On God?
Lightseeker seems almost unknown to me now. Her purpose seemed clear, but my own has been thwarted.
Images war within.
I long to make a different choice, but . . . how?
Confusion, a slithering serpent, wraps itself around my mind and constricts—suffocating the last of my hope. You are crazy, it hisses.
My tears, as hot as the water spouting from the showerheads, blur my vision. I turn toward the wall of the shower and lean my forehead against the glass tile.
Yes, I am crazy.
Crazy to have stayed all these years.
Crazy to have put up with Brigitte's abuse.
Crazy to fall to her final ploy.
That is crazy.
Hope gasps for breath.
For the first time in days, I pray. I beg God.
Show me another way. Show me, please.
I turn, lean my back against the tile, and slide down the wall to the floor of the shower. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my knees. Show me! I scream the words to God. Not out loud but rather in the recesses of my soul—that place where faith tells me He still resides and hears my pleas. Rescue me. Please . . . rescue me. I . . . don't . . . I don't know what to do!
I want to follow You.
Whatever the cost.
My sobs reverberate between the glass walls. I sob into my knees until my stomach aches. I lift my head and gulp the thick air. Please, show me!
Choose life!
I lift my head from my knees. "What?"
Will you choose death or will you choose life?
The question spoken to my soul is as clear as if it were audible. And the words are familiar. They are the words I was led to pray that dark night. Words I believed I was praying for another. Had they really been for me? My heart and mind still.
God has broken His silence.
This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him.
All is still.
The only sound is the song of water droplets against glass.
But in my soul, God speaks. The words from Deuteronomy run through my mind as though I'd read them just moments ago. I repeat the words: "'Now choose life, so that you and your children may live . . .'"
And repeat again, "'. . . so that you . . . and your children . . . may live.'"
I gasp.
Fresh tears flow.
"Oh . . ." I relax my hold on my knees and move my hand to my abdomen and rest it there. "Oh . . ."
Knowing comes like dawn.
His mercies are new every morning.
Just as He spoke creation into being, His words unfurl the serpent wrapped around my mind and soul and crush it. The static images are replaced with one, clear thought.
Choose life!
And to stay with Brigitte would be choosing death.
And so, in that heartbeat, I decide.
I choose life.
I don't know how. I don't have a plan. But I have a Rescuer.
I entered the shower lost.
I emerge found.
As I blow-dry my hair, I make a plan—though it doesn't extend beyond the next several hours. But certainty flows through me. God will lead, one step at a time. If I think ahead—or if I think of my dad, or Jason, or Matthew—fear threatens. Instead, each time those thoughts arrest me, I hand them to God.
I will trust Him.
I dress in jeans, a blouse, and a black wool sweater. Then I take a suitcase from the closet, lay it on the bed, and fill it with clothes, toiletries, and other necessities. I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment and open the drawer of the nightstand. I take the ring out that I'd dropped inside and slip it back on my left ring finger.
"Thank You for Your forgiveness. Thank You that nothing can separate me from Your love."
When Hannah knocks on my door with dinner, I open the door just a few inches and take the tray she holds. I tell her I need nothing else.
I set the tray on my desk and then sit and make myself eat the bowl of chicken soup and a piece of bread. My stomach recoils, but I take it slow and get most of the soup down.
I eat with new purpose.
When I'm done, I push the tray aside, and open my laptop. I log into my blog server, and begin a new entry:
Dear Readers,
My name is Jenna Durand Bouvier . . .
This preoccupation with your accomplishments or your failures leaves no room for you to be totally enamored with God alone.
JEANNE GUYON
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Andee
LIGHTNING FLASHES IN sharp, jagged bolts above the city. Rain beats against the panes of floor-to-ceiling glass.
"Someone's ticked." I shiver and walk to the wall behind me and turn up the thermostat. I was invited to attend a party hosted by Urbanity this evening, but I declined. I've turned down every invitation I've received lately. With this storm raging, I'm glad I've adopted the hermit lifestyle.
I shake my head. "You're going to have to get a life, Andee."
I sigh.
Nothing holds any appeal.
I hear my computer ding in my office and walk in to check my e-mail. "Well, hello Lightseeker. Where've you been hiding yourself?"
I open the new post and read:
Dear Readers,
My name is Jenna Durand Bouvier . . .
"What the—?" I read those words again, but struggle to assimilate the information. Anger prods. "What an idiot." I'm not sure if it's myself or Lightseeker—no, Jenna—I'm speaking to.
I continue to read:
You have known me as Lightseeker because I've feared revealing my identity. But this evening, I'm choosing to crucify fear. And there will be no resurrection. Illumination came as I fully surrendered my will and my ways to God.
