The Gift of Angels

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  The heat bore down on my covered head. For miles around us stretched sand. Even the surrounding mountains were nothing more than sand and dirt. Several hardy acacia trees appeared along the way, but even these were scraggly and twisted.

  Someone was sobbing, and I didn’t want to lift my head to see who it was. “This is too hard,” I whispered. “Why am I here?”

  The angels stopped walking and faced Lot. “Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither to stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed.”

  Look not behind thee.

  I knew he wasn’t only talking to Lot and his family, but to me. Me. Angela Thornberry.

  Strangely, as soon as the request was made and the angels were gone on their way, I had the most forceful desire to look behind me. Why not take just a peek? What would it hurt? Surely the view of fire and brimstone falling from the sky would be an incredible show of power. I wanted to see it. I would never have such an opportunity again.

  Yet the angel said not to look back.

  When I’d first heard this story in primary, I thought anyone would have been stupid to not follow the advice of an angel. Yet here I was, tempted. I was dying anyway—what would it hurt?

  That was when it happened. Lot’s wife gave an agonized cry and looked back. Then she was gone, and in her place stood a pillar of salt.

  I fell to my knees, hearing the keening of her family but unable to focus on their faces. A pillar of salt. Surely curiosity or worry for your children wouldn’t condemn a person to be licked up by a couple of donkeys!

  My breath came hard. If I had looked, then what?

  “What does it mean?” I begged, staring up into the roiling, angry, black clouds that filled the entire sky. I knew what it meant for Lot’s wife. She had looked back and had paid the price—a horrible price! But what did it have to do with me?

  I closed my eyes, which were stinging from the soot that hung on the air in heavy dark clouds. I could hear the others moving on. I didn’t want to be here alone.

  I jumped to my feet, but the scene before me had changed. I was back outside Sodom years earlier with Lot and his people as they pitched their tents. Sweat trickled down my covered scalp and down the middle of my back.

  It’s all connected, I thought, watching Lot and his wife standing by their tent and looking toward Sodom. I could see they were interested in its glittery attractiveness and glory, even though the “men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the Lord.”

  This was where it began, the first step toward the day when Lot’s wife looked back. So what did that mean for me? As I pondered, I felt a communication spirit to spirit as was supposed to happen when you feast on the scriptures.

  In that crystal moment, I understood that Lot’s wife hadn’t simply looked back. She hadn’t wanted to leave at all. Her heart had yearned to stay with those of her family left behind. She hadn’t believed or wanted to hear what the angel told her about the coming destruction. Or perhaps she had rationalized the wickedness around her, having grown accustomed to the face of evil. She’d wanted to stay in Sodom and tend her home and grandchildren.

  So did I. I wanted my life to be as it was before my diagnosis. I yearned to return to the path I’d traveled and wished to escape the future I’d been given. I wanted to be there for my family regardless of what the Lord wanted. In a very real way, I had been trying to remain in my own Sodom. No, my life hadn’t been full of evil, but I was stuck without progression as Lot and his family had been. My unwillingness to go forward and accept the Lord’s will was as clearly an act of looking back as what Lot’s wife had done. If not for the two angels in my life, first Shirley and now Betty Jones, who had both urged me to stop looking back and make the best of what I had left, I might have experienced the same spiritual punishment meted out to Lot’s wife.

  I gazed around me again, my heart lifting with this clear understanding. It had started here in this very spot in this exact moment in time. Overhead, the sky, now a deep and incredible blue, reached from horizon to horizon, achingly beautiful.

  To avoid looking back, I needed to learn from Lot’s example. I needed to pitch my tent not toward Sodom, which represented my old life and understanding, but toward the Lord. I needed to hear His words and understand what this experience was supposed to teach me. Now was the time to prove I would listen and not trade my future for a block of salt.

  I looked up from the words, smiling. I’d already been given so much, including these precious glimpses of scriptures that had echoed happenings in my own life: Dean defending me as the angel defended Nephi, Dean praying for me as Alma prayed for his son, Shirley and Betty urging me not to look back. I didn’t completely understand the vision of Sarah and her miracle baby yet, but even Isaac’s birth had been to my benefit, for I was of the lineage of Ephraim, who was Sarah’s great-great-grandson. Her miracle was partly my own.

  I didn’t know exactly how I would accomplish the task, but I vowed I would not look behind me again. Maybe if I didn’t, I could find some way to step forward.

  Chapter Nine

  Dean returned, but I was so filled with my discovery and the hope it gave to the barren landscape of my heart that I could barely speak. I sat clutching my pocket PC and trying to explain, glad the woman on my right had finished her treatment and was gone, allowing us more privacy.

  “I set my tent toward Sodom,” I told Dean in a whisper. “But you probably knew that all along. I’m so sorry, honey.”

  His blue eyes darkened as he squinted at me in concern. “It’s okay, Angela.” He moved closer. “There’s no tent, but I’m here. Don’t worry.”

  “It’s not a real tent.” I tried not to be annoyed, which I suspected would destroy the feelings of peace in my heart. “It’s a symbol to help me not look behind.”

