Another knock came. Mr. Jensen entered, and clearing his throat, said, “Mac’s ready to go.”
“We’re coming,” Tawni said, quickly zipping up the bag. Jeremy reached for it and suggested Tawni bring a pillow and blanket, just in case she could sleep in the car this time.
Sierra followed them to Uncle Mac’s car and made them promise to call as soon as they reached Seattle. It was a three-hour drive. She knew they would be three of the longest hours of her life, waiting for the phone to ring.
Sierra’s dad wrapped his arm around her as they walked back to the house. She wanted to be alone, but there were all her dinner guests. She knew she could ask them to leave and they would understand, but Sierra didn’t want them to go. She needed her friends now more than ever.
Amy was waiting for them at the front door. She tenderly reached for Sierra’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Sierra said.
“Why don’t you sit down. Do you want to be alone for a while?”
Sierra was surprised at how well Amy knew her. It dawned on her that Vicki hadn’t arrived yet, but when she did, just like when Sierra’s mom came home, they would have to relay the awful announcement all over again.
“No, I don’t want you to leave,” Sierra said.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“I don’t know.”
Wes met them in the entryway and stood close to his little sister. “They may have found another survivor. The news just announced it. Do you want to come watch the report?”
“I don’t know.” Sierra stood in the middle of the hallway, suddenly exhausted and directionless.
“Come with me,” Wes said, putting his arm around her and leading her to the living room couch. “I think you should watch the reports. Right now they’re the only information we have.”
Sierra plopped down next to Randy and watched as station after station replayed the horrifying scene of the burning airplane on the runway. One station alluded to terrorist activity. Another channel had an expert explain how the recent strike of this particular airline could have led to an oversight by the maintenance staff. CNN was announcing it as the worst disaster in the Seattle airport’s history.
“Amy,” Wes said after a while, “why don’t you and I pull some food together? We still have to eat. You guys just kick back here, and Amy and I will take care of everything.”
Eat? Sierra thought. I couldn’t possibly eat.
Her dad sat on her right side and pulled her close. Sierra rested her head on his arm. When she did, she caught the faint scent of the soap he used. It was a green soap that gave him a woodsy, outdoor fragrance. As soon as she smelled it, she thought of Paul and his pine-tree aftershave, which she had smelled for the first time when they sat next to each other on the plane ride from San Francisco to Portland. With the memory came a crashing wave of fresh tears that Sierra unapologetically spilled all over her father’s chest.
Her friends stayed and ate tender lobster with drawn butter on trays in front of the TV. Sierra didn’t eat.
“I think we should pray together,” Randy said after they had seen footage of the crash at least fifteen times. No new reports of survivors were forthcoming, and in a way they were all growing numb to the information, since it had been well over an hour since they had heard the shocking news.
“Sometimes,” Randy said, “it helps to have a verse to pray, you know? It helps to focus on God and His promises instead of being overwhelmed with the problem. I think it could help our prayers be more directed.”
“In Paul’s last letter, he wrote about Jesus as the Good Shepherd,” Sierra offered.
“That’s in John 10,” Randy said.
Sierra’s dad left the couch and returned a moment later with a Bible. “But that’s a whole chapter, not just one verse,” he said.
“It can be a whole chapter,” Randy answered.
Then Sierra remembered the reference from Philippians that Paul had listed at the end of the letter. He had said it reminded him of her boldness. Sierra had looked up the verses once, but she couldn’t remember now what they said.
“He also mentioned another verse in the first chapter of Philippians, near the end. Maybe verse 27,” she told her dad.
He cleared his throat and read slowly, “Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, whether I come and see you or only hear about you in my absence, I will know that you stand firm in one spirit, contending as one man for the faith of the gospel.”
“Wow!” Margo said. “Is that the verse Paul wrote to you? It’s kind of spooky that it says ‘whatever happens.’ ”
“Actually, that’s not the verse,” Sierra said. The parallels between the apostle Paul’s words in the letter to his Philippian friends and what was happening to Sierra after her letter from Paul Mackenzie were just a little too intense for her.
