Edified

by Marissa Sail Fike

  She’s wearing a straw sunhat, carrying a gardening spade in one gloved hand and two medium-sized packets in the other.

  I meet her halfway and squeeze my arms around her. I don’t know what else to do. Should I apologize again about her situation, or would she rather not dwell on the subject?

  She squeezes me back as well as she can, with her arms full. When I release her, she smiles.

  Wordlessly, she hands me the spade and nods to a patch of freshly turned up soil by the porch. I follow her over and kneel in the grass as she does. Icy little droplets of snow soak through the denim fabric at my knees, causing me to shiver. Kaya seems unfazed.

  She still wears her smile of pure delight and straightens her hat, “You dig, I’ll plant?”

  I nod, “Sure.”

  The grass sparkles with dew all around us as we work.

  “Interesting timing for planting a garden,” I say after a minute.

  She sits back on her heels, eyeing the seeds in her palm.

  “These are called Early Scilla, and the other ones are called Snowdrops. You’re supposed to plant them in the fall, and they’ll bloom sometime around late winter or early spring.”

  She resumes dropping them in the holes I make. “Winter tends to be so colorless and dreary; I just want to see some color popping up through the snow this year.”

  I smile, “That’ll be beautiful,”

  “Mm-hmm,” She hums, “Ever since I got diagnosed with Ewing’s, I’ve tried to adapt a mindset of not waiting to do the things I enjoy most.”

  I frown. I had been pronouncing it E-wings, but Kaya had said it like YOO-ings. Silence passes between us as I try to think of what to say, but these kinds of conversations have never been a strength of mine. I try to think of what Grace might say if she were in my position. Addressing emotional subjects has always been natural for her.

  “How bad is it?” I say, wishing I had my best friend’s way with words.

  “Well,” Kaya says, “I am very lucky, because the cancer has not metastasized to my lungs or my bones. It’s localized in my arm right now.”

  I wince, “Is that painful?”

  “Sometimes,” She says, “But it could be a lot worse.”

  My brows pinch together, “How are you doing through all this, Kaya? Really … like, I want to know. This has got to be affecting your quality of life.”

  She smiles, “I mean, yeah. My life has kind of become a blur of blood tests, IV’s and Chemo. But on the bright side, my knowledge of doctor jargon has been greatly enhanced. I now understand big words like ‘malignancy’.”

  At this, my hands seem to lose their will to dig and I find myself staring at her instead. She drops each seed in the holes that I’ve made with an expression of pure contentment.

  She turns and looks back at me with a smile, “What?”

  I decide right here and now to be real with her, just as she’s been with me.

  “Kaya … You have such a positive attitude about everything, and I just … I don’t understand it. I want to understand … to know how you stay so joyful …”

  She sits back on her heels again, sealing the packet of seeds.

  “Well believe me, some days are better than others,” She says, “But you know … I have my helper, and He says to ‘count it all joy’.”

  Just like that, I have my answer. By her helper, she had meant something spiritual. Of course she had. She’s Kaya.

  She stands, pulling off her gardening gloves and tucking them into her belt. She offers me a hand to help me up and I take it.

  “Come with me,” she says.

  ***

  I follow Kaya into her house.

  Coco greets us with boundless energy, tail wagging, and ears perked.

  Kaya scoops him up, rubbing his ears as she leads us to the living room. The fireplace is lit, giving the room a warm glow of comfort.

  As Kaya goes over to a shelf in the corner, Coco wriggles out of her arms and settles on a puppy bed by the fireplace.

  The shelf she searches appears to be full of knick-knacks and photo albums. She selects a small, thin book tucked between the albums and joins me. A notebook, I realize, as she holds it to her chest.

  “I want to share something really meaningful with you,” She says.

  I smile, “Please.”

  She looks down at the notebook, running a hand over the cover affectionately. “This book has been a source of comfort to me for a long time now. It documents some … pretty rough times in my life.”

  For the first time ever, she’s not smiling.

  “You see, about twelve years back, I hit an all-time-low in my life. My boyfriend had a problem with substance abuse, and refused to give it up no matter how willing I was to work with him on it. So I broke up with him, and it was more painful at the time than I realize it ever should’ve been. On top of that, the financial burdens seemed never-ending, and I was struggling. So when I received the call that my parents had been in a car crash, and neither one survived …” she shakes her head, “I fell into the darkest depression I’ve ever known.”

  I open my mouth to say something and close it again. I am caught off guard by so many different things, I don’t know where to begin. I had no idea that Kaya’s parents died, or on a less extreme note, that she ever dated anyone, although I probably should have assumed as much with her being years older than I am.

  “I closed out a lot of people after all that.” She says, “My days seemed like a blur of hopeless efforts, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone. But keeping your emotions caged up after something like that can only last so long before you just … burst.”

  She stares down at the notebook, “This book contains those bursts. The first half of it is nothing but angry, messy words, casting blame, frustrations, and everything else.”

  “But then …” She opens the cover and flips to a page in the middle, “it morphs into something else. Something much more progressive.”

