The Merciful Scar

by Rebecca St. James

  “So it’s not just power to, is it?” I said. “It’s power with. Power with You.”

  The still, small question seemed to sigh.

  Before I had left for the monument, Frankie had told Emma and me that Joseph was going to call when he and Andy got to Great Falls, probably no sooner than four even though they’d driven all night. That still gave me plenty of time to tell Frankie about my plan and ask Emma to drive me into Conrad so I could catch a bus to Bozeman. If my father hadn’t sold that part of my life on Craigslist by now, I could pick up a few things and make arrangements to fly into Kansas City the following day. The clarity of it kept my heart from breaking as I walked down the hill toward the Cloister and saw the chairs rocking with the breeze and heard the bums’ bleating voices—

  Petey.

  My heart would break, but I had to say good-bye to her.

  I broke into a run and arrived at the bum pen shaky and heaving for air. Several of the bums baaed and scattered, but when I called to Petey, she called back and tried to climb over three who were between her and the gate.

  “Over here, baby,” I said.

  I leaned over to reach for her, but my shaky legs gave way and I was—yet again—on my back in the pen amid a small stampede of lambs whose favorite place to step was on my face. Then suddenly they scattered again, and I was looking up into a dark, handsome grin.

  “I’ve made a decision, Bo,” Andy said. “Pulling you out of lamb poop is my new career.”

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  I faced a lifetime of looking the truth in the face before it had time to burrow under my skin. #TheMercifulScar

  Chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  Then could you get on with it?” I said.

  Because Andy continued to grin down at me over the side of the bum pen as if that were his new career plan.

  I sat up amid the lambs and tried to swat away the hand Andy reached down to me but he grabbed both of my wrists and somehow got me by the upper arms and lifted me over the gate, all to the tune of my squealing. The bums, of course, were beside themselves. There was no end to the baaing below as Andy pulled me against him . . . mud, poop, hay, and all.

  I felt like baaing myself. From the Things I Want to Say list that scrolled through my head I selected, “You’re not mad at me, then?”

  Andy pulled his head back to look at me. “Why would I be mad at you? Wait . . . you took over all my chores while I was gone, didn’t you? Dang it, Bo, what’s the matter with you?”

  He tilted his head to kiss me, but I shook mine. “I’m serious, Andy. I told Joseph where you were going. I know you asked me not to—”

  “Yeah, I guess I am mad at you for saving my hide.” The kiss landed on my forehead. “If you hadn’t told them”—on my nose—“I would be in a world of hurt right now.” One on each cheek. “So thank you. Now, can we continue this conversation someplace that doesn’t smell like poop?” His eyes did a veritable polka. “Of course, that would be anywhere you are . . . but there’s always the hose.”

  “No. No hose.” I wriggled away. “I’ll go take a shower and then—”

  “Unh-uh.” Andy pulled me back into his arms. “I don’t want to be away from you that long. I’ve wasted enough time already.”

  His voice dropped, and I knew the dance in his eyes had stopped.

  “It didn’t go well with the DeLucas, did it?” I said.

  He shook his head and took me by the hand to a nearby stack of bales. With an effortless hoist he set me on top and joined me. The shoulders were still as strong but they were no longer as sure. As he leaned against me I knew it was more than his body that was jarred.

  “I expected them to be thugs but they’re classy and polished—all Armani suits and Rolex watches. And completely charismatic. Direct eye contact. Witty repartee. ‘What can we get you? The tortellini is excellent.’” Andy squinted. “It would be so easy to be taken in by that. But that was just it.”

  “That was just what?”

  “They didn’t want to take me in. I told them who I was and they were like, ‘Oh, the long-lost nephew. Nice.’”

  I shook my head. “So—Joseph was afraid for nothing?”

  “I don’t know about nothing. There was something dangerous about these people, but it was more their total lack of real emotion that scared me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When I mentioned Joseph’s name, they looked at each other like, ‘Is this ringing any bells with you?’ And I knew I’d be wasting my breath telling them who Joseph really is, so I told them he’d died of a heart attack. Just to be on the safe side—which was stupid since they could check that out if they wanted to. But that’s the thing: they don’t want to. They never cared about avenging my biological father’s death, and he didn’t really care about me. They just wanted to win.” Andy blinked back the angst I’d been waiting for. “I hope you don’t think I wimped out. I told them a lie because the truth was wasted on them.”

  “I don’t think you wimped out, I think you wised out. Is that a word?”

  “It is now.” Andy pressed the sides of his head. “I’ve got all this stuff to sort out—it’s like spaghetti noodles in there. But I know one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’m going to have my last name legally changed to Maxwell-McKee.”

  “Just to be on the safe side,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “Just to be on the sacred side. I can’t get the DeLucas out of my blood, but maybe I can get them out of my soul.”

  We sat with that for a minute, legs dangling over the hay bales, before he said, “Anyway, after I told them Joseph had died, I left the restaurant and almost had a heart attack myself when I found Joseph sitting in the front seat of my Jeep.” Andy’s voice grew husky. “I was never so glad to see somebody. I just said, ‘Let’s go home,’ and he said, ‘You drive first.’”

