by Beth Wiseman
“Maybe your mother has come to know the Lord since you last spoke with her.” Vera cringed as she watched Danielle’s face take on a contorted expression.
“So that’s how God works?” She grunted, rubbing her belly. “Do whatever evil things you want, then all you have to do is say you’re sorry, and all is well? So now my mother is forgiven, loved by God, and living a happy life. Good for her!” She started to sob again.
Vera took a deep breath. Her people believed in Jesus as their Lord and Savior, but they also believed that a person should live according to the Ordnung, a life of dedication to the Lord, hard work, and worship. But Vera knew that a personal relationship with God didn’t come easily for everyone, no matter what their religious upbringing was. Vera was proof of that. Even though she knew that the Lord was as much a part of her as the air she breathed, truly knowing Him was a discovery she’d made late in life. Yet she’d never admitted it to another living soul. But as she watched Danielle suffering, she felt the Lord calling her to share her story with Danielle. I’m not sure I can.
She ignored the pull at her heart to open up to Danielle, and instead said, “Forgiveness doesn’t come easily, Danielle. And sometimes saying you’re sorry doesn’t either. I’m sure your mother regrets how she hurt you. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to say it.” Vera folded her lands in her lap, resolved that her secret would remain her own.
Danielle stared straight ahead at the peeling white wall, avoiding Vera’s eyes. “She doesn’t love me. But I’m going to make up for her lack of love for me, and I’m going to love Joshua with my heart and soul. I will never hurt him. Ever.”
Vera eased her posture, leaning back against the chair. “Ya, you will hurt him. Maybe not the same way your mother hurt you, but you’ll hurt him, even if it’s not intentional. We love them,” she said with a shrug, “and yet inevitably hurt them.”
Danielle studied her and then looked away, fiddling with the edge of the blanket as she recalled saying almost that exact same thing to Levi once. “My mom and I . . . parted badly. We haven’t talked in a long time. But now she claims to have this wonderful second chance with her new husband and a relationship with God? How does that work, Vera?” She threw her hands up. “Because I just don’t get it.”
Vera tried to organize her thoughts. It was not the Amish way to minister to others, and Vera wasn’t sure what to do. Again, her own secret tugged at her heart, and again, she pushed it aside. “We are all the Lord’s children, and—”
“Yes. I’ve heard all that before. Repeatedly, from Martha. And from Levi. And I’ve been praying with Levi. I’ve been praying for Joshua. But I don’t hear anything back. Nothing. God has never been there for me, and this letter from my mother . . . it’s a slap in the face from both my mother and God.”
Vera felt a huge sense of relief that Levi and Danielle had been praying together; it gave her hope that they would raise the child in a Christian home, even if they weren’t Amish. But Vera knew that it was her job as a good Amish woman to stay true to her own faith. One could never be sure if an outsider was truly faithful; the Amish could only trust other Amish in their commitment to the Lord. Vera knew the Englisch could commit to a life of servitude to the Lord . . . but you just never knew for sure.
That said, Danielle was as far detached from God as any person she’d ever known. The girl was solely responsible for pulling her son away from his faith.
So, why had Vera’s own past come calling now?
“What if your mother never says she’s sorry?” Vera leaned forward, tempted to put her hand on Danielle’s. “You must try to forgive her anyway. Otherwise it will be hard to have the kind of relationship with God that you want.”
Vera thought about Danielle’s circumstances. She could see why the child would think God was never there for her, however misdirected. She just doesn’t understand.
“I just don’t get it.” Danielle swiped at her eyes, shaking her head.
Vera held her breath, knowing that there was no way that Danielle could comprehend the sting that Vera felt at hearing those very words, and Vera knew that it was no coincidence. God was speaking to Vera directly. He might as well have said aloud, “Vera, you know what you have to do. Send her to Me.”
Vera laid her head in her hands for a moment and prayed, Lord, help me do as You’ve asked. She looked up at Danielle and locked eyes with her. “I haven’t always had the faith, Danielle.”
The girl didn’t say anything, and her expression didn’t change much. Vera knew Danielle didn’t realize what a big step this was for Vera. She took a deep breath and went on. “I was baptized into the faith, married Levi’s father, and I’d had two children before I had a real relationship with God.” Vera swallowed hard, pulling her eyes from Danielle’s. “And I’ve never told a living soul about it.” She finally looked back to Danielle, who was expressionless, listening and waiting for her to go on.
“Of course, I went to worship every other Sunday. I studied the Ordnung, and my life was filled with devotions, Bible study, and fellowship with others in our community.” Vera hung her head for a moment. “But I never knew Him.” She looked up at Danielle. She covered her hand with her mouth as tears threatened to spill and shame wrapped around her. She knew in her heart that shame was the work of the enemy, yet having to tell this story out loud brought forth a wave of it just the same. “It’s not about good deeds, Bible study, devotions, church . . .” She held up one finger. “Don’t get me wrong. These things are gut and very important. But there is something more. So much more. When you allow God into your heart in a way that . . .” Vera’s words trailed off as she struggled to find the right phrasing. How could she possibly make Danielle understand this?
“Go on,” Danielle said softly, her eyes steadfast on Vera.
“There’s a feeling you get, an all-knowing sense of peace that comes with knowing the Lord. I’m not sure I know how to explain it. I just remember when the peace settled over me, it was different from anything that I’d ever known. It’s a love so strong that you never have to be afraid, never have to worry, and never have to fear.” She swallowed back tears as she realized that she had been doing all of those things, knowing that she’d been blocking the voice of God in her effort to control things with Levi and Danielle. “His love endures forever, Danielle. Talk to the Lord like you would your best friend and open your heart to Him with total trust. Place your future—and your past—in His hands. Life will never go the way you plan. But putting your total trust in God is the answer.”
Vera took a deep breath as Danielle leaned forward, her expression still blank and unreadable. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“When?” Danielle squinted one eye.
Vera blinked. “When, what?”
“When did the peace settle over you? When did it happen?”
Vera pulled her eyes from Danielle’s, wishing she could offer up some partial version of the truth, but Vera knew exactly when she’d truly opened her heart and gotten to know God in an intimate way. She stared at Danielle, unable to believe that she was about to tell this young girl her deepest secret.
She sighed. “When I forgave my mother.” She swallowed past a thick knot in her throat.
Danielle just sat there. Vera wanted to yell at her to say something, anything, for Danielle to know that she was revealing a part of her past she’d long since buried in an effort to help.
“Did she hit you?” Danielle said steadily.
“No! Of course not.” Vera leaned back, squinting. “My mother would never do that.”
Danielle lowered her head, and Vera regretted her sharp comeback, but it was true—her mother would have never laid a hand on any of her children.
“Then what was it? What did you have to forgive her for?”
Vera wished she’d never brought it up, that she’d found another way to reach her . . . “I’d rather not say,” Vera finally said. “But the point is that forgiveness is essential to healing,
and . . .”
Danielle shrugged. “Okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. Vera had lost Danielle’s attention, and somehow the importance of this confession was reduced to a shrug, and that wasn’t acceptable. Vera had come this far; she supposed she couldn’t expect Danielle to just accept her on her word without all the details.
“I—I—” