by David Lewis
“Andy,” his father began, “what do you believe?”
Andy hesitated again. He’d been asking himself the same question ever since Elizabeth canceled the engagement, but it was Jessie, in spite of her own struggles, who had finally brought everything to an apex for him.
Andy shared with them the whole story, starting with his own foolish spiritual bravado, then on to his consequent sinking like a drowning man into a sea of unbelief. It took a full hour to thread the story for them, and they appeared more dejected the longer he continued. He purposely painted the events as hopelessly as possible, trying to stack the deck, because if he didn’t, when they heard his final conclusions they might not be very pleased….
… Why do I keep coming back to this? he’d asked himself in the loneliness of a clamoring crowd of skiers catching a breather till their next ski run. He’d barely heard the noise of the room, although on a few occasions, some young woman would catch his eye from across the room and smile flirtatiously. He returned a warm but less than enthusiastic smile, then looked away, thinking only of Jessie.
In spite of the chaos of the ski lodge, he’d wished to be someplace different, where the routine of life couldn’t lull him into the old patterns of thinking.
All that afternoon, he felt like the man pounding at the gates of a giant castle, to no avail. Why did God seem so distant? Where was He?
And why am I so unhappy? Andy wondered if he could dig deep enough into his heart to find at least a semblance of an answer.
But the answer was obvious. I’m lonely.
And not just lonely for Jess but lonely for God. Lonely for what I
had before.
For some reason he had always felt compelled to make sense of life, and while that was biting off more than he—or anyone—could chew, it occurred to him that no matter his ultimate conclusions, no matter how deeply he pondered man’s existence, one thing was obvious:
Something went terribly wrong here. The entire scheme of life, all of mankind, seemed to testify to this. His own heart illustrated this innate wrongness—an obvious depravity—in spite of the fact that outwardly he appeared to live a good and clean life. Even mankind’s aversion to suffering and pain indicated that humanity wasn’t supposed to live in a suffering world. No matter how you sliced the deck, no matter whether you bought the story of a Garden of Eden or not, something had gone terribly wrong on planet earth.
And in turn, those very things seemed to point to—seemed to demand—the need for redemption. Yet, from his cursory understanding of the religions and philosophies of the world, only Christianity offered a means. While he couldn’t speak for the world, he could speak for himself. He knew his own heart, his own pride and selfishness, and knew without a doubt that he needed redemption. He needed a Savior.
Our hearts are restless until they find rest in thee, Augustine had written, and despite his intellectual struggles, Andy knew firsthand the angst of restlessness. At one point he’d briefly—very briefly—dabbled in New Age thought, only to abandon it with a fervor that far outstripped his abandonment of Christianity. The god of other religions seemed so impersonal, weak, insufficient. But why was that so disturbing to him? Did his heart innately know God must be different? Did his heart know the truth even while his mind struggled to believe it?
It struck him so deeply then, so obviously, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. He wanted Christianity to be true. He wanted to believe in a God who knew him personally, who loved him more than His own life.
Freud was wrong, Andy thought. Our wishes, our wants, if interpreted correctly, ultimately point to reality. How can we, as human beings, long for something that doesn’t exist? How can we long for God if He doesn’t exist? And how can we long for redemption from suffering and sin if redemption doesn’t exist?
For Christians, the means of that redemption was the cross—once metaphorically foretold by the serpent on the stake, which the Israelites, if willing, could behold and be saved.
But I still don’t understand, Andy thought.
The cross is foolishness to the wise, the apostle Paul had indicated.
Andy shivered. I need the cross whether I can fully understand it or not.
In that moment, Andy made a decision. He had enough evidence. Bill was right—the highly intellectual Paul would not have been foolish enough to simply accept the word of a few uneducated fishermen. The future writer of the Epistles would have demanded evidence.
So, following his heart, Andy chose to bow before the cross, regardless of doubt, because even his intellect told him that the cross, whether metaphor or myth—or the absolute truth—was what he needed. So there in the chalet, he bowed his head—his intellect—to God, and his prayer of surrender echoed the man of old who said to Jesus, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.”
Would God accept such a feeble sacrifice? Would God forgive his strange mingling of belief and doubt? While the answer seemed to be implied within the mercy of the Scriptures, he had no choice anyway. It was the only first step he could make, albeit the most faltering step he could imagine.
It was four-fifteen in the ski lodge when Andy rose from the wooden table and headed for home. In the car, he turned on a CD of worship songs that Chris had given him, and the ensuing sense of relief and joy was so profound he found himself humming along—as if finding a long-lost cherished possession. The castle door had finally swung wide….
Until now his parents had been listening in stunned silence. His Mom glanced at Dad, whose eyes flickered, as if trying to ponder the strange story Andy had just shared.
“So … you believe, but you still have doubts?” his father finally asked.
“There are so many things I don’t understand. I want to believe, completely believe. But I’m not there yet, Dad. It’s just so …” Andy hesitated. He didn’t really expect them to understand. How could they when he barely understood himself?
