I smiled, completely able to picture Jason Garcia in a food truck. “My life is radio, I guess,” I offered, thinking I should contribute to the conversation.
“What about Miss Lonely Heart?” Paige asked. “Are they going to make you keep doing that?”
Jason wasn’t up to speed on Miss Lonely Heart, so I filled him in. His brow furrowed as I talked, but he didn’t say much more, thankfully. I wasn’t up for disapproval.
“But it’s not all negative, Debra,” Ben spoke up. I looked over at him. “It’s not,” he insisted. “When I’ve listened—which is pretty regularly—it seems to me that you give people a place to talk about what they’re going through or have already gone through. People want to be heard. You empathize more often than not—” He grinned. “Except when you get angry.”
I snorted and Jason laughed.
“But you let people know their feelings are valid and you listen. The revenge part ... well, who knew there was such a thing as a ‘revenge body’? I’m learning a lot from Miss Lonely Heart,” he joked with a chuckle.
“It’s not my favorite part of the job, but it is what it is. What about you, Ben?” I asked. “If you had the opportunity to go on tour or sign with a label, would you? Or do you feel like you’ll be a worship pastor long-term?”
Ben grabbed a stick and poked at the fire, trying to stir up more flames. “I don’t know. I’ll do this until God shows me I should do something else.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life changes directions, with or without God’s help.”
So that came out sounding more bitter than I meant for it to.
“Sometimes we change directions,” Jason broke in, his voice easy and calm. “Like with my job. I don’t think God cares too much if I’m a cook or a programmer. I think—I hope—who I am is more than either of those things.”
“But maybe that’s different from a calling,” Paige piped up. “Like being a pastor or a missionary. Do you believe God calls people for certain purposes?”
Jason tilted his head, thoughtful. “Yeah, sure. But whether you’re a missionary or a dishwasher, I think God wants the same things from us, right? Love people. Love each other. Have faith.”
Paige nodded. And by the way she was looking at Jason, I started to worry that her admiration of him might be inching up quickly. Too quickly when it came to someone who’d be on a plane home in two days.
“I feel the same,” Ben agreed. He leaned back and looked at the stars. “But living out faith in a church looks different from living out faith on a tour bus. For me, I’m okay where I’m planted right now.”
I was quiet.
“Deb?” Ben said my name, bringing me back to the discussion.
“Living out faith just isn’t on my radar right now.”
“Tell me why,” Jason said, leaning over and looking straight at me.
Ugh. The boldness of close friends.
“Deb, talk to me. Whatever the reason, I want to hear. Is it Luke? Do you think God made Luke break up with you?”
“No. I blame Luke. And Sara. You know I blame her.”
Jason sighed and shook his head, looking down at the dirt. “Okay, where does faith factor in?”
I felt anger slowly rising in me. “It doesn’t. That’s the problem. I went through the worst moment of my life—and I was alone. I didn’t feel any God or spirit holding me. Those are clichés, Jason, and you know it. ‘Hold me, Jesus,’ and all those things we pray and say. It still amounts to us being on our own. There was no comfort, not to mention justice, since they’re off happy as can be while I’m left to glue myself back together.”
“Deb—” Jason started but I kept going.
“So, yeah, I’m not sure if any of it is real anymore. I sang up there with the worship team at Christ Community for years. Hands raised, crying, all kinds of feelings. But that’s what it was—feelings. Everything shattered for me, and I’m trying to put my life back together. And it’s me working every day, paying my bills. It’s me taking care of myself. That’s just truth.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m alone in my apartment. There’s no great Spirit talking to me, holding me, going before me and making everything work out.” I tightened my fist at the harsh reality. The cold fact that I’d never felt so alone in my life as I had over the past eight months.
“It’s fine that God didn’t stop Luke from breaking my heart. I know Luke gets to make his choices like I get to make mine. But the fact that amid all of it—I never sensed God. Nothing happened to show me he was there or that he’s real. Nothing. I don’t know, Jase. I can’t look at the beauty of nature and the complexity of humans and think it’s all an accident. But as for the whole ‘relationship with God,’ ‘he loves us so much’ lingo—I just don’t think he’s all that involved. If he’s involved, explain poverty. Explain abuse. Explain starvation. Explain genocide.” I crossed my arms firmly.