  I stared. “That was it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I will never understand men.”

  Andy shook his head and put one warm hand on my cheek. “You understand this man. Maybe better than anyone ever has. I drove double shifts to get back here because I was so afraid you were going to leave before I could tell you.” He added the other warm hand to my face. “I love you, Bo.”

  I knew as Andy kissed me that I had never been kissed in real love before, and that made it my first kiss. My best kiss. And the kiss I had to stop.

  “What?” he said. “Are you going to tell me you don’t—”

  “No,” I said. “I do love you. You know I do.”

  “I hear a but.” He put a finger to my lips. “I don’t want to hear a but.”

  “It’s not a but. It’s a not yet.”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because I have to go to Missouri. There’s something I have to do there.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  The immediate image of Andy trying to get my mother to return his grin almost made it worth agreeing, but I said, “You know how you felt like you had to make things right for Joseph?”

  He nodded.

  “I have to go back and make things right for my sister if I can.” I shook my head at the eyebrows that shot up. “I’ll explain it all later. Just tell me you understand.”

  “Two questions,” Andy said.

  “Okay.”

  “One. How long’s it going to take?”

  “It depends on how cemented my mother is to her guilt,” I said.

  “Yeah, you really do have some ’splainin’ to do. Are you coming back?”

  He was already nodding, willing my answer. I pressed my forehead to his to stop it. “Right now, for this moment,” I said, “I just want to be here.”

  I didn’t leave the Bellwether that night. My talk with Sister Frankie alone took two hours in the garden. I told her that I had to go assess my sister’s situation and find out if there was at least an outpatient facility where they might actually be a
ble to help her get back something of what she’d lost.

  “I don’t know if that’s even possible,” I told Frankie. “Maybe it’s been too long and she wouldn’t be able to make any progress, but I have to know.”

  “That may be the easy part. And it will be even easier if you find a faith community there. It’s so much to try it all on your own. I know some people in a wonderful church in that area if you want me to call them.”

  I couldn’t imagine another faith community like the one I was leaving but I nodded.

  Frankie’s brown eyes were still sad. “Your biggest challenge is probably going to be convincing your mother. We both know how deeply we can be entrenched in guilt.”

  “It’s like standing in cement and letting it set around your feet,” I said.

  “Good image.”

  Frankie waited. I was going to miss her waiting.

  “I have a plan, though,” I said. “I’m going to tell her about my part of the blame for Lara and how I’m dealing with that. Maybe if she doesn’t have to carry all the guilt it’ll be easier for her to let go.”

  “That’s brave, my friend,” Frankie said. “You know she might be extremely angry with you.”

  I shook my head. “My mother doesn’t get extremely anything. In a way I kind of hope she does, though. Then maybe we could start healing.”

  Frankie’s sad eyes shone, as if the sun had just risen in them. “God has brought you so very, very far. It has been an honor to walk this with you.”

  I felt my face crumple.

  “I love those tears,” she said. “And please know you are welcome back here anytime. As my friend and as my fellow lover of the woolies.” She squeezed my hand. “I would hire you in a heartbeat.”

  Telling Emma would be harder, I thought, and I dreaded it all the way to the Cloister that night. She didn’t make it any easier by being in one of the recliners with a cup of Joseph’s blend for both of us. It was Hildegarde’s cream that did me in.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she said.

  “How did you know?”

  “You mean, besides the look on your face? Because it’s time. You’re in a good place to get on with your life.”

  Stiff Upper Lip Alert, Kirsten. This is way too easy.

  “What about you?” I said.

  Emma hunched her shoulders. “I should probably think about leaving too.”

  “No,” I said.

  “No, you don’t think I should leave?”

  “No, I don’t think you should should. We don’t do should here at Bellwether. We work with what God gives us.”

  Emma blinked at me. “I think you should start your own Cloister.”

  “I’m serious. What’s God giving you?”

  In the long pause Emma closed her eyes over the tea steam. Finally she said, “If I rely on the feelings I’m getting, I don’t want to leave the ranch. Ever. If I go with the ideas I’m getting, I’m thinking college. A degree in something that would enable me to really help Frankie and Joseph. Maybe have a ranch of my own someday.”

  “Maybe you’ll do both,” I said.

  “Maybe I will. I still have a lot of healing to do.”

  “So do I.”

  “At least you’re not cutting yourself anymore. That’s big.”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For what?” I said.

  She blinked, though it didn’t do much for the gathering tears. “For letting me be there for you. I could finally protect somebody the way I was made to do. Just—thanks.”

  I couldn’t improve on that moment.

  As I was packing an hour later, something Emma said came back to me as if she were sitting on the bed giving me instructions. “At least you’re not cutting yourself anymore. That’s big.”

  I knelt on the floor and pulled out the first aid kit and opened it. There were some empty compartments in it now. The one where the gauze had been. The big one for the scissors I’d lost over the side of the mountain almost the first day. But the collection of the as yet unused disposable razors was still there. And the paring knife I’d absconded with from the kitchen to use as a last resort.