  She hands the journal to me and nods her approval for me to look at the page she’s opened it to. Written in small, ornate script are the words,

  Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. - Matthew 11:28-30.

  I look back up at her and she shakes her head.

  “I was so tired, Rae. So defeated and upset, and I felt like no one really understood. Not like I needed them to, anyway. Then, in the midst of everything, along came this scripture, which popped up in a silly Facebook ad believe it or not. One thing was certain … I needed a break from all of my emotions — some sort of rest — and here it was being offered to me so freely, if I chose to accept it.”

  I stare down at the scripture a moment longer before gently passing it back to her. “So … what happened?”

  She flips the page, “I wrote the scripture down so that I would remember it, and from then on out, I resolved to turn my venting into prayers. That’s what the rest of the journal consists of. Pouring my heart out to God, asking questions, relieving myself of the burdens. And slowly but surely, wouldn’t you know it, I did begin feeling a little better each time. It was better feeling like I was talking to someone rather than a blank page … someone who didn’t interrupt me. Someone who might actually be able to do something about the situation.”

  She sets the journal down and faces me, “My joy comes from the Lord now. No one can steal that from me, because it’s mine. I claim the joy and the peace and the rest being offered to me through the Holy Spirit.”

  I think of my scars and the joy they’ve been threatening to rob me of on my wedding day. I think of the pressure I always feel to be better than I am … to be more than my best. It’s not that I’m comparing my struggles with hers, because I know they’re not equal … but I still find myself wishing I could have the joy and peace she’s talking about.

  I stare down at my clasped hands, “How do you claim it? You say it like it’s just a readily available resource for anyone who wants it.”

  She sm
iles, “It is available to all those who love God. Whether the person has an inborn love for him or has had to struggle a little first like I did. It doesn’t matter how they got to the point of loving him or if it took a long time – it just matters that they eventually do.

  “And loving God,” I say, staring at my palms, “Requires you to live a saintly life.”

  She studies me for a moment.

  “You’re not expected to be perfect overnight, Rae. No human being can be perfect all the time. What God is looking for is someone who is trying their best. He wants to see that we have a willing heart. One that is working on becoming something better than just a fleshly human being.”

  When I don’t say anything, she continues.

  “God loves giving to his children. He wants to delight us with blessings. Don’t you think a Being that knows your heart inside-out, because he crafted it himself, understanding every little crook and crevice, will know when you’re trying your best and reward that?”

  A flicker of something lights up in my chest. Hope, maybe?

  “So there you have it,” Kaya says, leaning back, “You know my secrets.”

  Her expression switches to one of intrigue, “But that can’t have been your reason for reaching out to me.”

  I smile, “That makes me sound so meddling,”

  “But you’re not a meddling person,” she says thoughtfully. “You’re a person who is interested in self-betterment. It’s why you want to be a physical trainer, because you believe in working to become the best version of yourself.”

  I’m flattered by the compliment. It’s almost been full year ago now that I told her what I was going to college for, and she remembered.

  “My gut tells me that the reason you’re here,” She continues, “and the reason you were specifically curious about my ‘helper’, is because you wouldn’t mind having one yourself.”

  I’m taken aback by her intuition. Is my overwhelm that obvious? I think of my test coming up, wedding planning, finding the perfect dress, upsetting Grace, and all the pressure from my mom to attend A&B. I think of my scars and the shame I feel for doing the one thing that makes me feel better about them.

  The sad part is, I’m usually not an easily overwhelmed person. I’m not an overthinker. I don’t wallow in guilt. But ever since I started to ignore my gut feelings about what’s right and wrong … started to hide certain lifestyle choices from my mom and sister … I haven’t felt like myself at all. So here and now, I admit to myself that Kaya is right. When I heard her mention a ‘helper’ — one that keeps her so damn positive through something as devastating as cancer — I did want in on that. That is why I’m here.

  “It’s just that …” I say, “I haven’t been through nearly as much as you have, and yet, you handle yourself so much better than I do. I just … want to have that same sort of peaceful, joyful way about myself that you seem to have, so I’m not so easily overwhelmed by things that are way smaller in comparison.”

  Kaya raises a hand, “Now don’t go thinking I’m perfect. Remember what I said about messy, angry words,” She taps her journal. “There are still days that I lose sight of what’s important. I break down and scream and cry just like you do.”

  I smile, but I can’t meet her eyes.

  Her voice softens, “I’m not going to dig into your personal life, Rae, so consider this as more of a rhetorical question. I know your family, and I know you’re a smart girl. With that being said, I have a feeling you already know these things I’m telling you about God’s love and about doing your best. You already know what you need to do to obtain what you’re looking for … so, my question is, what is it that’s holding you back? What particular roadblock is in your way from taking what’s yours in the Spirit?”

  I consider the question, even though I know the answer. I remember my decision to be real with her, and just like that, my walls break down like a crashing dam.

  “Can I just … be really honest with you?”

  She smiles, “I encourage it.”

  I open my mouth and close it again, trying to find the right words.

