Then the pastor opened his Bible. “’Therefore, there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus because through Christ Jesus the law of the spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.’ Romans 8:1.” The pastor closed his Bible. “We’re going to discuss two things today in this sermon—sin, which is the breaking of God’s law and is forgiven simply by asking God to forgive you for your transgression, and guilt, which is after God has forgiven you, the inability to forget it, as God does, but instead, hold on to it in the form of guilt as your penance for the wrong you’ve committed.”
Sarah sat up, her eyes widening. Oh, no, she thought. This was a sermon she didn’t want to hear, one that was already convicting her.
“People don’t often realize that conviction and guilt are two different things. Whereas conviction brings you to your knees to tell God you messed up and want to start over again, guilt has you dropping your head and hiding in shame over and over and over again. Yet once it’s forgiven it’s forgotten.
“Self-condemnation brings it up again, not the spirit of God. Jesus paid the price, and all we are required to do is go to Him and confess our sins and He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. And forget them.
“When it includes others we’ve wronged, we should go to that person and apologize and ask for forgiveness. After that, though, it’s off our shoulders. God doesn’t require us to carry around unforgiveness against us, but simply to ask Him for forgiveness and any person we have wronged.”
The preacher continued, but Sarah didn’t hear. Her heart was too busy reacting to what the preacher had said. In all the time she’d been with Justin she realized she had been trying to earn his forgiveness because she hadn’t let go of her guilt for what she’d done. Each time Justin had done something nice, said something sweet, she’d forced herself to work harder to prove how wrong she’d been. It had been like an arrow through her heart whenever he had smiled at her. The smiles, the attraction she felt, had only heaped guilt upon that condemnation. And now the pastor was explaining that once forgiven it should be forgotten.
Of course she realized that.
But she hadn’t realized just what she’d been carrying around until the pastor had stated it so bluntly. She didn’t know how long she sat there, stunned by how heavy a load lay on her shoulders, until Justin was standing next to her.
They had prayer and the pastor asked for those under a heavy burden to come down.
She went. When she bowed her head to pray, she was surprised to find Justin standing next to her and to feel his hand on her shoulder. Then she felt others around her who had come down for prayer, too.
Sarah prayed, admitting to God that she had been carrying around burdens that He had died for and would willingly take from her. She promised God she’d try harder not to hold on to the guilt and the past and to look to the future, instead.
When she was done, she felt lighter, freer than she had in a long time. They went back to their seats, gathered their Bibles and her purse and they left.
Many stopped her to say hi and welcome, then Mickie was there and they were in the car, ready to go. On the way home, Justin finally spoke.
“You look more relaxed than I’ve seen you since. you came to work, Sarah.”
She smiled. “I guess I am. You know, it’s hard sometimes to forget the past and let go.”
Justin laughed. “Don’t I know. There are many things I regret about…” he said, glancing in the mirror at Mickie.
Sarah understood he was talking about Amy but didn’t want to mention her name and alert his daughter. “But I finally received peace over those problems and had to just put them to rest. A few old ghosts are still hanging around, but you just have to put the past in the past and let it go.”
This morning Sarah had done that with most of the things that had bothered her. But there was one thing she couldn’t come to grips with, and that was her infertility. She’d lost André over it. There was nothing she could do about her condition, but she still felt guilty that she’d hurt André, no matter how rotten he’d treated her. But more than condemnation or guilt, she felt fear. She wondered how she would deal with telling anyone about her problem. “So let’s say you had information that was going to hurt someone, should you feel guilty keeping that information secret?”
Justin chuckled. “That’s a hard one. Some people say to be honest no matter what. Others say a white lie is acceptable to spare feelings.” His smile left as he thought about it. “I suppose my feelings on the subject are that there should never be any secrets between a husband and a wife. Secrets break down the marriage, whereas the truth might hurt, but you can work through the hurt if you know there’s a problem. As for others, what’s not their business is just that, none of their business. If you don’t like someone’s dress you don’t have to say, ‘I love your dress’ if you can say, instead, ‘I love your hair.’”