For many weeks I've considered what it means to take up my cross and follow Jesus. It seemed like an impossibility. It means, for me, standing back from all I've known. Standing back from my life, hands open, and offering all to God. Standing back from my own understanding. Standing back from owning responsibility that wasn't mine to own. Standing back from enabling, encouraging even, the sins of another.
Stand back, Jenna. I have heard God's command for me, over and over.
Tonight, I also stand back from omission, and claim my God-given identity. I am Jenna Durand Bouvier. I am God's child. I am His unique creation. And I am standing back from everything and everyone who has something other than God's purpose in mind for me.
Tonight, I stand back from my life—which means I will walk away from my life.
I will walk into the unknown. Down a dark and winding path. But I will not walk alone. He will illuminate the path ahead, one step at at a time.
I finish reading and I want to stand and cheer for Lightseeker. "You go, girl!" But I want to strangle Jenna. How can they be one and the same?
How could she correspond with me, knowing it's me, and not reveal herself?
How could she betray me like that?
How could she betray—
The thought smacks me in the face. "Well, there's irony for you." Sam mews what I interpret as agreement. "Hey, whose side are you on?"
I wander around the penthouse trying to make sense of what I now know. Hadn't Jason told Jenna about the way I let him go—okay, the way I dumped him? Yet, she still responded to me. Still . . . treated me with respect. Or maybe she didn't know. Maybe Jason kept that to himself, too embarrassed to let on that he'd been dumped. But no, that's not Jason's style.
I make t
he circle through the living room, kitchen, and back through the office, ending up in the living room again. Then it hits me. The who of Jenna's posts—the person she is walking away from tonight is Brigitte.
I think back to the first encounter I witnessed between them that morning in the solarium at the Bouvier home. I recall Brigitte's anger and disrespect. But I also remember earlier, the moments before Brigitte made her debut as the wicked witch. Jenna's . . . peace. My sense that she was somewhere else—something else—ethereal was the word that came to mind.
Now I understand. Okay, understand might be a little strong. I don't get it, but I know, having read her posts, that her peace that morning came from an encounter with God. "I hope you can find that happy place tonight, Lightseeker. And stay there."
I assess her reality—and then feel sick.
The reality? She's walking away from the Bouvier estate—and that's a chunk of change. And where's she headed? Back to Daddy, I assume, who is now owned by Brigitte.
Thanks to me.
I sold you out, Lightseeker.
The same way I sold out Jason.
I sabotaged not just myself, but I also destroyed the Durand family. What will they do?
Somehow, I figured they'd always have Jenna—and all that Bouvier money—to fall back on. But no. They'll have nothing. Again, I clamor for a solution, a way to fix what I've destroyed. A way to redeem the situation.
And myself.
Only one thing comes to mind, but the implications are . . .
I shake my head. I can't risk it. If I give Bill Durand the money to pay the note, Brigitte will figure it out. She'll know where the money came from. She's too smart. Too savvy.
And she'll destroy me.
My career.
Everything I've worked for.
"What's done is done, Andee. And boy, did you ever do it."
I land on the sofa, pull my knees to my chest, and sit with my self-contempt. I know God is supposed to be all about forgiveness, but how can He ever forgive me for this?
Seek to be clear and transparent, only what God wants. As you do His will you are made ever more pure and transparent.
JEANNE GUYON
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Matthew
I THROW BACK the covers and climb into bed. Man, it's been a long day and it's time to put it to rest. "Hasta la vista, baby." I reach to turn off the lamp next to the bed just as Tess wanders in. She stops at the door and looks at me.
"You're in bed?"
"Nothing like stating the obvious, babe." I flip the light off.
"Hey, wait. You've got to read this."
I sigh and sit back up. My stomach growls, my head aches, and my patience is thinner than thin. I switch the lamp back on and take the piece of paper Tess hands me.
"Lightseeker?" Finally.
"No, Jenna Bouvier."
I look at Tess and then back at the blog she's printed. "What?"
"Read it."
I read the first line of the blog and my heart stops. "Whoa . . ."
"You didn't know?"
I look up and read pain in her eyes. Oh, man, not cool. "Yeah, I knew, but . . . babe, I couldn't tell you."
She looks at the ground and seems to think. When she looks back at me, she nods. I reach over and pull back the covers on her side of the bed and pat the mattress. "Come here." She hesitates, but then comes and crawls in beside me. I put my arm around her shoulders and she settles in while I read the rest of the blog.
"Whoa . . . dude." This is what I've been praying for. I don't know what went on to get her to this point, but baby, she is depending on God and following Him. I lean over, kiss Tess on the cheek, and then lift my hand for a high five.
She gives me a half-hearted five. "So . . . did you know she was going to do this?"
"Nah, this is between her and God." I sit up straighter and turn so I'm facing Tess. "I knew something was up. Not because she told me, but because . . . well, I just knew."
"God told you?"
I look at her and see she's serious. She wants to know.
