by Carrie Daws
“What is the right question?” Patricia asked.
“You are a great one for thinking yourself in circles, considering every possible angle and everyone’s feelings.”
“Isn’t that what I should be doing?”
“Not always at the expense of yourself. And never at the expense of God’s plan.”
The bluebird chirped, turning her tiny black eyes to look at Patricia. She puffed up the muted blue and orange feathers on her breast and flapped her wings, flying over to sit on the railing near Patricia.
“She must be trusted with the knowledge. She must be given a choice to love in truth, or else it is not full love.”
The reality of what Matthew was saying hit Patricia with blunt force. She couldn’t take in a full breath. She felt herself trembling but knew she didn’t have the strength to stand. Her chest hurt as she tried in vain to reach out for help.
A rumble echoed in her ears. She knew Ryan’s Mustang was close, but would he stop? He’d said he’d check on her this week, but it was Saturday. He didn’t work at the clinic on the weekends.
She tried to breathe calmly, but the pain swelled, and she settled for shallow breaths. She felt like she was burning up with fever. She started to look toward a sound in her driveway, but the movement made her head heavy. It felt like she was suddenly on a carnival ride as the earth rolled around her.
“Mrs. Guire?”
Ryan’s voice. Thank you, Lord!
“Mrs. Guire, can you hear me?”
“I’ll get the bag.”
Was that Brittney with him? “I hear you.” The words were a struggle, but she had to relieve the concern in his eyes.
“You keep talking to me, old woman, or I’ll call an ambulance on you.”
Brittney appeared within her sight, carrying a medical bag. She handed Ryan the blood pressure cuff and then pulled out the pulse oximeter and attached it to Patricia’s index finger.
“Tell me what’s going on, Mrs. Guire,” said Ryan.
“Pain.”
“Chest pain?”
“Yes. I’m a bit dizzy. And hot.”
“Does it feel like the world is spinning?” said Ryan.
“A little. It’s getting better.”
Ryan looked at the blood pressure reading and then back at Patricia. “Are you going to tell me you were tending to your bluebells again?”
Patricia’s head was clearing more, and the pain was subsiding. She wasn’t quite ready to take a deep breath, but she cautiously turned to look at Ryan.
“No,” she said. She paused, hesitant to continue. “I was talking to Matthew.”
Brittney sat back on her heels. “Wasn’t expecting that one.”
Ryan’s right eyebrow went up slightly. “Talking to Matthew about what exactly?”
Patricia took the deepest breath she dared. She lifted her jaw just a tad before blurting out, “About my daughter, Heather.”
Chapter 9
BRITTNEY CAME BACK OUTSIDE WITH a glass of water and gently steadied it while Patricia drank a little. Ryan watched Patricia lean her head against the rocker.
“I planted that pink heath down there the very first spring I lived here,” said Patricia. “My Heather was just about to turn one, and I wanted something to remember her, something close to me that wouldn’t go away.”
Brittney sat in the rocker beside Patricia, leaning in close with her elbows on her knees. “I never knew you had a daughter.”
Patricia just nodded. “Not many do. Over the years, I would tend to that bush and pray for her, hoping she was happy. But I never spoke of her to anyone.”
Ryan’s mind processed the possibilities of this revelation, wondering if Heather had died. He removed the pulse oximeter from her finger, winding up the cord neatly as he cautiously asked, “What happened?”
Patricia hesitated, and Ryan watched her for signs of another panic attack developing as tears gathered in her eyes.
“She was adopted. At birth, straight from the hospital.” A tear fell down each cheek. “I never felt as alone as I did that day,” she whispered.
“How old were you?” said Brittney quietly.
Patricia wiped the tears from her cheek, pausing with her hands on her face. “Forty-one.”
The age surprised Ryan. Forty-one! This was no teenage discrepancy. What is going on?
Patricia took a deep breath and began to stand. Ryan reached out to help her. He didn’t want to be dealing with a broken hip or sprained ankle on top of the panic attacks.
“I’m tired,” said Patricia. “I think I’ll go lie down.”
“Do you need any help?” said Brittney.
Patricia laid her hand on the side of Brittney’s face and looked into her eyes. Ryan watched the tender moment, concern for Patricia growing inside him.
“I’ll be fine,” said Patricia. She reached out and grabbed Ryan’s hand. “You’re a good man, Ryan Griffin.” After squeezing his hand gently, she quietly walked into her house and shut the door.
Patricia closed the front door and sighed deeply. Heather. Her birthday is coming up again, just next week. This year she will be twenty-four.
Twenty-four years since she handed over her baby and walked away. Not completely, but far enough. She had little right to speak into her life, much less tell her the truth as Matthew suggested.
But could I have done any different then? I was in no condition to handle a baby.
Her eyes fell to the book from the Redemption Group on the end table. Words she’d read earlier circulated in her mind. Redemption is not about comfort. Initially, it may bring more pain. Well, at least they are honest.
Patricia padded down the hallway to her room. What business does an old woman like me have in trying to fix decisions from my past? I’ve made my choices. Why can I not just live with them?