She was relieved he felt that way. Because despite the wonderful service and the guilt she’d released over Amy’s death and her treatment of this wonderful man, she still felt guilty for not telling him about what had truly prompted her to come to him in the first place: her infertility.
She knew it was because of her inability to have children that she’d suddenly started to consider family. Thinking of how much she was going to miss by never giving birth to children of her own had led her to pray. During that time with God, she realized she had wronged Justin and wanted to apologize. She’d hoped that if she apologized, then maybe he’d allow her to get to know her niece. She’d have a second chance at being a part of a family.
Justin’s words—that some matters weren’t anyone’s business but a spouse’s—encouraged her. She didn’t feel as guilty over not telling him now and could relax. After all, they weren’t married. They certainly weren’t involved. Why, he’d never asked her out on a date or anything.
So, what did she have to feel guilty about? Yes, life was indeed much better without the guilt and fears.
Chapter Ten
“You’re asking me out on a date?”
Justin actually flushed. Then he got defensive. Oh, he didn’t really show it, except the way his gaze turned colder and his body stiffened. Smiling that business smile of his, he said, “I need a dinner companion for a work-related meeting. I thought you would enjoy the night out, and since you haven’t taken a day off since I hired you, I thought it my duty to drag you to a movie after. Of course, if you don’t want to go to a movie, I certainly won’t force you.”
He wasn’t fooling her. Justin never did anything without a reason. But he had to have some other reason to take her to a movie besides just wanting to be with her. She couldn’t let herself believe he actually cared about her in that way. “What about Mickie?” she asked weakly, still in shock over his earlier query.
“My secretary has volunteered to watch Mickie. I gave her some money to rent some children’s movies, plus pizza and popcorn. She’ll bring her granddaughter, too, so Mickie will have someone to play with.”
The shock wore off, to be replaced with delight. It had been aeons since she’d gone to a movie. She couldn’t even remember the last time. André had preferred supper theater or the country club. Realizing her thoughts, she forced down her excitement. She was actually trembling inside. There was no reason at all she should be so jittery. He needed her. It was that simple. And to pay her back for going with him to dinner, he was taking her to a movie.
Yes, that had to be it.
Still, the idea of a night out appealed to her. “That sounds fine,” she said, hoping her voice was normal. “What time do you want me to be ready?”
“Five-thirty? I’ll be home early to pick you up.”
She nodded. He went out the door. Mickie was off school today because of teachers’ meetings, so she was upstairs playing with a friend. Sarah set about straightening up. She felt so much more at ease with Justin since the Sunday service. She’d even thrown away all the magazines that had articles on
keeping a perfect house.
Surveying the room, she noted the kitchen floor needed mopping and the living room needed to be picked up and vacuumed. She had two loads of laundry—mostly Mickie’s—that needed washing.
Which meant she had plenty of time to bake Mickie her special chocolate coconut cake for tonight. The last time she’d tried, she’d been interrupted and then so upset by Mickie’s disappearance that she’d never finished making it.
The day passed quickly as Sarah mopped the floor, fixed lunch, helped Mickie with her homework later that afternoon and got the laundry done before she felt ready to tackle the cake.
“Whatcha doing?”
Sarah glanced up from where she was pulling ingredients out of a cabinet. “I’m getting ready to make you a special treat for tonight.” She gathered the flour, sugar and eggs. “I thought you were doing your math homework?”
Mickie smiled, twirling her hair with a finger. “I finished it.” Suddenly, she stopped twirling her hair and looked up sweetly at Sarah. “I want to be a bootish-un,” she said, frowning hard over the word.
Sarah grinned. “Beautician?” she asked.
“Yeah, boo-tish-un.” She curled her fingers in her hair. “Do you have lipstick and stuff like that?”
Sarah poured the dry ingredients into a bowl. “I certainly do. Haven’t you ever seen me sitting at the vanity when I put it on?”