Mom began shaking her head, but the aura of despair had left her. At the very least, she seemed hopeful.
Andy sat and waited, expecting his parents to attempt some kind of religious browbeating. When his father finally spoke it was with a tone of resignation. “Andy, I live in a world of science.” He met Andy’s eyes and hesitated again.
Andy dropped his gaze to the table. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean—”
“I make my living by conforming to physical evidence. But there are some things that can’t be subjected to physical proof. There are certain important things that we must simply believe.”
Andy nodded. “And that’s what I’m doing.”
Mom broke in. “But there is evidence, John.”
Dad began nodding his head very deliberately. “Yes … of course. Good evidence. My bookshelves are filled with that evidence. But in the end, our grasp of Christianity is based on faith. It’s based on our surrender to God, not a perfect grasp of the historical details or the doctrines of Christianity. It’s based on our heart and our kneeling before the Lord Jesus on the cross.” His father leveled his gaze toward him again. “Is that where you are, son?”
Andy nodded. “Yes, Dad.”
His father smiled for the first time. When he reached out his hand, Andy grasped it. “Just don’t stop seeking the full truth.”
“I won’t,” Andy promised.
His dad’s smile turned to a grin. “I didn’t even know you were gone, Andy,” he continued, his voice now husky, his grip firm. “But welcome home.”
At that point Dad asked if they might pray together, something they’d always done as a family. Together the three of them joined in a humble prayer of thanksgiving, thanking God for His wisdom and asking for renewed strength to follow Him in spite of any struggles that they might encounter—be it pride, selfishness, bitterness, or simply the human inability to transcend doubt.
When they were finished, Mom shook her head. “Mercy, Andy. You sure know how to make a scene!”
Andy chuckled sheepishly.
&
nbsp; “So when are we going to meet Jessica?” Her eyes were suddenly worried again, and his father looked uncertain. No doubt they were worried about her influence.
“She refuses to see me,” Andy replied, and Mom closed her eyes again, sighing with what seemed like profound relief.
Dad seemed relieved, as well. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Now … what about finishing that jigsaw puzzle?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
ON THE MORNING of September third, more than three months after her granddaughter first arrived, Doris awakened to the silvery gleam of moonlight through the half-open bedroom blinds. She went to the window intending to close them, to shut out the light, but she felt a pull from within her so powerful she almost gasped. She opened the blinds fully instead, peering up at the bright full moon, as if it might tell her something.
But something else had awakened her tonight, and it wasn’t just the moonlight. I can’t continue on this way, she told herself.
Sitting on the bed, she draped a maroon robe around her shoulders, went to the intercom above her light switch, and buzzed her handyman.
“Doris?” Bill answered sleepily.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said, “but I need to talk.”
Bill initially sounded alarmed, but she assured him she wasn’t experiencing any medical problems. “Meet me in the office,” she told him, tightening her robe and heading down the hallway.
Bill soon joined her. The back of his hair was sticking up, and he was wearing the robe Doris had purchased for him years ago.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes solemn.
Shivering, Doris sat at her desk and pulled the robe tighter around her thin frame.
Bill offered, “Want some coffee?”
Doris shook her head as Bill sat down at the corner of her desk.
She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers obsessively until Bill reached over and placed his own hand on hers. “It’s okay, Doris, whatever it is.”
“No, Bill, it’s never been that. Never.”
“Doris, everything seems worse in the night. Shouldn’t we wait till—”
“I have to tell you now. I can’t stand another … She gasped and swallowed hard.
He leaned over, taking both of her hands in his. “Dory, what is it?”
She closed her eyes, but her vision was filled with a past that only seemed to get darker as the seconds ticked by.
“Dory?”
“I need to tell you what happened the day the hospital called me.”
Bill frowned. “You mean when Olivia died?”
She released her hands from his, glanced toward the window momentarily, then met his gaze again. “You may not want to work for me anymore… .”
“Oh, Dory, for goodness’ sake, what is it?”
She breathed deeply, and the panic of revealing the truth after all these years was almost more than she could take. “It’s time,” she whispered softly.
Exhaling sharply she began, starting with the phone call, the feeling of shock that permeated every moment, every movement, driving alone to the hospital, retrieving the death certificate from the front desk, the cacophony of the surroundings that day, plodding down the hallway, and finding her daughter … alive.
She stopped there. As Bill’s eyes opened wide, his face paled in the glow of the desk lamp. She took another breath, but in doing so, she felt her face grimace. Breathing was agony. Bill narrowed his eyes. “What happened, Doris?” He leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk.
Another anguished breath, another torturous release. She shuddered and wondered if she could continue, but she did. “Livvy was suffering in that place, Bill. It was my only chance to help her… .”
“What do you mean, Doris?” he asked, his tone flat.
Doris placed her hand over Bill’s, but she wasn’t sure whether the gesture was meant to calm herself or him. She composed herself and continued, “I placed the sheet over Livvy’s face … and then …”
She revealed the secret she’d hidden in her heart for twelve excruciating years….