  I glanced at Betty, hoping for backup or at least for her to repeat her words about the Lord knowing what He was doing, but she was dozing now, her afghan lying across her thin chest, the crochet needle still in her hand. The bright colors made a stark contrast to her pale face and gray hair.

  Tears welled in Dean’s eyes as he ran his hand firmly up and down my arm. “It’s the drugs, honey. Remember what the doctor said? You might be confused, but it will pass in a while. Look, do you want me to get the nurse? Your medication seems to be almost finished. I’ll take you home. I have a roll and a banana for you. You can eat them in the car.”

  His eyes held tenderness, love, and more than a trace of terror. I could tell he was only able to bear this situation because of his love for me. Dear Dean. My dearest, lovely husband. My angel. How did I get so lucky?

  “I’m not confused. I’ve been reading about Lot and Sodom.” I handed him my pocket PC. “You can read it for yourself.”

  He glanced down at the words, but I could tell he was still worried and not really paying attention. Maybe it didn’t mean the same thing to him. Maybe facing death was something everyone had to do in their own way.

  I was relieved when the nurse came to take the needle from my port, freeing me from the chair. Dean helped me stand and put his arm around me as we started for the door.

  “Wait,” I said. Fumbling in my purse, I found the business cards Sharon had printed up as part of my Christmas gift. “It’s for when you run into old friends,” she’d explained. “Or when you meet new ones you want to keep in touch with.” In the space Sharon had left for a short note, I wrote: Good luck in Houston. I’d love to hear how you’re doing, if you have time to write. Angela Thornberry.

  Dean kept his arm around me as we walked to the car. We drove in silence to the house.

  We knew what to expect this time. I’d feel fairly well for the rest of the day, if a little tired, but the following two days, I’d be lucky to climb from my bed. I had two dinners waiting in the refrigerator that only required heating up.

  Two treatments left, I thought. Of course, that was deceptive, since those would be followed by daily radiation, additional c
hemo on the weekend, and hopefully the surgery and more chemo. But at least I was moving forward.

  Hours later the children came home, bubbling with enthusiasm and energy. “You should have seen me in volleyball today, Mom!” Marie burst out the moment she arrived home. “We played in PE. Alison knows all sorts of plays since she’s on a team, and I’m really good. I could get it over the net every time.” She laughed. “You should have seen Becki, though. She was hilarious. She couldn’t hit it at all. It kept rolling up her arms and hitting her in the face. But I’m a natural. Alison said I should play on a team.”

  That was my daughter, full of confidence. Sometimes I wonder where she got her ego, since neither Dean nor I so blatantly flaunted our talents.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re the best. We’ve heard it before.” Brody smiled as he said the words, taking out much of the sting.

  “Well, I am good. Want to play a game?”

  “Ha! I’d beat you in two minutes flat. I’m probably an expert compared to you.”

  Okay, so I had two children with big egos.

  “Let’s do it.” Marie lifted her chin in challenge.

  “I would, but I have to study.” He flashed her a smile that showed a lot of white teeth. “You’ll have to lose to me another time.”

  “You mean you’ll have to lose.”

  Brody shrugged. “Whatever.” He grabbed a bag of chips from the cupboard just as the doorbell rang. “That’s Brent. We’ll be downstairs studying.”

  “For the AP exam—still?” Marie asked.

  “Yeah, the AP exam. I want to pass with as many credits as possible. More college credit now means fewer years in college after my mission and the sooner I can get a job and make big bucks.”

  “Then maybe you can buy me a car.”

  Brody snorted and went to let Brent in.

  Marie rolled her eyes and turned back to us. Dean gave me a brief kiss on the mouth and arose from the couch. “I’m going in to work for a bit,” he announced. In an undertone he added, “Call me if you need me.”

  Marie looked at the two of us as though only now registering that her father was home when he would normally be working. “Your mother isn’t feeling well,” Dean explained to her unspoken question. He smiled at her, patted her arm, and went out the door. He didn’t shut the garage after him, so I got up to shut it. When I’d finished, Marie was still standing absently in the middle of the family room.

  “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” I said. There was a tinny taste in my mouth, and my stomach was queasy. I worried I might lose the lunch of chicken soup Dean had insisted I eat.

  I’d scarcely settled in bed, my scriptures and a novel at my side, when Marie came up to my room.

  “Mom?”

  “Hi, honey.” I patted the bed for her to sit down. She did, pulling one stockinged foot up under her in much the same way I always did. She looked pretty today, with her hair full and slightly curling from the humidity, defying her straightening attempts that morning.

  I hoped she didn’t want me to take her anywhere. I needed to rest or tomorrow could be much worse, and besides, I didn’t feel up to arguing.

  “Dad said you’re not feeling well,” she began.

  “I can’t take you anywhere, but if you want to go to Becki’s—”

  “It’s weird that you’re sick again. You’re never sick. Plus, you’ve been acting kind of funny lately.”

  I looked into her eyes and saw the worry. Strange that my selfish little Marie should be the one to suspect my sad secret. I’d thought Brody would have questioned me long before she realized anything was amiss. Him or one of my married daughters. But this was the second time Marie had confronted me. She knew I wasn’t pregnant from the last confrontation, but she also knew it wasn’t like me to spend time in bed—ill or not.