Mickie shook her head. Frowning, she curled one of her long curls around her finger and held it above her eyes. “You have bangs and so does my friend, Katie. How come I don’t have bangs?”
Sarah stopped stirring the cake mix. “Well, I suppose it’s because your daddy never took you to get your hair cut.”
“Could I have bangs?”
Sarah reached over and patted Mickie’s head. “I imagine you can do whatever you want to your hair. Your daddy only wants you happy.”
“Would your boo-tish-un give me bangs?” Mickie asked.
Sarah chuckled. “I’m afraid I cut my own bangs, Mickie. But we can talk to your daddy later, if you want, about getting your bangs cut.”
She’d sloshed some cake batter over the side and she turned to clean it up. When she turned back, Mickie was pushing a chair over to watch her. Deciding to broach the subject of tonight, she asked Mickie. “You know your daddy’s secretary is going to watch you this evening. She’ll be bringing her granddaughter.”
Mickie cut her eyes toward Sarah as she nonchalantly stuck her finger in the bowl and gathered up a lick of batter. “Miss Christine is nice, but I really like Shelley. She plays dolls, too.”
“Well, I have it on good authority that Miss Christine is going to rent a movie and bring over pizza.”
Mickie sucked her finger a moment longer before wiping it on her shirt. She grinned. “Pizza is almost my favorite food. Next to peanut butter and jelly. That’s so cool.”
Sarah grinned at how grown up Mickie tried to sound saying that.
Mickie turned around and sat down in the chair. She kicked her feet as she began to wind her hair around her finger. “Do you think Daddy would mind if I had bangs?”
Sarah wondered where the preoccupation with bangs had come from. “Not at all,” she reassured her, and vowed to talk to Justin tonight about his daughter’s desire. “Why don’t you go find a board game to play. I’ll finish up this cake, then meet you in your bedroom to play.”
Mickie nodded, slipped off the chair and walked out the door, never looking back, her fingers still curling and uncurling her hair.
As Sarah finished the cake, she wondered what she was going to wear tonight. She’d unpacked a few things from storage. The only nice outfit she had was still in a box. It was black and had a scooped neck and capped sleeves. Formfitting, it stopped just above the knees. She’d worn it whenever she’d gone to the theater with André. It was worth a try. Of course, she had a blue two-piece outfit that was nice, but she thought that maybe the black would be more formal.
She decided to go ahead and wear the blue outfit. It had a short straight skirt, white knit top and a blue sweater-style jacket. She wore it for business sometimes, but with the jacket off, it would look casual at the movie. No reason to break out the black thing when she’d always hated that dress.
She slipped the cake in the oven, happy she was finally getting to bake it for Mickie. Then she hurried out to the garage to find the blue outfit. She had some great handmade silver jewelry that would be fun to wear with it. She’d worn the earrings and bracelets when she’d started working at Watson and Watson but had stopped when André’s father had frowned at her appearance. The jewelry didn’t look businesslike, he’d said.
Quickly, she hunted the jewelry out, then carried it to her room with her outfit. But when she unpacked the outfit, it looked totally wrinkled. “I need to iron something real quick, Mickie, then we’ll have that game,” she called, heading back downstairs with her clothes.
She couldn’t believe Mickie had allowed her this much time without interrupting. Usually, Mickie came down every five minutes or so to ask her a question.
Sarah looked at her watch. She had enough time to iron, go upstairs, play a game with Mickie until the cake was done, then shower and dress and be ready before Justin got home.
She pulled out the iron, then ran it lightly over her skirt and top. As she ironed, she wondered why Mickie hadn’t impatiently come to find her.
After quickly finishing, she put the iron away, then went upstairs. “Mickie?” she called, uneasy at how quiet it was.
She checked in each room. “Mickie?” she called again, her unease growing to panic. Had Mickie run away? Surely after the talk her dad had given her, she wouldn’t go anywhere again on her own. “Mickie?” she said, louder, checking under her bed and out the window.
Then she heard it.
A muffled sound coming from the closet.