Jessie awakened at three in the morning to the sound of footsteps and faint voices coming from downstairs. She lay awake for a moment, pondering the brightness of her room. The moon must be full, she thought, and then she recalled the dream she’d had just before she’d awakened. It came back to her in bits and pieces at first, but eventually she remembered the entire dream.
She and Andy had been riding their bikes to the top of the hill when she’d realized that her mother was calling her home. Andy put up a fuss but agreed to turn around and head back down. “We didn’t even make it to the top,” he complained.
“We’ll come back another day,” she said.
When they arrived at her block, she saw her mother in the distance, sitting on the porch sipping iced tea, enjoying the sunny day. But the closer they got, the more concerned Jessie became, until her concern turned to horror. Her mother had changed. Her face was pale, her body scary thin, her hair stringy and matted.
Jessie nearly burst into tears, but her mother only laughed. “Oh, honey, don’t look at my body. Look at my soul. It will never die.”
Jessie was nearly inconsolable. “What happened? I was just riding bikes with Andy and then …”
“It’s still me, sweetie,” her mother said, extending her hand, smiling with courageous warmth.
Jessie pushed off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom. Turning on the lights, she stared into the mirror and nearly wept at the fear in her eyes. She swallowed several gulps of water, wiped her face, and turned out the harsh light.
Back in the room, she sat at the window seat with her head bowed, hands on the back of her neck. Let it go, she berated herself. It’s over. The past is finished!
“I had only minutes to decide,” Doris told Bill, who was obviously fully awake now. “I did the only thing I could do… .” She hesitated again.
“Doris, please …” He was still struggling to keep up, but he did his best to comprehend.
“I called the Woodland Park Care Center,” Doris admitted. “And I arranged for Livvy’s admission.”
… The Woodland Park Care Center agreed to send a van for Olivia. They didn’t ask questions, and Doris didn’t volunteer information. Forty-five nervous minutes later, Doris met the Care Center men at the door, then led them back through the frenzied waiting area, to Olivia’s room. To avoid arousing the men’s suspicion, Doris had already lowered the sheet from Olivia’s face.
As they pushed the gurney down the hallway, however, Doris replaced the sheet over her daughter’s face. “I don’t want anyone leering at her,” she explained to the men, who merely shrugged at her strange comment.
When they reached the waiting area, Doris’s stomach was in knots. She worried that someone might approach them. After all, the Care Center men certainly didn’t appear to be mortuary personnel.
They were passing the desk when one of the busy administrative nurses happened to notice them. Doris was prepared to present the death certificate, but instead of detecting something amiss, the nurse gave Doris a quick but sad smile before turning away.
When they reached the doors, Doris saw a hearse parked out front. Who’s that for? she thought, realizing that someone else must have died here this morning. Later she would wonder if that had caused the mix-up leading to the errant death certificate.
The moment Olivia was in the van, even though she’d just defied a court order by rescuing her daughter, Doris breathed a sigh of relief.
On the way up Ute Pass to Woodland Park, Doris had to make one final decision. What would she tell Jessica and Frank? By now they had already been informed of Olivia’s death. She had only a few panicked hours to make up her mind. At this moment, Jessie would be in the throes of anguish, as would Frank. But what would Frank do if he discovered the truth? Would he demand that Olivia be returned to the mental hospital, threatening exposure if Doris didn’t comply? Or would he simply
seize the opportunity to expose her anyway, just to exact some kind of revenge?
Upon Olivia’s arrival, the nurses’ diagnosis settled it for her. They informed her that Olivia had only hours to live. At least she won’t die in that other dreadful place, Doris thought.
She called Maria and made up a story to explain her delay, then waited for her daughter to die. But the unexpected occurred. Olivia rallied, and the nurses were confounded. In the early hours of the next morning, however, Olivia slipped into a coma.
“I’m sure she has only a few hours at the most,” the nurse explained, worried for Doris’s state of mind.
A day passed, and then another, and Doris was forced to create and carry out a strange farce—a memorial service. Frank, of course, was stunned that she’d “cremated” the body so soon, which created an even greater rift between them. And Jessie never forgave her for denying the right to say good-bye to her own dear mother.
Weeks passed, and Olivia continued to survive. Weeks turned to months. Frank’s passing was a terrible weight upon Doris because she suspected that she had been part of the cause. Jessie refused to stay with her, running away so relentlessly the state obtained custody and placed her in the foster care program.
Olivia’s coma state lingered. And months … became years.
Chapter Thirty-Four
SITTING ON THE WINDOW SEAT, Jessie turned and stared out at the quiet street through the sheer curtains. A slight breeze wafted in through the partially open window and a small whisper accompanied the silence. She noticed the clock across the room—3:35—and shuddered. Some year I’ll get a full night’s sleep. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and tugged so tightly her back hurt. She closed her eyes and prayed, Dear Lord, help me finally let it all go.