Then she remembered one of the verses Paul had listed in his letter. She had memorized it for Bible class and recognized it when Paul said he had written it on a card and carried it in his wallet. When she first had read the verse, it hadn’t meant much to her, and she didn’t understand why it was so important to Paul.
Now, as she was about to quote it to her dad and her friends, it took on special significance.
“I remember the verse,” she said. “Philippians 1:21. ‘For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.’ ”
twelve
SIERRA’S FRIENDS had a hard time praying, but she didn’t. She didn’t care if her tears and overwhelming emotions soaked through her words. And she didn’t care what anyone else thought of her. This was between her and God, and she was trying to make sense of this tragic news arriving on the tail of Paul’s clear commitment to God.
“I know that Your ways aren’t our ways, God. And I don’t understand what’s happening. Did You take Paul to heaven to be with You? Or is he still alive? God, I beg You to have mercy on him if he’s still alive. All he wanted to do was serve You.” Sierra felt exhausted. She stopped praying, and Randy stepped right in, as if holding up her arms when she was too weak to hold them up any longer.
Randy prayed for Paul’s parents, Jeremy, Tawni, and Uncle Mac. He prayed for the doctors at the hospital and for all the families who had lost someone in the crash.
Mr. Jensen prayed, and then Tre. Tre’s voice was calm and steady. He was so willing to accept whatever happened as being for God’s best. Sierra wasn’t so willing. Margo thanked God that Paul was a Christian and that therefore, if he were dead, they all would see him again in heaven. That’s when Amy left the room.
They prayed for more than half an hour. Randy’s idea was a good one. It helped to focus on God’s Word as they prayed. After the last “Amen,” they sat still and looked at each other.
“Sierra,” Margo said, “you should be ready to accept the worst because the worst is really the best. I mean, if Paul is dead, then he’s with God. He’s in heaven right now, and we’re the ones who have to go through a lifetime of trials before we get set free the way he is.”
Sierra wanted to blast her friend’s easy answer and say she wasn’t ready to accept Paul’s death just like that. Fortunately, the doorbell rang.
“It’s probably Vicki,” Randy said. He rose to answer the door when Sierra didn’t get up.
“Will you tell her?” Sierra asked Randy. “I don’t think I can say it.”
Randy nodded. They all heard him open the door. The sound of a party horn and the snap of a confetti streamer followed. Then they heard Vicki say loudly to Randy, “Look! I brought hats and party horns for everyone. You haven’t had dessert yet, have you?” The party horn sounded again.
Sierra could hear Randy’s muffled voice and then a gasp from Vicki. Vicki rushed into the living room and stared at Sierra as if she had to be sure this wasn’t some kind of cruel joke. When Vicki saw Sierra, her face mirrored her friend’s.
“No!” Vicki whispered, slumping to t
he floor at Sierra’s feet. “I heard it on the radio on my way over, but I thought it couldn’t be Paul’s plane because he was coming into Portland.” Slow tears began a procession down Vicki’s cheeks. “Oh, Sierra, I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“We don’t know yet. He may be one of the survivors.” Sierra tried to comfort her friend but found she didn’t have as much hope as she had thought.
“Jeremy and Tawni drove up to Seattle with Uncle Mac,” Randy explained. “They’re going to call as soon as they get there.”
Sierra felt parched and asked if anyone else wanted something to drink. No one did. She shuffled into the kitchen, which looked like a disaster area. It smelled fishy. The counter was covered with uneaten salads, baskets of bread, and a plateful of leftover lobster. For some reason she thought of the story of Jesus’ feeding the crowd of more than five thousand people with the simple offering of one little boy’s fish and loaves. There had been twelve baskets of food left over, enough for each of Jesus’ disciples to have his own basket.