  “By my family’s standards, I’m not living a ‘saintly’ life. I’m like the black sheep compared to my sister …”

  Her expression is attentive, “Do you mind if I ask what you mean?”

  “Well, Livia’s married, she goes to A&B every week, and she's just the perfect child. Ever since she was little, she listened to what she was taught and never strayed from it.”

  “As opposed to … you?”

  “Well, not exactly. It’s just like … I’m not going to pretend that I don’t ever get jealous, or that I have a perfect attitude about everything, or that Adam’s never spent the night with me before, you know? He does. Often.”

  “Ah,” she nods, “I’m with you.”

  “And I know where the Bible points out that’s wrong … but … if I’m being completely open and honest with you, I really don’t want to make any changes in that direction. With Adam, I mean. And I know that makes me sound terrible, but it’s the truth. I know there are a lot of other things I would need to work on in order to be on my mom and sister’s level, but …”

  I fade off when I realize I’m word-vomiting. When she’s sure I’m not going to continue, she speaks.

  “Well, first of all, I don’t think that makes you sound terrible, I think it makes you sound human. Which,” she smiles, “Point to anyone of us who isn’t human.”

  I smile.

  “Second of all, you should never judge your spiritual progress by another person’s ‘level’. Your progress is completely between you and God and no one else, so try not to think of it that way. Especially if it’s discouraging you from trying to grow.”

  “Well,” I keep my eyes low, “I wish it were as easy as just deciding to not do it anymore, but for me … it’s not. I feel like … like I need Adam.”

  She patiently waits for me to continue.

  I sigh, “He just … makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. And most days, I don’t need any help with feeling that way. But like you said, some days are better than others, and on the bad days, I feel literally terrible until I get the reassurance I need from him … like I’m the most unattractive person in the world.”

  Kaya frowns, “Why would you ever feel that way, Rae? You’re a beautiful girl all the time.”

  I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat, “Because of these stupid scars.”

  She softens, eyes falling to my arms.

  “Oh, Rae … body image is something we all struggle with.”

  “But, until I get over it, I don’t think my relationship with God will ever be where I want it to be. Not until I stop I needing something sinful from Adam to have a positive body image, and … I don’t see myself ever getting over that.”

  She squeezes my hand and smiles, “That’s not true, Rae. I think you can and you will. Come to think of it, I think I have a few scriptures for you that really might help with this process.”

  She rips a piece of paper from her notebook and jots down Psalm 139:13-16, Psalm 32:5, 1st Peter 3:3-4, and Luke 16:15.

  “Be sure you read them in order,” She says, passing it to me. “I want you to do it sometime when you’re alone, though. It should be a special and personal moment between just you and God. Maybe you could even journal your thoughts about what He’s telling you. Do you think you could commit to that for me?”

  I pocket the paper and nod, “I mean, definitely. If you think it’ll help.”

  She takes my hand and squeezes, “I really do. In fact, I can already see God doing some wonderful things through you with all this.”

  I smile, feeling the lump in throat get bigger.

  She gets up, returning the book back to its place on the shelf, “When I was going through that dry spell in my relationship with God because I was so distracted with anger, something important happened … and once I realized it, it was a game changer.”

  I
turn towards her as she sits back down.

  “I realized I could no longer tell the difference between God’s voice Satan’s voice in my life … because whenever I would hear that little voice in my head that said, ‘God’s too disappointed in how you’ve been acting to still be here with you. You’re frustrating to Him. He doesn’t want to be around you right now. Fix yourself first, then ask God to come back,’ … I believed it. I genuinely thought God himself was making those thoughts known to me … setting his expectations clearly before me. And unfortunately, I didn’t measure up.”

  I consider how many times I’ve heard that voice in my head … ‘How dare you call yourself a Christian when you’re actively sleeping with Adam, even while knowing better. How dare you ask God for anything. You’re dirty. Fix yourself, then come back.’

  “Slowly, I realized that any thoughts I have that are pulling me away from God, are not from God. When God speaks, it’s only ever in a way that pulls us closer to him. So if your thoughts are discouraging you from working on your relationship with him, you can pretty much guess who those are coming from, because God will never do that. And He certainly wouldn’t tell you to fix yourself on your own before seeking Him out, because God wants nothing more than to be apart of that process with you. How are you supposed to ‘fix yourself’ spiritually without His help?”

  I nod, soaking up each point.

  “It’s never about being perfect before you approach him,” she says, “That’s an impossible expectation. It’s not about making your prayers sound impressive or super formal. It’s about being honest and real. He knows who you are, and doesn’t expect you to be someone else around Him. He’s not gonna turn you away. He just wants His daughter to reach out and talk to Him. He wants to listen and reply to you – to move visibly in your life.”

  I feel tears glistening in my eyes. When did I forget all this? Why have I let Satan trick me for so long?

  She smiles compassionately, “I think we should pray about all this before you head out. Would that be okay?”

  I nod, wiping a tear from my cheek, “I’d love that.”

  She takes both of my hands as we bow our heads.