She stopped in front of her dresser mirror and looked at the few family pictures that hung there. Her sister’s gray eyes stared back at her, her silver hair perfectly in place. She shook her head. I can’t do it, God. Doing what Matthew suggested is going to mess up a lot of lives. Lives that went out of their way to help me when I most needed it.
She waited, expecting an answer but not really wanting to hear what God thought about her decision. Nothing but silence came to her ears.
Rebellion. That’s what it really is, she thought, disgusted with herself. And that always worked out so well for the Israelites. Her eyes went back to the picture of her sister.
“Ahh,” she said, waving a dismissing hand at her reflection in the mirror. “I’m too tired to think about it.” And she went to her bed to lie down.
The following Wednesday, Amber sat in her favorite oversized chair at Peter’s parents’ house. She and his mom, Faye, had enjoyed lunch, during which Daniel had fallen asleep. Instead of disturbing him, she’d simply grabbed a book and settled in to read while Faye took care of some chores.
As she read, she came to a line that made her laugh. Realizing someone was walking by, she looked up a little self-consciously. Faye stood before her, smiling and holding an overflowing basket of clean towels.
“Good book?” said Faye.
“It’s one of the books we got from our Redemption Group,” said Amber. “It’s called Rid of My Disgrace.”
Faye placed the basket on the couch. She pulled out a towel from the pile and began folding.
Amber continued. “I was just reading about identity, how we often identify ourselves within the boundaries of what has happened to us instead of who we really are. The authors quoted Lewis Smedes, who was a seminary professor. He said, “What I need is a sense that God accepts me, owns me, holds me, affirms me, and will never let me go even if he is not too impressed with what he has on his hands.”
Faye laughed. “That is quite a statement.” Faye shook her head as she muttered to herself, “‘Not too impressed with what he has on his hands.’ Ain’t that the truth.”
Amber reached over to pick a towel from the basket. She
sat quietly for a moment as she folded it, finally deciding to be brave and ask the question on her mind. “Have you ever struggled with your identity?”
“Oh, sure. I’d be willing to bet everyone does at some point in their lives. Probably more than once.” Faye stopped in the middle of folding, hugging the towel in her hands as she looked into the distance. “I remember struggling a lot after the kids were born. Logan was quite an interruption into our lives at first, and I couldn’t figure out how to be both a wife and a mother. I still loved Frank very much, but that child flat refused to stay on any kind of schedule. He always had to do things his way, and it seemed like I was always exhausted trying to keep up.”
Faye began folding the towel in her arms again. “And Jamie coming along just barely two years later. I felt like I was just beginning to really figure things out, balance things between my husband and my child, and then I had to start all over again, figuring out how it all worked with a second child in the picture. I knew I was a wife, and I knew I was a mother, but I wasn’t sure how to be both and whether that meant I lost me in the process.”
“I remember one time,” said Amber, “I was working as a waitress in a small diner, and this other waitress and I were talking. She told me that I had to love myself before I could love other people. But I didn’t know how to do that. And repeating silly phrases like ‘I’m loveable’ just seemed to make me feel worse because I didn’t really believe it.”
“What did you think of yourself?”
“I thought that I was worthless, damaged.” Amber took a deep breath. She arranged the towel on her lap and straightened out the edges, giving her fingers something to do. “I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone, nothing valuable that would cause anyone to care about me.”
Faye sat down on the couch nearest Amber. “And now?”
Amber sighed, her eyes still focused on the towel in her lap. “I know those are lies. I know that there is no truth in them.” She looked at Faye. “But I’m still working on replacing them with truth.”
Faye reached out towards Amber. “Oh, my dear one.”
Amber gave Faye her best attempt at a smile. “Most of the time I know I have value, but I also know that you and Peter and the rest of the family see more value in me than I see in myself.”
Faye nodded. “Yes, I can understand that. I want you to hear me.” Faye leaned in closer and grabbed Amber’s hand. “The truth is that you were made in the image of God. He planned you and wants an abundant life for you. You are His treasured possession, and He takes great pleasure in you. The rest of us get the great blessing of loving you.”
Amber felt tears gathering as Faye spoke. She couldn’t quite stand the intensity of love and truth she felt coming from her sweet mother-in-law, even though she desperately wanted to believe everything the woman said.
“Those are all promises from the Bible, dear one,” said Faye. “Promises I once struggled to believe myself. I can write down where to find them if you want.”
Amber let cleansing tears overflow. “Yes, please. I have a feeling that I will need to read them a lot in the coming days.”
Chapter 10
PATRICIA GUIRE WAS NOT ONE Amber would ever label as chatty, but she’d been particularly quiet on the drive to Portland for their third meeting with the Redemption Group. She hadn’t said much of anything during the session, and she hadn’t said anything yet on the drive home.
“What did you think about tonight?” said Amber.
“It was fine,” said Patricia.
“Did you imagine that Lynn was going through all that she shared tonight? She looks so . . . normal.”
“Like you and me.”