  “Well?” she demanded, her voice raising and slightly wobbly.

  If I hadn’t experienced my epiphany that day, I probably wouldn’t have answered, or I would have given her an answer that really wasn’t any kind of an answer. But suddenly I knew that to look forward, I needed to tell my children everything. They needed to come to terms with my illness like I was trying to do. They had the right, and even the privilege, of learning and growing along with me. Hiding the truth wasn’t helping anyone.

  I nodded slowly, those ever-present tears filling my eyes. I inched across the bed, coming closer to my precious little girl who was looking at me with the same concern she’d shown when she was only three and I was down with a severe case of flu. I took her hand. It felt warm and moist in my dry one. At my action, her eyes widened. I wished more than anything that I could protect her from this.

  “You’re right,” I said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’d expected Marie to fall into my arms and cry with me, much the way my friend Shirley had when I’d told her. Instead, she pulled her hand from mine and jumped to her feet, her face flushing red and her eyes accusing.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us! What, were you just going to wait until you dropped dead?” Marie burst into tears.

  “Honey, no. I wanted to wait until I knew more. I wanted to have better news. I wanted to protect you.”

  “Stop!” She held up her hand. “I can’t—I just can’t—” She turned and fled.

  I started to follow her, but a bout of nausea made me first pause at the door and then run to my bathroom, where I threw up repeatedly until I was too weak to do anything but slump by the toilet and let tears leak from my eyes.

  Moments ticked by, and all I heard was silence. Where was Marie? Should I search for her? I wasn’t sure I could make it past my bedroom door, the intense emotions having further depleted my physical energy.

  “Mom?” Brody called after what seemed like ages, his voice hoarse and anxious. I knew Marie had told him.

  I wiped my mouth with a bit of tissue from the roll. “I’m in here. Just a minute.” I flushed the toilet and came into my room where my son was waiting. He looked taller and more gangly than ever—a child, really, not a man. His eyes were frightened, and he looked ready to cry.

  “Marie came downstairs. She said . . . is it true?”

  I nodded and started for the bed. He rushed to my side and supported me. His touch was light as though he feared at any moment he would bruise or hurt me.

  “Mom,” he said as we sat. It was a plea for me to take it away, a plea to look behind us. But we couldn’t do that anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

  He hugged me. Gone was the light touch as he searched for comfort like a little boy, holding me so tightly his grip crushed my ribs. His body convulsed with a sob.

  “Shush,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I longed to hold my daughter as well, but she hadn’t returned. I wondered if she was with Brody’s friend Brent downstairs.

  “We were looking on the Internet.” Tears rolled down Brody’s cheeks unchecked. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m taking treatments. We’ll make the best of it.”

  “I don’t want you to . . .” His words trailed off, filled in by sobs.

  “I know. But we’ll get through this.”

  I could see he didn’t believe me, this child born of the information age. He’d gone to the Internet to educate himself. Yes, he knew about facts and figures, but he didn’t know a thing about tents and angels. I had the responsibility to teach him—and the privilege.

  “Look,” I said, lying back on my pillows and pulling his head to my shoulder as I’d done when he was a little boy. “I have a story to tell you. It’s about Abraham’s nephew, Lot, and how he pitched his tent toward Sodom, even though he knew it was a wicked city. It started on a clear, hot day, when the sky was so blue that the beauty of it almost hurt your eyes. Sand stretched for miles—all you could see was sand. And sometimes the wind threw it in your eyes
and they would sting.”

  Brody stilled in my arms, listening to my words. He was always willing to learn now that he was older. I wished Marie would listen.

  “It sounds real,” he interrupted after a while. “Like you’ve been there.”

  I had. I’d been to my own Sodom but was freed by two lovely human angels. “The scriptures come alive,” I told him, “if you really try. They can teach you what you need to know here and now. Listen, I’ll tell you what they taught me.”

  It wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped to communicate the events I’d experienced, though I did the best I could. When I was finished explaining, Brody lifted his head. “So you’re saying if we’re angry about the cancer and if we don’t want to accept what the Lord’s given us, then we’re looking back?” His voice was low but filled with bitterness and disbelief.

  I didn’t want to minimize his pain. After all, it had taken me six weeks to come this far, and I still didn’t accept it all. Or understand how the other scriptures I’d experienced tied in, or what my role was supposed to be. “It’s understandable to be upset—angry, even—but if that anger paralyzes us and doesn’t allow us to progress, if it eats us up inside so we can’t learn from the experience and find some joy, if all we’re doing is longing for the past, then we’re letting it control us. And that’s not good, is it?”

  Brody’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I feel really mad,” he admitted. “It’s not fair.”

  I tightened my arm around his shoulders and tried to keep my response calm—a hard thing to do when a part of me still cried out at the unfairness. “We’ve always known that we were put here to learn and to prove ourselves. What good does it do us if we give up when things get tough?”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it does. Believe me, I know.” Before the illness, life had been simple. After, it became a real test. Proving myself now would forever show who I really was—or perhaps who I was becoming.