There.
I’d said it out loud. They could argue my points, but I’d been honest. I’d said the words I’d been thinking for months. I’d given voice to the doubts that had invaded my heart and mind and that I couldn’t brush off. I felt different about God now, and there was no going back, as far as I could tell.
“It’s hard, I know,” Ben suddenly said, his tone as soft as snow falling. “When he doesn’t seem to show up. When nothing changes. It’s hard to believe the same way. When Sadie died—I kept thinking, Surely God could have kept it from happening. Made them leave a few minutes earlier or later or kept her home sick—anything to keep that car from hitting them.”
“Who is Sadie?” Jason asked, his voice hushed.
“My sister,” Ben said. He looked down at his hands. “She died in a car crash.”
“Oh, Ben,” Paige whispered, and I realized that she hadn’t known.
But he’d told me.
“How ... how did you reconcile that?” I asked, needing to know. “Those questions about God with the faith you still have?”
Ben rested his elbows on his knees and loosely laced his fingers together. “For me—and this is part of why I feel so strongly that each person’s journey with God is their own and looks different at certain seasons of life—I was in this conundrum. Sadie and I were close, so the thought of never seeing her again, the thought that nothing of her existed anymore—that couldn’t be true. I couldn’t even go there. My anger and frustration at God manifested itself in some self-destructive ways. I spiraled for a few years. But always, I had to hold on to the belief that there’s more, that Sadie wasn’t lost forever. I couldn’t seem to let go of my faith. I needed it too much. From someone on the outside looking at me during those years, they might have thought that I’d abandoned my faith. But they would have been wrong. I was holding on the best that I could.”
Ben straightened and tucked his hair back. “But that’s my story. People react to things differently. People struggle with different levels of doubt or unbelief. It’s okay.” And then Ben was staring straight at me, reaching down in my soul for music and faith and happiness. Like someone digging in a purse or a suitcase, feeling around for what they’re looking for, pushing aside what doesn’t matter.
How he could do that with just his eyes was beyond me, but I felt spent just making eye contact with so much intensity.
“Maybe your faith journey will look different from here on out, Deb. Maybe you’ll know God in a different way. Maybe one day something will happen. Maybe he’ll show up in a huge, unmistakable way, and you’ll dissolve and every piece of you will cry out with faith. Maybe you’ll just barely scratch the surface of faith, but it’ll be enough to get you there. I can tell you this—the day Sadie died, my mother changed forever. She was never the same woman again. It kills me to think about it, how part of her died that day too and has never come back to life. She takes faith in small doses. Enough to keep her going but not so much to consume her. I think she’s afraid of the rage. And I understand.”
Next to him, Paige wiped tears from her cheeks.
“Even in those small doses, I think Jesus walks with her day in and day out.”
And Ben’s eyes were wet now, burning red like the embers. “The hard questions never get answered in this life. Not really. Anyone who says differently is probably in denial, or maybe just grasping for something to make sense. But the worst of what you mentioned—families starving to death, children raped and abused, people praying for rescue who never will be, old people unloved and abandoned, senseless accidents—I don’t think there’s an easy way to reconcile those things with a loving God.
“Sometimes it just comes down to choice. Choosing that there’s more to this than we understand. Believing that he’s a complete balance of mercy and justice and he’ll make it right in the end. Accepting that his plan isn’t ours, but that doesn’t erase who he is. Faith can be a difficult choice. The people in the Bible—their stories are messy, Debra. It’s always been a hard choice.” Ben rubbed his hands together. We were all cold at this point, with our fire nearly snuffed out. “Whatever your faith looks like going forward or if you lose it entirely, you’re not alone in the struggle.” Ben’s words drifted over to me, like snippets of heat from the fire, reaching my heart.