“Hmmm,” said Amber. “I suppose so.” She looked at Patricia. “I guess you never know what someone is hiding.”
Patricia just looked at the road ahead.
Amber turned her head to look out her side window. “Sometimes I think I’m making great progress in sharing things from my past with Peter. And then he’ll do something or say something that reminds me of another incident. Sometimes I’m hurt and sometimes I’m angry, but it’s not really him, so I have to apologize and tell him more. It’s all very draining.”
“Then why do it?”
“What?”
Amber turned back to Patricia in time to see her purse her lips, and she wondered if she’d meant to say the words aloud.
“Did you ask me why I’m sharing all this with Peter?” said Amber.
“Well, if you feel you aren’t making progress, then what’s the point?”
“I don’t think it’s that I’m not making progress . . .”
“Surely some of what you tell him hurts him as well.”
“Yes, some of what I tell him does cause him pain, but not because I’m striking out at him. He hurts because I hurt. But everything I share with him makes the pain less.”
“His pain?” said Patricia. “Or your pain?”
Amber felt like Patricia had just reached out and slapped her. “Are you saying I’m hurting Peter—for no reason? That I should quit telling him what happened to me?”
“It’s just something to consider,” said Patricia quietly.
“I won’t!” said Amber, crossing her arms. “I will not consider it for one moment! Clearly, holding everything in was not working. I couldn’t get past my own failures, which meant part of me always defaulted to my old ways of thinking. Part of me doubted Peter’s love for me and how long it would last.”
Amber stopped for a moment trying to regain some control from her outburst. She stared out her passenger window, taking deep, slow breaths. She’s full of pain and doubts too, she thought.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She cleared her throat and determined to speak calmly. “I dream of a full life with Peter, my heart yearns for that. But that’s never going to happen as long as I withhold part of myself from him.”
Patricia turned off the highway toward Crossing while Amber sat quietly in the passenger seat, waiting for some kind of response. After a few moments, she sighed. “Look, Mrs. Guire. You are the one who started this. You are the one who told me that God wanted to free us from our pain. Do you still believe that?”
Amber looked at Patricia. Both sat silently, and Amber hoped Patricia would say something.
Finally, she gave a gentle shake of her head. “I don’t know what I think.”
“When I first got here, Peter believed that facing my parents was the best thing. I held firm to his belief, and God brought us through it. Now it’s my turn to be that anchor for you. Let me believe for both of us right now that God wants us to have an abundant life, free from our past and the pain it represents.”
Patricia remained quiet as she turned down the road leading to Amber’s home. She stopped in front of the house but still said nothing.
Amber reached over and grabbed her hand. “Please, Mrs. Guire. Don’t let fear win.”
Patricia looked at her hand in Amber’s. “You don’t know what I fear.”
“No, I don’t,” said Amber. “But we serve a big God, and He not only knows the fear, He loves us very much.”
Patricia said nothing.
“What is that verse about God not giving us a spirit of fear?” said Amber.
“First Timothy 1:7, child,” Patricia said as she sighed. “For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.”
For the first time, Patricia looked at Amber. She squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t know that I can do what God asks.”
“Three weeks ago, neither did I,” said Amber. “And perhaps tomorrow you’ll be the strong one and I’ll be leaning on you for the faith I need to keep moving forward. But tonight, let me help you.”
The battle going on in Patricia’s mind was apparent by her expression. Finally, she conceded. “All right.”
Amber smiled. “Good. Can I pray for you right now?”
Patricia nodded.
Without letting
go of Patricia’s hand, Amber bowed her head. “God, I just want to thank you for my friend . . .”
Amber walked into her softly lit home. Music played in the background as Peter lay on the couch, Daniel snoring on top of him. Sassy greeted her near the door.
Amber knelt down to rub the dog’s ears. “I see you have things well under control here, girl,” she said quietly.
“I get no credit?” Peter opened one eye.
Amber giggled. “Just resting your eyes, my sweet?”
“No sense in wasting a good opportunity.”
Amber gently picked up Daniel and cuddled him close as Peter sat up on the couch.
“He was having trouble going to sleep tonight,” said Peter. “Not sure what the problem was, but he didn’t settle as easily as normal.”
“Could be another tooth. His gum looked a bit inflamed this afternoon.”
“Did you have a good meeting tonight?”
“Yeah,” said Amber. “I’ll go lay him down and tell you all about it.”
While Amber settled Daniel in his crib, Peter made some of her favorite hot chocolate and lit lavender citronella candles on the front porch. They sat comfortably on padded deck chairs positioned just a few inches from each other and watched the stars.
“I’ve really been thinking a lot about Psalm 56,” said Amber.
“Why that one in particular?”
“Well, it talks about God keeping track of our tears. I realized that if God was keeping track of my tears, then He must have seen them, and if He saw them, then He never once abandoned me. He always watched over me.”
Peter watched her face. “That would mean He was there throughout your pain.”
Amber looked at the stars and considered this for a moment. “Yes, and that’s where it gets a bit muddled.”
“What do you mean?” said Peter as he reached out for her hand.
