by Chris Fabry
“Well, very little,” Elizabeth finally said.
Clara looked at her tenderly, her eyes full of something close to empathy. She placed a hand on Elizabeth’s and leaned forward. “Elizabeth, I think it’s time to show you my favorite place in this house.”
Elizabeth followed her up the staircase to the bedroom at the top. Clara swung her arms to give herself momentum when she reached the landing and her breathing became a bit labored. The bedroom was small, with a twin bed nicely made and a picture of a young man on the nightstand. Miss Clara’s footsteps made the hardwood sag. She entered the room, opened the small closet door, and switched on the overhead light. Elizabeth peered inside what appeared to be an empty closet except for the small chair in the corner. There were no clothes or items stored above, no ironing board or umbrellas. Just a pillow, the chair, a Bible, and notes taped to the walls.
“Now this is where I do my fighting.”
“A closet,” Elizabeth said.
“I call this my war room.”
Elizabeth stepped inside and felt a sense of peace waft over her. She glanced at the pieces of paper taped to the walls, the neat handwriting spelling out names and phrases. Some pages with verses of Scripture on them. Others had pictures on note cards. Some of the notes looked like they had been there for years.
“So you wrote prayers for each area of your life?”
“A prayer strategy. Yes. I used to do what you and your husband are doing, but it got me nowhere. Then I started really studying what the Scriptures say, and God showed me that it wasn’t my job to do the heavy lifting. No. That was something that only He could do. It was my job to seek Him, to trust Him, and to stand on His Word.”
It was like stepping into some holy place, a shrine of sorts, and pulling back the curtain that separated the everyday from the holy.
Elizabeth walked out of the closet, her arms crossed, and turned. “Miss Clara, I’ve never seen anything like this. And I admire it, I really do. It’s just that I don’t have time to pray that much every day.”
“But you apparently have time to fight losing battles with your husband.”
The woman could be brutal. But she was right. They frittered away their relationship with angry words that led to bitterness and distance. Elizabeth looked down, not knowing how to respond, how to cut to the heart with the insight of this old woman.
Clara spoke up again, her voice filled with passion. “Elizabeth, if you’ll give me one hour a week, I can teach you how to fight the right way, with the right weapons.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. She just stood there in thought, looking at Clara. Then she led the way down the stairs, holding on to the banister to steady herself. She gathered her purse and the documents and walked out the front door, thanking Clara for the coffee.
On the porch, she turned. “Since you’re good with the asking price, I’ll go ahead and list the house,” Elizabeth said. “I’d like to think about our other discussion.”
The old woman’s face was etched with concern. “Elizabeth, please forgive me for being so direct. I see in you a warrior that needs to be awakened. But I will respect whatever decision you make.”
“Thank you, Miss Clara. I hope you have a good day.”
“You too.”
Elizabeth got in her car and drove away, but she couldn’t help looking back at the woman on her porch, the flag flying above her. She looked like some kind of soldier on duty, watching the walls of the fort. Elizabeth couldn’t shake the image of her war room, as she’d called it. And the fact that she’d seen her own name on one of the notes taped to the wall.
Elizabeth went to the office and made a few calls, then had a showing on the other side of town. By the time she got home, she was exhausted, and not just physically. The time at Clara’s house had taken something from her. She sat on the end of the bed, unable to change into more comfortable clothes, deep in thought. Her cell buzzed and she checked the message. It was Jennifer’s mom confirming that Elizabeth was home. She texted back, I’m here.
Elizabeth rubbed her foot and stared at the wall, a sort of spiritual and emotional paralysis setting in. Funny how a few words from an old woman could press so deeply against a person’s heart, against her soul. She glanced at her Bible on the shelf, a study Bible that had rarely been studied. So much information in there, so much content that sat unattended.
She heard the front door open and Danielle and Jennifer walk in. Jennifer’s mom had promised to drop them off so they could practice jumping rope.
“If they do that stunt in the competition, they’ll win,” Danielle said.
“Hey, why don’t you ask your dad about helping us get uniforms?”
“He’s not here. It’s not like he would care anyway.”
“Can you ask your mom? My mom already gave part of the money.”
“She’s not here. She’s out selling houses. Come on, we can go to my room.”
Elizabeth went to greet them, but the two were upstairs already, on to some other conversation.
“So I told my dad that he could jump with us, and he totally started laughing,” Jennifer said. “He said he would only do it if Mom did it with him, which of course she would never do.”
Elizabeth followed up the stairs, drawn to the innocence in their voices.
“So they, like, start talking about doing the worst routine ever,” Jennifer continued, “like in a funny way, and she starts laughing so hard her face turns bright red, then she just starts squeaking ’cause she can’t breathe . . . It was hilarious!”
Both girls giggled. As Elizabeth reached Danielle’s door, she stopped. Her daughter was lying on her stomach and cradling a stuffed panda. Jennifer was sitting up on the bed beside her.
“I wish I lived at your house,” Danielle said. “Whenever my parents are together, they just fight.”