  I lifted them out, the knife and the razors, and I pulled up the legs of my sweats and looked at the scars that had faded on my thighs. I didn’t want to add to them. Ever. But somehow I knew I might feel that pain pulsing under my skin again someday . . . maybe even soon when I saw Lara again.

  Might and maybe? What about Let us pray? Or do you need to sign up for another thirty days?

  I folded my arms. “Who are you anyway, Nudnik?” I said out loud.

  Seven years and you just now got around to asking me that.

  I thought I was just crazy.

  I tried to drive you crazy. It made a nice alternative to the pain.

  “But who are you? Really?”

  I’m you, Brain Child. The snarky, get-real, don’t-go-wacko-on-me side of you . . . the side that’s really starting to like the rest of you.

  “Oh,” I said. And then I laughed. “Welcome to me.”

  A light rap on the front door made me jump.

  And just so you know: that isn’t me.

  Still giggling, I let myself out the front door to meet Andy on the porch.

  “Did I interrupt something?” he said.

  “No,” I said. “I was just talking to myself.”

  Andy and I sat on the front steps and watched the last tendrils of sun go down on my fifty-fifth and last day. We talked some. After I explained all about Lara, I told him I would stay in Missouri until I was sure I’d done all I could there. After that, I didn’t know, except that I was definitely not going to become an architect.

  “I think I can trust God’ll take me where I need to go,” I said. “I guess I better major in faith first, huh?”

  Andy said he wasn’t going back to MIT either. He’d work at the ranch for a while and, like me, pray his way to the next thing.

  “I know it’s going to take me a long time to absorb all this stuff I just found out and figure out if it makes a difference in who I am, and I have to do that before I do go on to the next thing.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “But whatever it is, Bo—I want you in it.”

  “Well,” I said. “Since it’s faith and prayer we’re talking about—I think we’re already in it.”

  I kissed him first this time.

  Andy fell asleep on the porch floor with his head in my lap. I stroked his dark waves for a while, and then I slid carefully out from under him and walked in the moonlight to the back of the Cloister.

  I could see the sheep, still as statues in their pen, just like the first night I was there. They didn’t make a sound. Even Avila was quiet. But I could hear Frankie’s voice, echoing like bat kol.

  “Their needs are met and they have no fear.”

  I hugged my arms around me and closed my eyes and felt the peace, because I no longer had to envy them.

  “Thank You, Good Shepherd,” I whispered. “Thank You.”

  Share this chapter with your friends!

  Being entrenched in your guilt is like standing in cement and letting it set around your feet. #TheMercifulScar

  Reflection Questions and Resources for The Merciful Scar

  Although we want girls and women who have experience with self-injury to find hope in Kirsten’s story, we don’t think you have to have been there personally to relate to her and find a door to healing for whatever it is you are dealing with (and everybody is dealing with something, right?) As you consider our reflection questions, just apply them to your own situation and see what happens. We’ve got your back in prayer.

  Blessings,

  Rebecca and Nancy

  Questions to ponder:

  1. Just to get you focused on you, what part of Kirsten’s story did you relate to the most? What made you go, “Oh, I hear that!”?

  2. Right now in your life, are you “settling” in any way, like Kirsten was settling fo
r Wes and a career she didn’t really care about?

  3. How are you at expressing your deepest feelings? Do you feel like you have a true voice? Are there places where it can be heard without judgment?

  4. Can you identify certain experiences in your life that have led you to coping behaviors that aren’t healthy for you? That keep you from getting to the real issue? For Kirsten that included her sister’s accident, her father’s Disneyland Dad approach, her mother’s denial, and her own guilt. What are yours?

  5. Along with damaging experiences, Kirsten had a way-faulty understanding of her self-worth that led her to cutting. What beliefs about yourself might be wounding you in some way?

  6. What did you learn from Kirsten’s journey that you could possibly apply to your own? (Things you wouldn’t have to go to a sheep ranch to do!)

  7. What practices that Frankie gave Kirsten (listening, doing art, taking communion, taking care of something weaker than herself, etc.) could help you be more aware of God’s presence and voice?

  8. Do you have a mentor like Frankie? If not, can you think of someone you respect who could offer you wisdom and help you find your way?

  9. Picture a free, secure, whole life for yourself, the kind God intends for each of us. Write it down, maybe in a journal. Now consider: what keeps you from living in that place?

  10. Find your own Shepherd’s Monument, a place to get quiet and listen, deeply, for that still, small voice—away from the fires and the winds and the earthquakes of your life. What is He whispering to you?

  Resources for those who self-injure or want to help someone who does:

  • FAQs About Self Injury. FocusOntheFamily.com. There are actually six different articles here that give great information in a loving, understanding way. http://www.focusonthefamily.com/parenting/parenting_challenges/cutting_and_selfinjury/faqs_about_selfinjury.aspx

  • S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends) website. Here you’ll find an online community that’s moderated to provide a trigger-free environment. http://www.selfinjury.com