by S. M. Smith
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already started making the flight arrangements and clearing his schedule for the summer.
I try to shake my head and pull myself back to what I’m trying to accomplish. I let my Bible fall open, hoping that Jesus, or at least some guardian angel, turns it to the page with all the answers. I look down to where it opens and find it landed mid chapter, so I turn back a page and determine I’ll be reading Psalm chapter thirty-four.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.” Verse four screams at me from the thin page.
Oh Lord, please help me to understand my fears. To understand where they really are coming from and what you’re capable of doing to them.
I continue reading and verses seventeen and eighteen seem to have been written just for what I’m feeling.
“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Lord, you know just how broken my heart is. I’ve cried out for you to make it whole so many times and while I know you’re always near, I feel like this heart still needs mending. I’m crying out to you now, hear me Lord and guide me to where you need me.
I pick up my leather bound Bible again and read on. Verse twenty-two stops me from continuing onto the next chapter.
“The Lord redeems his servants; no one will be condemned who takes refuge in him.”
Is this a hidden message for me? Surely it can’t be that easy.
“The Lord redeems his servants;” I reread and reread this over and over and over.
Is this my message to go and be a servant?
“No one will be condemned who takes refuge in him.”
The only condemnation I’ve been feeling is that of sterility. And now I’m being held back in all things, not just this trip to Haiti, by my fears. I’ve lived with this constant fear of doing something wrong that will result in permanent infertility, or even an unhealthy pregnancy, since I found out about the cysts. That fear of doing something wrong, paired with the anger I feel for those who are getting what I want, is holding me from being able to see that which I’ve been blessed with now.
I close my eyes and mentally step back, wiping the film of fear and animosity from my sight. I see Daphne, surrounded by our entire team, applauding with pride. I see myself, healthy, and happy, showing no signs of illness. Next to me, I see Stephen, beaming at me with love, longing and complete bliss in his eyes. I see my dad, Mark, and Janine, watching me with wonder and delight in how well Stephen and I are doing through all the trials we have been faced with.
These images bring tears to the surface, and I feel one slide down my cheek. Why can’t I see this when the pain consumes me? Why can’t I focus on this when all I want to do is wallow in a puddle of pity?
I wipe the tear away with the back of my hand and choose to start seeing the truth now. I choose to see the love and support my friends and family have for me. The consideration they have, the dignity they show when they know I’m being tested and tried. I chose the light instead of the darkness.
And it’s in that moment that I know what we must do.
***
“Hey, baby. The place looks great. Smells good too.” Stephen drops his duffel and saunters across the bedroom. He places a hand on either arm of the chair and leans so that he’s inches from my face. “Whatcha reading?” he asks when I struggle to pull my eyes away from the page to look up at him.
“Psalms.” I grin up at him and meet his lips with mine. “How was your game?”
He doesn’t step back and I trace his gaze to find him staring down the V-neck t-shirt I’m wearing. He smirks up at me finally and I have to push him away so I can get up and stretch.
My muscles are sorer than I even anticipated so I stretch my arms up and arch my back, hoping to relieve some of the achiness. I don’t get to stretch much before I feel sweaty, taut arms wrap around me.
“You smell like sweaty boy.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Because I am a sweaty boy,” he purrs into my ear. I try to wriggle free of him, but he squeezes me tighter to him.
“I think I know what we should do,” I say quietly, standing still. His grip loosens on me as he turns me to face him.
“About Haiti?” His eyes search mine, excitement and worry swirling in his eyes. I nod. “And?”
I take a deep breath and brace myself.
“I think we should go.” He stares at me for a moment, stunned at what to say. “I think we need to go,” I add.
“Okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you think we need to go?”
It feels like he’s testing me to say the right thing. I reach behind him and grab my Bible off the chair, pulling back up Psalm chapter thirty four, verses seventeen and eighteen.
“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit,” I read aloud.
Stephen just stares at me as if expecting me to explain what this is supposed to mean. I roll my eyes and toss my Bible back into the chair.
“I don’t think it’s wrong to say that my heart and spirit have been a little crushed by all the troubles we are having in conceiving. And the people have cried out to us, we both heard them, loud and clear, through that presentation at the church. I think that God has something there for us that will both deliver the people of Haiti from their troubles and save our crushed spirits in the process.”
“Our crushed spirits?”
I blush a little at the floor.
“I…I know I’m not lifting you up as a proper wife should be. I feel…I feel like I’m weighing you down. I see it in your eyes.” I look up into his eyes and see it there. “Even now. I know you’re fighting it. You try to fight it for both of us, but…no matter how strong you are, there is only one remedy to a broken heart. And the way ours has been broken, the only love that can make us whole again, it can’t come from each other. It has to come from Him.
“I know you love me unconditionally, and I you. But what we need, what is truly going to move us forward, is for us to surrender everything that is on the line to Him. Let God do with us what He has planned. Then, and only then will we be able to be the parents we want to be.”