The words stung. No, they were a stab in the heart. The pain was immediate, and Elizabeth wanted to lash out at Danielle for saying such a thing. For exposing their family like that. And then she realized her daughter was just telling the truth. She was sharing feelings with a friend that she couldn’t share with her own parents.
Elizabeth wanted to retreat down the stairs, but Danielle saw her and Jennifer looked as well. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then, like any good mother would do, Elizabeth filled it by changing the subject.
“Jennifer, how’s your family?”
The girl’s face flushed. “Fine.”
What was she supposed to say? “We’re all happy and laughing and have such good relationships compared with you, Mrs. Jordan”?
“Would you like to stay for dinner? You’re welcome to eat with us.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said tentatively. The two of them looked like they’d been caught jumping on satin sheets with muddy shoes.
“Okay, I’m going to go change,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll call you girls down in a few minutes.”
She made sandwiches and dished some potato salad onto their plates. The girls arrived quieter than usual. There was a lot of tinkling silverware and sighing around the table. The girls didn’t speak and Elizabeth didn’t see the need to jabber. You could spread the awkwardness on a piece of bread and still have some left over for breakfast the next morning.
Elizabeth couldn’t get Clara’s voice out of her head. And the revelation about how Danielle felt about their family only pressed harder at her heart.
After Jennifer’s mother picked her up and Danielle got ready for bed, Elizabeth walked into her daughter’s room and sat on the bed, slowly speaking the question she was afraid to ask.
“Danielle, you know we love you, right?”
The response was less than reassuring, just a silent nod.
“That wasn’t very convincing.”
“Well, I think you love me a little bit.”
“A little bit?” Elizabeth said. “Danielle, you are my daughter. You’re the most important thing in the whole world to me. You’ve got to believe that.”
Danielle stared back at her and came up with a question of her own. “What’s my team name?”
Clara’s questions had been enough for one day. Now here was another that seized her heart because she wasn’t sure of the answer. “Umm . . . the Firecrackers.”
“That was last year,” Danielle said. Her voice began to choke with emotion as she continued. “What are our colors?”
Elizabeth thought a moment, straining to remember something she didn’t know, hadn’t noticed. She felt like a deer in double Dutch headlights.
“What jump rope trick did I just learn to do? Who’s my new coach?”
Bewilderment turned to embarrassment as Danielle’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffed and her chin puckered. “What award did I win last week on my team?”
Elizabeth looked through blurry eyes now, stunned. “You won an award last week?” She cradled her daughter’s chin in one hand. “Danielle, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then she reached out with both hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Danielle leaned forward and Elizabeth hugged her and rubbed her back, apologizing over and over. Somehow her emotion helped calm her daughter.
Later, she thought about what had happened at that vulnerable moment for both of them. She had seen her daughter’s tears and hadn’t dismissed them or tried to explain herself. She had simply entered Danielle’s world and validated her feelings instead of pushing them aside. Wasn’t that what she was looking for with Tony? She wanted him to change, wanted them to move to the same page in life, but the first step was seeing. The first step was looking at the situation for what it was, not for what she wanted it to be.
As she finished straightening the house, the phone rang and she looked at the caller ID. It was Tony. She took a deep breath and immediately thought of Clara’s closet. “Oh, Lord, help me not light into him.”
He asked how she was doing and Elizabeth couldn’t hold back the emotion about what she had learned, how she wasn’t as connected with Danielle as she wanted to be.
“You think that just because I don’t know the color of her uniforms I’m a bad father?”
Elizabeth stepped onto the back deck and closed the door. “Tony, I didn’t know the color of her uniform. This is not about you.”
“I’m busting my rear out here trying to provide for us, Elizabeth.”
“I know that, and I appreciate you providing—”
“I don’t need you tearing me down every time I check in.”
“I’m not trying to tear you down.”
“Yes, you are. Why are you telling me this about Danielle? It’s because you think I need to step up, right? I need to do things just like you’re doing.”
“No, don’t you see? I’ve missed Danielle too. I haven’t shown her the love I wanted to.” She told him about the conversation she’d overheard between Danielle and Jennifer. “So if you think I’m trying to make you feel guilty, it shows how far apart we are.”
“Right. What you’re saying is, if I cared more about Danielle, and if I cared more about your sister—”
“This is not about Cynthia—don’t turn it into that. Listen to me. Your daughter feels pushed to the back corner of our lives. She needs our attention. She needs to know she’s loved.”
“It always comes back to me being a bad father, doesn’t it? I don’t need this.”
“I’m not calling you a bad father. This is a wake-up call for both of us.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Tony?”
Elizabeth looked at the phone and saw a blank, flashing screen. He’d hung up on her. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to throw the phone all the way to Charlotte. She wanted the pain to be gone, and as she walked back inside, she slammed the door behind her.
It was hopeless. Her marriage was hopeless. Tony was hopeless. And she had no power to change anything.
Tony hung up the phone and cursed. He didn’t need constant drama. Every conversation dragged him down. Every day was more guilt heaped on him like trash in a Dumpster. There was only so much a man could take. Only so much guilt could be piled up before something collapsed.