Jason’s arm was around me again, the warmth and closeness of real friendship. The dying embers suddenly popped and I jerked at the sound. Ben stood up. “I should get some sleep. I’m the cook on duty for breakfast, after all.”
Jason stood up, and I joined him. “I’ll help, man. Whatever you need.” Paige hopped up as well, and she and I started to walk, arm in arm, back to our tent. Then I stopped and turned around.
“Ben,” I called out. He paused, near his tent. Without thinking, I ran over to him and threw my arms around him. I hugged him tight under an endless blanket of stars.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Chapter Twelve
When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything.
The Sound of Music
Do I smell bacon?”
I buried myself farther in my sleeping bag, ignoring the question from Paige. But my nose perked up, sniffing. Yep. A faint waft of bacon.
I groaned. Sleeping on the ground was not my favorite. My body yelled silently in protest. Paige sat up, groaning as well. “Brrr. It’s cold!”
“Then get back in your sleeping bag,” I said, snuggling down farther.
“But there’s bacon,” Paige argued. “And probably coffee. Who knows what else. I’m hungry.”
At the mention of coffee, my limbs moved without permission. I sat up, then patted my hair. “I’m terrified of how I must look. And I need a shower so bad.”
“Oh, me too,” Paige said. But she looked fine. In five seconds, she’d twisted that hair of hers into a messy-but-cute bun on top of her head. There was no doubt my hair had the messy part down, minus cuteness. I shook it back and tried to finger-comb my curls.
“Actually”—Paige cocked her head and studied my face—“you look pretty. You got quite a bit of sun yesterday and your cheeks are pink. Your eyeliner is still smudged from yesterday, but it kind of looks smoky and accents your eyes. Your hair …” Her voice trailed off and I laughed. “I recommend a little lip gloss for shine, and you’re ready to face the boys.”
I poked her. “Find me some lip gloss, then.”
She handed me a white tube. “Sorry, ChapStick will have to do.”
We both giggled. Once I was ChapStick-presentable, we climbed out of our tent. Everyone else was up, and Ben had reignited the bonfire. Paige and I shuffled close to it, trying to warm up. I could see people meandering about over at Emmie’s side of the clearing too.
“Breakfast!” Ben called out. The smell of bacon was stronger now and my stomach growled impatiently. I got in line behind Chloe, and Jason divvied out hot scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and pancakes. Ben poured coffee and even had individual coffee creamers for us.
I sat back in my chair and ate everything on my plate, hardly taking a breath between bites. Maybe it was just being out in the fresh mountain air, but everything tasted extra delicious. Over second cups of coffee, our group wandered around the campsite, enjoying a cool, cloudless morning.
Ben was busy, first cooking enough for everyone and then cleaning up and packaging everything as tightly and compactly as possibly. Jason helped him every step of the way. The two seemed to work well together. Paige and I packed up our tent and backpacks, then hiked around the clearing, keeping our conversation light. After the heaviness of the previous night’s discussion, I needed time to process how I was feeling.
Ben had shared his heart beautifully. And I couldn’t help feeling closer to him for it.
But still ... there was that question about how he felt about me. How I felt about him. When I’d hugged him the night before, he’d been shocked but tightened his arms around me too. It had occurred to me later—while lying awake in my sleeping bag—that was the first time we had hugged. Of all the times we’d hung out together, a hug goodbye or good night had never happened.
Until last night.
Trees lined our path back down to the river and outpost. We were all loaded with backpacks and extra gear. (Greg got the unfortunate job of having to carry down the garbage bag with who knows what inside it.) Jason and I walked the trail together.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I admitted.
He gave me a half grin. “You know I’ll miss you too. And I’ll miss Colorado.” He motioned to the general surroundings. “I could get used to this—camping, rafting, hiking. The dry air, the views—I love it. Ben told me next time I’m in town, he’ll teach me to fly-fish.”
“Planning to come back, are you?” I asked with a smile.
“If I’m invited,” he teased.
“Standing invitation,” I assured him.