“And you think that He needs us in Haiti?” he asks a few moments later.
“I do.” My voice is barely a whisper, but it’s still strong.
“And you’re prepared for whatever happens to you physically when you discontinue your treatment?” His tone is almost doubtful, but I hear respect in it too. I take a deep breath.
“Honestly, I don’t know if I’d say I’m ready. But I know what could happen, and I’m aware of what I will need to do in both worst and best case scenarios. But never in my life have I embraced the ideology of ‘one step at a time’ as I am right now.”
He nods and inhales deeply at the same time, keeping his lips pressed together. He searches my eyes, no doubt looking for any fear. But all I feel is peace. Peace and unwavering confidence that I’m making the right choice and that no matter what God has in store for us, I can handle it.
“Okay,” Stephen says after a few moments, a simple smile growing across his face.
“Okay.” My face is starting to mirror his as he starts to pull me closer.
I put my hands on his chest, stopping him. An eyebrow pops up on his beautiful face.
“Baby, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell really, really bad.” I wrinkle my nose and try my hardest to look contrite.
A boyish glint in his eyes gives me less than a second’s notice before he bends down and throws me over his shoulder. I squeal and try to kick my legs, but he wraps both arms around them so I smack his delectable behind instead.
“Put me down!” I squeal again. He walks into the bathroom, turns on the shower and lets me slide down his sweaty body.
“Well, well my dear Mrs. Cahill. I do believe you need a shower now too.”
***
His fingers comb through my wet hair as my cheek lays on his bare chest. I can hear the steady drumming of his heart as we lay quietly in bed. I feel the itch of the tag of my t-shirt on my back, and move my hand to move it. Stephen pulls his head up, checking to see what I’m doing before planting a tender kiss on the top of my head.
I snuggle my arm around his waist and breathe in the delicious scent of soap.
“Before you go emailing David, I have to ask. Do you have any fears, any at all, that this is the wrong decision?” I ask, shifting so that I can look at him. I place a hand on his firm bicep. It’s mildly distracting so I move it to his chest, although that does little to help.
He takes a deep breath and pulls the arm I just let go up and under his head.
“I’m afraid we’re going to get there and get settled and something is going to pull us away from what we’re supposed to be focused on. I’m afraid that God’s direction isn’t going to lead us any closer to building our family. Lastly, I’m afraid that something is going to happen to you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and lazily smirks. “But then again, I’m always afraid something is going to happen to you, so I’m not sure that should have any impact on any decisions we make.”
I lean up and kiss him, letting him pull me closer to him.
“Nothing is going to happen to me.” I rub my nose against his.
“I know. But as your husband, it’s my prerogative to worry.”
“I can’t believe that God would move us away from building a family. What would be the purpose of everything you and I have ever gone through, Zoe, Jake, all the cysts. What would be the purpose of putting us through those trials but to arm us to be good parents and servants for His kingdom?”
His eyes hood a little and I think I may be losing his focus.
“You know what I love most about you?” I shake my head, having a guilty feeling that this is going from PG to R rated quickly.
“Your incredible optimism. It’s…beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
And he kisses me, both of us getting lost in this incredible love we have for one another.
Chapter Nine
~Stephen~
“So exactly how much do we need to look to raise?” I ask after everyone reconvenes from our break.
We’ve spent the last thirty minutes praying over our traveling, our work in Haiti and the people that we’ll be meeting and helping. I’m so excited to get started that I’d leave right now, but as David has kindly reminded us, we have to get the funding together before we can go anywhere.
“About two thousand dollars per person. And that’s just for traveling, lodging and food. If we could raise some more to buy supplies and equipment, or get some donations, that would be awesome,” David explains to the group.
The tension in the room becomes palpable and everyone adjusts in their seats. I think the two college girls are about to have a coronary as all fresh air gets sucked out of the room. I don’t blame them, I would too if Jessie and I didn’t have the income we have. But still, that’s going to be a stretch for us. I’d like to not dig into our home fund if at all possible, so time to come up with some fund raising ideas.
“So what ideas do we have?” David stands up and uncaps a dry erase marker, facing the white board behind him.
“What about a car wash?” Rowan, the cheery, bright-eyed college student looks hopeful. She looks like she’s graduating high school and not college, with her clear skin, large brown eyes and recently highlighted blond hair. It’s really no surprise that a carwash is what she comes up with.
Honestly, I would love the opportunity to have Jessie wash my Audi in her bikini while I sat back and watched. But I refuse to let her do so for any other person.
“Um, I’m not a fan of the car wash idea,” Eric, a retired Marine from Blue Springs, speaks up, placing a burly arm around his wife. His dark hair is peppered with little bits of gray, giving him an authoritative aura, and the stern look on his square jaw emphasizes his disapproval. I see Adam, fire chief slash high school basketball coach slash possible GQ model from Olathe, shaking his head too. He places a hand on his mousy wife, Amelia’s hand.