He went to the hotel bar, ordered a drink, and watched a game. He wanted enough alcohol to take the edge off and help him sleep. Just enough to quiet the voices in his head. He wasn’t hooked on anything. He hadn’t let it go that far.
He thought of Danielle. That girl had real talent, real athleticism. If anyone had reason to complain, it was him. Elizabeth should have insisted she stay with basketball. She was comfortable dribbling, and she saw the court, just like he could. The girl could get a scholarship when she graduated, there was no question. Was there a college in the country that gave you a full ride for jumping rope?
He shook his head. Elizabeth didn’t think practically or logically. She wanted Danielle to feel affirmed. She wanted her to be emotionally healthy. Well, when you got in the real world, you got affirmation by doing a good job. The money and bonuses came when you landed the deal, not when you felt good. He should have put his foot down. He should have made Danielle stay in basketball.
The more he thought, the more upset he became, and he ordered another drink. He pulled out his phone and hit the Redial button, then thought better of it. He knew what would happen. Elizabeth would yell at him. He would yell at her. And the drama would escalate.
He didn’t want any more drama. He’d worked hard to not have drama messing up his life. So he hit the Sleep button on his phone and turned his attention back to the game.
Miss Clara
Clara watched Elizabeth leave and prayed she hadn’t come on too strong. Elizabeth’s face said it all. The mask was still there, tightly in place, but there were cracks and fissures showing. Clara asked that God would simply use their conversation and the tepid coffee to melt the young lady’s heart.
Clara believed with all her heart that God worked all things together for good to those who loved Him and were called according to His purpose. But she did not believe that everything that happened was good. The world was fallen and there was sin in every heart. But God’s grace was bigger.
The other truth she believed, from a life of experiencing it, was that for real change to happen deep in the soul, God tended to make people miserable rather than happy. He brought them to the end of themselves and showed them how powerless they were in order to show them how powerful He was. The children of Israel didn’t push back the Red Sea. They didn’t knock down the walls of Jericho. It was only when they were at the end of their rope and had to depend on someone bigger that they saw God work mightily. It was the same with each follower of Jesus.
She wanted to pray that God would restore Elizabeth’s marriage and turn her husband’s heart around and that everything would be fixed overnight. Immediate healing was easier to pray for than a transplant because a transplant takes time and someone else has to die. But the more Clara spoke with the Lord about the situation, the more she understood Elizabeth’s life was probably going to get worse before it got better. And the issue wasn’t just Elizabeth’s husband. It was Elizabeth herself.
It wasn’t an easy prayer, asking God to break someone’s heart, asking God to bring people you cared about to the end of themselves. But before she prayed, Clara thanked God that He was big enough to do all that and big enough to bring praise to Himself in the process. She was sure He was going to do that somehow, though she wasn’t sure how.
As she prayed, the tears came—tears for a daughter with parents who spent more time fighting than loving. Tears for Elizabeth, who wanted to love the family God had given her. Tears for her husband, who seemed to have lost his way.
Clara ended her prayer thanking God for His power to change and His power to provide hope. “There is hope for everybody, Lord, no matter how far they’ve strayed. I know it better than anyone.”
CHAPTER 6
Elizabeth stood at Clara’s house and knocked, checking her face in one of the windowpanes on the door. She heard shuffli
ng in the front room, then the door opened and Clara stood smiling, her eyes showing more than words could tell.
“Well, good morning,” she said.
The woman hugged Elizabeth as she entered, and Elizabeth felt warmth spread through her. Clara poured them both a cup of coffee. How she loved that coffee.
“I’ll take mine a little warmer today,” Elizabeth said.
Clara chuckled. “You know why I did that yesterday, right?”
“I caught the biblical reference. And I looked it up before bed last night. Book of Revelation, right?”
Clara nodded.
“I’ve been to church more often than you think.”
Clara sat and looked into Elizabeth’s eyes. “Do you want to talk about the house first or what’s really on your heart?”
Elizabeth felt a deep ache inside, sitting here with this older woman. “I’m struggling with being a professional, with you as my client. I don’t want to burden you with my personal life, but . . .”
“But your heart is breaking and you don’t know where to turn. Go ahead. Clara can handle a little unprofessional conversation.” The old woman smiled and patted her hand.
“Well, it’s Tony,” Elizabeth said, and she was off on a tirade about how he’d acted and the things he’d said and how he wasn’t the father to Danielle that he should be.
“I can see it in Danielle’s face when he comes home. And he’s on his phone or watching TV. She’s starved for his attention and her heart is just breaking and I was so unaware. Tony, he’s completely unaware. That man is running out of time, Miss Clara. He’s off in his own world being top salesman somewhere while his daughter is growing more calloused to him every day. He shows no interest in anybody but himself. And I’ll tell you another thing. I don’t have proof of this, but if he’s not getting it from me, he’s got to be getting it from somebody. He makes all these little flirtatious comments to other young women that just . . .”