Jason nodded. We stopped for a moment, both needing a water break. “You can come back and visit us too, you know,” he said, before taking a long sip. “You don’t have to see Luke and Sara.”
I tightened the cap on my water bottle. “Maybe.”
The group was getting a little ahead of us, so I pushed off the tree I’d leaned on, and we started back on the trail.“Come back this winter and go skiing with me,” I suggested.
Jason brightened. “That would be great! If I can get the time off, I’d love to.”
“I think Paige would like to see you again too,” I mentioned.
“She’s nice,” Jason acknowledged. “I’ve enjoyed my time with both of you. But I’ve got to get back to Houston and hopefully get the sous chef position. I need to concentrate on work. I spent a lot of time as a programmer and I feel like I’m starting late with my passion.”
“Better late than never,” I reminded him.
“Yeah. Did Ben tell you he wants us to hang out in Breck for a while after we get back to base?”
My head bobbed as we walked faster downhill. “Yeah. But I feel gross after being out here all night, not to mention yesterday’s dunk in the river. I need a shower in the worst way.”
“Ben told me we could stop by his buddy’s house and clean up before going to dinner in town.”
“Really? I’m on board with that.”
We reached the outpost and I immediately took advantage of the portable restrooms again. Then we loaded into one of the River Run vans and drove the sixteen miles back up to the base building. After unloading all the equipment, the staff handed out sub sandwiches and chips for a picnic lunch. Paige and Ben and Jason and I sat at a picnic table together; Chloe, Kyle, Greg, and Rita sat at another one near us, and we enjoyed lunch right next to the river. I loved the constant sound of the water flowing.
After lunch, we said our goodbyes to Greg, Rita, Chloe, and Kyle. They thanked Ben for being such a good guide, and then Jason decided to buy a T-shirt in the gift shop. I hadn’t realized it, but midway through the rafting excursions, someone was positioned to take a professional photo of each group that passed. I about fell over laughing when I saw ours. All you could see was the top
of my mess of curls; the rest of my body was submerged in the river. Jason’s arm and paddle were visible, the rest of him was underwater with me. We got a good laugh over the photos. But there was a second one that made my heart skip. A photo at ‘the jump’ of me diving into the river.
I didn’t want to spend money on a photo of just me, but I kept looking at it onscreen as we stood there, waiting for Jason to buy his T-shirt. The river, the rock, and me—choosing to jump. I loved it.
Ben texted me his friend Mike’s address and then said he had to finish a few things at River Run and would meet us at Mike’s. All of us were eager for showers, so we drove straight over to Mike’s small apartment, where he kindly let us in and gave us full use of his bathroom and anything else we needed. Now knowing we’d be having dinner in Breckenridge, I was thankful I’d brought an extra pair of clean clothes for the ride back and left them in my SUV. After showering and towel-drying my hair, I put on some makeup. Paige had been right that I’d gotten quite a bit of sun, and I didn’t mind the pinkness in my cheeks at all. At the bottom of my purse, I found a tube of pink lipstick. I held the tube in my hand for a moment. I hadn’t reached for it in months, hadn’t wanted to wear it.
I could almost see Dr. Clark’s pinched smile. The voice in my head sounded like hers.
If you can dive into a freezing cold river, you can certainly wear pink lipstick.
“Are we sure this is it?” Paige asked, head tilted back, studying the hanging sign over what looked like a rather old café. The tattered sign read, The Drunken Frog.
Jason laughed and steered her forward. “Sometimes these little local dives can have the most amazing food. Sometimes not. We’ll see.” On the ground next to the doorway, a chalkboard had been propped up. I read the scrawled writing: Sunday Night Karaoke. Throwback to the ’90s!
I scanned the sidewalk for Ben but didn’t see him, so I followed Jason and Paige into the small building, made of a mix of brick and chipped-painted wood. A very worn wooden bar lined three quarters of the left wall. Round, scuffed-up, and scratched tables filled a crowded dining area. And a stage occupied the far side of the bar, complete with barstools and microphones. The bartender waved as we walked in, and a waitress passed by us.
After the Rain Page 14