As she poured herself a glass of water, Sierra tried to make a spiritual connection between that story and Paul’s crisis. She needed to see a miracle and to know that God could take something small, like just a little bit of faith, and bless it and multiply it.
Then she remembered Paul’s verse: “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” What if the God-thing of all this was for Paul to be in heaven, and as a result, good would come out of his death?
The possibility was too brutal. God wouldn’t do that, would He? Sierra leaned against the counter, realizing that whether or not Paul was one of the dead, 157 people had died today in that crash. Those 157 people had stepped into eternity. The ones who had surrendered their lives to God by receiving His gift of salvation through Christ were now in heaven. Those who had never come to Christ were now in hell.
Sierra felt like throwing up.
God, she screamed inside her mind, how can You be like that? You divide us up like sheep and goats—right hand, left hand. I know what Your Bible says. I know what You require from us. But why? Couldn’t You make it easier?
As soon as the thought entered her mind, Sierra realized that coming to God was the easiest thing there was. Even a child could understand God’s rules for eternal life and respond. It was a matter of choice, the free will God had put in each of us.
Her head was pounding. “Why don’t people just come to You? Why do they run and hide and stay mad at You?”
Sierra hadn’t realized she was saying that part of her wrestling match with God aloud until she heard Amy’s soft voice answer from outside the open back door. “Because we’re stubborn.”
Sierra opened the screen and stepped out into the cool night. Amy sat on the steps with Brutus at her feet, contentedly letting Amy scratch under his chin.
“I didn’t see you there.” Sierra sat down next to her and patted Brutus on top of his noble head. “It’s so hard, Aim. I mean, I know what I believe, and I’m sure it’s right, but it’s so severe. All those people dead. What did they do to deserve that?”
“We all deserve death,” Amy said. “Have you already forgotten your verses from Bible class last year?”
Then, because all Sierra could give Amy was a blank look, Amy quoted them for her. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.… The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
“I know, but—”
Amy finished with one last verse. “The Lord is … not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.”
Sierra had no response. She knew all those verses, too. She had received an A on the test, just as Amy had. But what did they mean at a time like this? Amy knew the verses, but what did they mean to her?
“I think,” Amy said, as if reading her friend’s thoughts, “that the problem is in the repentance part. I haven’t been willing to agree with God that I was wrong about anything. When my parents split up, all I knew was that I was hurting and nothing was going to make the hurt go away.”
Sierra couldn’t quite follow Amy’s train of thought.
“I went my own way and tried to make myself feel better. It worked for a little while when I was with Nathan. But when you’re in a dark place, there’s no substitute for light.”
The screen door opened. “There you are,” Vicki said. She came and sat behind them. “I can’t believe this is happening, Sierra. Do you really think he is, you know …”
“I don’t know. Margo seems to think so. She said we should be glad because we know he’s in heaven and we’ll see him again.” Sierra choked up.
“Margo said that?” Vicki said.
“Isn’t that what you believe?” Amy asked.
“Well, of course, but …” Vicki scooted closer and put her arm around Sierra. “This isn’t exactly the time to say it. At least not that way.”
“I believe it,” Amy said. “Whether it’s a convenient time or not, I know it’s true.”
Sierra and Vicki both looked at Amy and waited for her to explain this sudden confession of faith.
“For a long time,” Amy said, tears gathering in her eyes, “it’s as though I’ve been in a dungeon inside myself. It’s been dark and cold and more miserable than I think either of you could ever guess. And I couldn’t find the key. I couldn’t get myself out of the dungeon. That’s why I loved our Monday afternoons at Mama Bear’s. It was as if you two came to visit me. You brought me a little bread, a little water, and some light from your two steady candles. And somehow I could keep going.”
Sierra slipped her arm through Amy’s and held her friend’s hand, steady and calm, the way Randy had held hers. Vicki put her arm around Amy.
“I think I found the key that will get me out. I need to come back to God. All along I thought He was the one who locked me in there, but now I realize I was the one who locked Him out. I can’t explain it, but I want God back.”
