who doesn’t know Christ as your personal Lord and Savior to accept God’s love for you. To ask God to forgive you for your sins. To acknowledge that Jesus is the one and only way to heaven, to submit your lives in obedience to his Word and to enjoy the riches of blessings that come from belonging to the family of God.
“If you’d like to make that decision right now,” Carl says, “I’d like to ask you to step forward.”
Sandy’s told me before about this part of the service. She’s mentioned the number of Chris’s and my friends who walked down that aisle. But still, I’m surprised to see how quickly the crowd gets to their feet. How they’re practically racing one another to the front where volunteers are standing by to pray with each and every one of them.
I miss Chris with all of my heart. I thought it might get easier with time, but so far it hasn’t. Still, everything Carl said at the funeral is true. Chris did live out his calling. He did preach the gospel, even without knowing it.
Now he’s gone. He can’t preach anymore, although I suppose people like me can still be blessed and encouraged by watching his funeral. I think about what Carl said, that a godly life and testimony is the most powerful sermon you could ever preach. If I can remind myself of that each and every day I’m on this earth, I have the feeling I’ll be helping Chris share the gospel with others too, just like we were doing together in his dream.
I need to remember when life gets hard to look past my own circumstances. To see past my own fears and pain. To remember that no matter how bleak life gets, God is good, and God is with me.
And that’s a lesson I pray I’ll never forget.
***
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CHAPTER 1
“Dinner was fabulous.” Kurtis flashed that same boyish smile Lacy had grown so used to. “Just like you.”
Lacy’s lip trembled. She hoped he didn’t notice. She tried to meet his eyes. He deserved that much, at least.
“It was awful sweet of you to cook so much.” What Kurtis didn’t know was how long she had agonized over her recipe books. What kind of meal was appropriate for a night like this?
“Don’t mention it.” In fact, she hoped he wouldn’t.
Kurtis leaned back in his chair. So content. Could she really end things like this? No warning, no explanation ...
“So, I’ve wanted to talk to you about something.” Lacy tested her voice. She should have warned him. Should have given him some hint of what was coming. She studied his face, the laugh crinkles around his eyes, the little bit of scruff on his chin, the soft jawline that made him look more like a first-grade teacher instead of a state trooper.
Her gut squeezed up, as if someone had clenched a fist around her stomach. She could get through this. She had to. It was for Kurtis. It was for the best.
“Daddy! Daddy!” The small, squeaky voice shot a searing pain through Lacy’s chest as Madeline rounded the corner and skidded to a stop by the table. “It’s skipping again.”
Kurtis scooped his daughter up in his lap and nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “My munchkin needs help with the DVD, huh?”
She stuck out her lower lip and pouted. “It skipped.”
“Well you know what that means, don’t you, Munchkin?” Kurtis winked mischievously at Lacy, who smiled through the gnawing emptiness in her heart. “That means you get to start over from the very beginning.”
Once realization set in, Madeline’s eyes widened in delight. “Really?”
“You heard me.”
She almost jumped off his lap, but then she eyed his plate. “Can I try a bite of fish first?”
He shook his head. “Miss Jo made a special adult dinner tonight. This is just for us.”
She pouted and wrinkled her nose. “Does it have peanuts? Is that why I don’t get any?”
“No.” Kurtis gave Madeline a pat on the bottom and set her down. “But now go eat your chicken nuggets like a big girl, ok?”
Madeline scurried back down the hall. Kurtis had already changed her into her footed pajamas in case she fell asleep on Lacy’s bed. It was the middle of summer, but the mosquitoes were so bad nobody in this part of Alaska dared to wear shorts even indoors.
Lacy watched as Madeline disappeared around the corner. Kurtis stared at the empty hall with a contented expression on his face. Lacy had never known a more attentive father. In fact, until she met Kurtis at the daycare, she had imagined they were mostly figments of overactive imaginations or literary archetypes.
He turned his
eyes back on her. Kind eyes. Eyes that would in a moment or two betray sadness, shock, grief. How could she endure the next five minutes? Would he try to change her mind? She had never seen him angry before, not even after her co-worker Kim accidentally gave Madeline a granola bar with peanuts in it at the daycare. Kurtis was away on a domestic violence call when it happened, but when he got back, he assured Kim it was only a mistake. Then, to thank Lacy for her quick use of the EpiPen, he asked her out on their first date.
“This salmon was fabulous,” Kurtis declared. “A perfect dinner.” He leaned forward, stroking Lacy’s cheek with his finger. “Everything you do is perfect.”
If only he knew. If only he realized why Lacy had spent so much time on tonight’s meal. In the past four years since she moved to Glennallen, she had learned cooking could be therapeutic to numb her mind from painful memories. It could be utilitarian to provide meals for two dozen daycare kids as cheaply and healthily as possible. Now, she realized cooking could also be a way to say good-bye.
“So, what’s the big news?” he asked after taking a sip of sparkling cider. She had thrown it into her cart at Puck’s grocery store at the last minute. Now, she regretted it. She regretted inviting Kurtis and Madeline over for dinner. Maybe she should wait. She could call him and tell him by phone. That way she wouldn’t have to see his face, didn’t have to watch the way his laughing eyes brimmed over with hurt. Betrayal. It would be easier that way, at least for her. Easier if she didn’t have to watch him react.
No. She was a grown woman. She couldn’t wimp out. She had stalled too long. She had to get it over with. Get on with her life.
“I’m moving.” The words fell flat. If she were still involved in theater, any decent director would make her redo that line. But she couldn’t do theater anymore. No drama, no voice lessons, nothing from her former life.
Kurtis set his cider goblet down slowly. Tenderly. He no longer smiled, but his eyes were still so soft. So compassionate. From their first date on, she had known he was the kind of man who would understand. If she had told him everything, he would have found the right words to say. Would have helped carry the loneliness that had been thrust on her four years ago.