Concern replaced fear and she hurried over to the door. “Mickie, honey,” she called, opening the door.
The little girl was at the back of the closet, amid the shoes and boxes. Her head was bowed over her arms, which were propped on her knees. And her shoulders shook. Sarah knelt in front of her, totally mystified. “Mickie, honey, what is it?”
“Um, I, uh, was playing boo-tish-un,” she mumbled.
Sarah reached out, but hesitated to touch her. Mickie might really want to be alone right now. “Can you say that again, Mickie?” she asked, thinking that if she could understand her, then maybe she’d know how to handle the situation.
“Daddy’s gonna be mad.”
What did Justin have to do with this? Then it dawned on Sarah. Justin was the law of the house in his little girl’s eyes. Sarah had done something wrong. “Oh, Sarah, honey, if you’ve done something wrong, your daddy’s not going to get mad, unless you endangered your life. Tell me what happened.”
Still the little girl wouldn’t look up. “I wanted to be beautiful like you. I don’t remember how Mama looked. But I bet she had bangs, too. She doesn’t have any hair in my picture.”
Sarah knew the only picture of Amy that Mickie had was in Mickie’s room. Amy had her hair slicked back in a tight professional-looking bun in the photo. No, Amy had never had bangs.
A feeling of dread suddenly coiled in the pit of Sarah’s stomach. “Mickie, look up at me, dear. Did you cut your hair?”
The little girl started sobbing again. “It’s awful. I’ll never be a boo-tish-un.”
“Look at me, Mickie.”
Sarah waited. Finally, Mickie lifted her head. Oh, Father, Justin is going to be mad over this. Help me to handle the situation.
Mickie’s hair was cut in a slash across the front of her head. One eye was completely covered, and in a couple of spots her hair stuck out awkwardly on top, which told Sarah bangs weren’t the only thing that had suffered Mickie’s attempts.
“Where’d you find the makeup?” Sarah asked gently. Mauve lipstick—if Sarah wasn’t mistaken it was her lipstick—covered the girl’s mouth and
blush was on her cheeks. Brown eye shadow was under both eyes and even spotted her forehead. Looking at Mickie’s hands, Sarah saw smears and realized the little girl had been wiping away tears. “Don’t answer that. I take it you found my makeup, in the location I volunteered earlier.”
She reached for Mickie’s hand and pulled her out of the closet. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go get you cleaned up, then we’ll put some makeup on you and fix your hair nicely for your daddy.”
“It can’t be fixed,” the little girl cried.
“Of course it can,” Sarah soothed. “And next week I promise to take you to a beautician if you still want to go, and let her explain about cutting hair.”
She escorted the little girl into the bathroom. “We’ll use my special cleaner to get all this off. It’s creamy and cool and won’t hurt the way scrubbing with a washcloth does,” she teased.
And she proceeded to remove every speck of makeup from Mickie’s face.
“Now for the hair. Stick your head under the faucet.”
Mickie did.
Sarah ran her hands through the mounds and mounds of curly hair. “Has your daddy ever cut it?”
“No,” Mickie sniffled, though she sounded much better than she had only minutes before. “He said Mama never would cut it.”
Oh, boy, she thought. When she was done wetting Mickie’s hair, Sarah ran a towel over it, then combed it. Well, she decided, looking at the mess, she’d started this, she might as well go ahead and finish it. “Do you want it medium length like mine or do you want to keep it long like your mommy’s?” she questioned, thinking Mickie would, of course, pick the latter.
“Like yours,” Mickie immediately replied.
Of course. She should have known. “Let’s tackle those bangs first,” she said, then with a deep breath she combed the hair over the child’s face.
Finding the shortest piece, which was, luckily, not too awfully short, she began snipping. “Why, look at that,” Sarah exclaimed, “you’re losing all your curl!”
The curly ends disappeared and only a small wave remained. She quickly feathered the hair around the child’s face, then worked painstakingly to layer it where the little girl had left it awkward.
The Best Christmas Ever Page 9