“Our church is wanting to host a dinner,” Monica, Eric’s wife, kindly turns to the college girls and explains. “We’ve already sold over seven hundred dollars in tickets. We’ve also had several local businesses donate goods or services to auction off.”
“That’s great.” David writes Blue Springs Dinner/Auction on the white board.
“Our church has partnered with the local drive in theater and all proceeds from next weekend’s showing and concession sales are being donated. We won’t know what that will entail just yet, but they told us that the last time they did something like this they were able to bring in close to a thousand dollars,” Jessie adds.
David adds Drive In Proceeds to the very short list.
“What about some sort of sports tournament?” I hear Adam ask, and it reminds me of what Grady and I were talking about earlier today.
“I think I could get my gym to donate the basketball courts for a Saturday. Maybe do a three on three tourney with a $50 entry fee. I’ve got a couple of clients I could probably get to donate something for the winning team,” I offer.
“I like it,” Adam says. I can see him mentally listing out a list of guys to call up and get to organize their own team. I’m doing the same thing.
“Could it be co-ed?” The taller college girl with dark, wavy hair asks. “I know players on both the men’s and women’s UMKC teams that could probably put together a few teams.”
“Absolutely. I’ll get the owner on the phone in the morning and make sure we can get the gym. Once I have a date, Jessie or I can put together some advertisement and entry forms and get them to everyone as quickly as possible,” I tell them.
The air in the room just got considerably lighter as the group talks out more presentable options. I think we can get some good money out of this tournament idea. David looks hopeful as he turns back to the board and adds BBall Tourney to the list.
“Do you think the gym would let us sell homemade goodies at the tournament?” Jessie asks me quietly while David updates the board.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’ll ask. You don’t want to play?” I smirk at my girl. Her idea of playing a sport is fantasy football.
She narrows her eyes at me and jabs my ribs with her elbow, effectively making me chuckle at her. Monica watches us fondly.
We’ve had very little opportunity to really get to know everyone, but I do know that Monica and Eric have been married quite a while. Being the oldest couple in our group, their youngest, son number three, just graduated high school and is following in his father’s footsteps in the Marines. I think they may have joined our group to have something to do now that their nest is empty. She gives me a kind, gentle smile before she turns back to Eric.
I admire the elegance she portrays. Her white hair is cut and styled perfectly and I briefly wonder if a lifetime living a military lifestyle has given her the grace she carries. She looks up at her husband adoringly and kisses the back of her husband’s hand that she’s holding. I hope that Jessie and I will be as captivating and loving as the two of them are when we grow up.
“My church wants to help by sponsoring me. We might have a few sister churches who may be up for sponsorship as well,” the dark haired college girl tells David.
I’m pretty sure her name is Aubrey. Of the two, she’s the one I can relate to the most. Not looking nearly as young as her friend, she depicts the seriousness of her field. She’s a multimedia journalism major from UMKC who wants to blog about our trip and document the living conditions the Haitians live under. She told me at the informational meeting that she and Rowan were going on this trip as one last hurrah before entering the adult world. I’m honestly not sure if I should be in awe of her maturity or question if she
truly understands the depth of what she’s signed on to do.
Rowan on the other hand, is an elementary education major who has more energy than sense sometimes, hence the carwash idea. But her fresh face brings a youthful enthusiasm to the team that some of us older folks could use.
“I would recommend each of you to reach out to your congregations and look for supporters. I know I’m preaching to the choir when I say you can never have enough people praying for your efforts, travel, health, the people of Haiti, financial support, you name it. You never know who God will touch to help through donations, in any form,” David says as he recaps the dry erase and picks up some handouts.
He passes the papers around and starts talking about the printed checklists. I try to pay attention to what he’s actually saying, but my mind is reeling with my own to-do list. Since I know that Jessie is taking notes and adding things to the checklists, I let my mind wander to the list of guys I could call to organize teams for the tournament. I pick up my phone and start a group text to Grady, Lucas, Isaiah, and Jason asking if they would be up for putting together their own three person teams. I get responses immediately back from each of them saying they’re game. Feeling the energy, I set a reminder on my phone to call the gym owner in the morning as David wraps up.
“Okay, guys. I think we’ve made a lot of progress tonight. I can’t wait to see what we can have put together for next week. Please remember to email me if you or any of your church leaderships have any questions. Be safe and have a great night.”
While Jessie puts the handouts in her bag, I try to catch Adam.
“Hey, I think I’ve got at least five teams together for the tournament already. That was such a fantastic idea,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Thanks. If we can’t the get gym to let us use the courts, let me know. I might be able to get the school I coach for to do so.” He turns to his wife, Amelia and helps her with the baking dish of cookies she brought for us all tonight. Her short, petite figure looks tinier as she stands next to her husband. He has to be at least six, six and looks every bit the fire fighter type. His light hair and blue eyes contrast her dark, tightly curled short hair and brown eyes.