"Yeah, God told me. I mean, not in so many words, not like a booming voice from above. But I knew it here." I pat my chest. "That's why I've been fasting. I felt like God said Jenna was heading into a storm and that He wanted me to fast and pray for her."
I hold the blog up. "I'm guessing this is the storm." I look back at the blog and smile. "Looks like she's weathering it."
"Yeah, but . . . what will she do?"
I shrug. "I don't know."
"Do you think she'll be okay?"
I look back at the blog post and read the last few sentences again. Then I look back at Tess and see compassion in her expression. I reach out and put my palm on the side of her face and then lean in and kiss her. When I pull back, I look her in the eyes. "Yeah, she'll be okay. God is with her, Tess. She's following Him. He'll lead. He'll provide. But that doesn't mean it will be easy."
She nods and is quiet for a minute. "I think . . . we should . . . pray for her. You know? Right now. Together."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Okay, let's do that." I put my arm around Tess's shoulders again and pull her close and then we both bow our heads and I listen as my wife . . . prays.
Dude, my wife prays!
When she finishes, with her head still bowed, she elbows me letting me know it's my turn. So I pray for Jenna—pray for continued strength. Pray for God's provision. Pray for her future.
After I say "Amen," Tess and I lift our heads and look at each other. Her emerald eyes glow. I suck in my breath and reach for her face. I hold her face in my hands.
"You've never looked more beautiful." I watch as a blush creeps over her freckled cheeks. "Your eyes . . ."
They're smoldering. Ignited by My Spirit, Matthew.
She puts her hand over mine. "Babe? Are you okay? Are you . . . crying?"
I swallow. "Yeah, I'm okay. More than okay." Then my stomach rumbles in a big way and Tess giggles.
"Let's eat!"
"Really? Can you?"
I nod. "Yeah, I think I just got the green light. It's time to break my fast." I throw the covers back, leap out of bed, and race Tess to the kitchen. As she pulls leftovers out of the fridge and puts them on a plate, I stand and look out the kitchen window and see a full moon peeking through angry clouds.
There's a break in the storm.
But it hasn't passed.
My only desire is to completely give myself up into the hands of God without any idea of turning back or of fear of what may happen.
JEANNE GUYON
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jenna
I POST MY blog just before leaving. I pack up my laptop, close the suitcase, and lift it from the bed to the floor. I wheel it to the door of the suite and open the door. I slip out and close the door, careful not to make any noise. Then I wheel my suitcase down the hallway, holding my breath as I pass Brigitte's rooms. I head for the elevator, certain that any sound I make is lost in the deep pile of the plush carpet. I reach the elevator and push the button and wait for the—
"Where do you think you're going?"
I jump. Every nerve in my body comes to attention. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, then turn to face her in the dark hallway. "I'm leaving. I won't sign your agreement. I won't stay here."
She takes a step toward me, and my heart hammers.
But I don't back away.
"Who do you think you are? You're nothing! Nothing! Without me!" She spits her words at me, and droplets of her saliva spray my face. In that moment, a new realization becomes clear: not only is she battering me with her words, but she is also attacking the Spirit who lives within me.
Roiling anger bubbles within.
I take a step toward her and see her hesitate. "No, Brigitte. No. I am nothing without God and I will no longer allow you to stand in the way of His purposes for me. I'm leaving. You can't stop me." There is a calm control to my voice that I know is not my own.
As I turn to step into the elevator, she grabs my arm, her nails digging through my wool sweater. She raises her hand to slap me, but I dodge her and yank my arm out of her grasp. Rage is scrawled across her red face.
"I'll ruin you! And your family!"
There is no point in arguing with her. Now the game is officially over.
And, probably for the first time ever, she has lost.
But she won't accept defeat.
I turn, pull my suitcase into the elevator, and push the button to close the door. As I do, I see her reach for a vase. She lifts it above her head and, just as the elevator closes, I hear a shattering against the door.
When the door opens on the bottom floor, I hear her footsteps on the stairs above, her rant continues. I pull the suitcase out and head down the hallway leading to the garage. I walk out the door, punch the button to open the garage door, and then head to the back of the Range Rover Sport—Gerard's car. He bought it for himself. It's paid for—and now it's mine. I open the back latch, lift my suitcase inside, and then slam it closed. As I head for the driver's side, the door between the garage and the house opens.
Hannah stands there. "Go! Go!" she hisses at me.
Stunned, I stare at her. She turns back and looks at Brigitte charging down the hallway behind her and then blocks her from entering the garage.
"Go!" She hisses again over her shoulder.
I get into the car, shut the door, and turn the key in the ignition. And then I back out of the garage. My heart pounds in my chest and I struggle to catch my breath. My hands shake on the steering wheel.
I'm at peace, my body just doesn't know that yet.
I am following Him.
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