“Then just tell Him,” Sierra said, gently squeezing Amy’s hand.
Amy didn’t cry. She bowed her head with her two friends holding her, and she spoke simple, direct words, as only Amy could. “I’ve been wrong, God. I shut You out. I’m sorry. I want You back. Please forgive me and take me back. Okay?”
Then, as if Vicki could answer for God, she whispered back, “Okay.”
The three of them opened their eyes and looked at each other warmly.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” Amy said quietly.
Sierra hugged her.
“Did I miss something earlier?” Vicki asked. “I mean, what happened, Amy?”
“What do you mean, what happened?”
Vicki looked at Sierra. “Did you say something to her?”
Sierra shook her head.
“You want to know why I suddenly opened my heart to God after shutting Him out for so long.” Amy readjusted her position and looked at her friends. “It was the news report and the possibility that Paul might actually, you know … he could be dead right now.”
Sierra felt an anxious surge of emotion begin to come over her again.
“When the news said there were three known survivors, something just hit me. It reminded me of the three of us. I wanted to be one of the survivors, not one of the 157.”
Before Amy could say any more, the Jensen van pulled into the driveway. Mrs. Jensen, Granna Mae, and the boys came around to the back steps. Eager to greet them, Brutus rose and barked loudly. Mrs. Jensen instructed the boys to take Brutus to his doghouse so he wouldn’t jump on Granna Mae.
“Well, hello!” Mrs. Jensen said when she saw the three friends clustered on the steps in the twilight. “Taking a break from the party?”
“Mom,” Sierra began and then listened to herself tell about the plane crash and Tawni and Jeremy leaving with Uncle Mac.
Granna Mae stood at the bottom of the steps and listened quietly with her purse clutched in her hand. Sierra’s mom breathed a troubled “Oh, dear” and leaned against th
e stair railing.
Granna Mae didn’t move. She calmly said, “Paul wasn’t on the plane.”
Everyone turned to look at her, waiting for her to speak again.
“Paul missed the plane and went back to Saigon. That’s when the bombing began.”
Sierra understood then that Granna Mae was having one of her flashbacks. This one was about her son Paul, who had been killed in Vietnam. Her Paul had missed his plane ride, but the thought caused a fresh hope to spring up inside Sierra.
“What if Paul wasn’t on the plane that crashed?” she said, excitedly springing up. “I mean, they changed his flight once already; maybe they changed it again. Maybe he didn’t get on that flight!”
“Oh, Sierra,” Mrs. Jensen said, reaching for her arm. But Sierra was already sprinting up the steps. “Dad? Wesley?” They met her in the kitchen. “Can we call the airline and check the flight roster? What if Paul wasn’t on that flight?”
Mrs. Jensen and the others from outside were now in the kitchen, too. Sierra could tell that her mom and dad were exchanging glances and trying to signal to each other that their fairy-tale dreamer of a daughter was about to be disappointed. But Wesley didn’t hesitate. He reached for the phone and started to make calls until he found someone who would help him.
As the whole group stood in the kitchen, waiting for the answer, Wes talked to the supervisor at the airline. Wes went through the story for the fourth time. He held up a hand for everyone to be quiet. “Can you repeat that, please? No, I don’t believe he could have registered under a different name. It would have been listed as Paul Mackenzie. Yes, I’ll wait.”
Painful, silent moments passed.
“You’re sure,” Wes said. “Okay. Thank you. Yes. Good night.” He hung up and turned to face Sierra. “He said Paul had a reservation on the flight, but according to their computer, he never checked in.”
A wild cheer of amazement and jubilation rose from the group.
“He wasn’t on the plane!” Sierra practically shouted, looking around for Granna Mae. The dear, confused woman must have gone to her room. It struck Sierra with painful clarity that because Granna Mae’s Paul had missed his plane, he had met with death. But perhaps Sierra’s Paul had missed death because he had missed a plane.
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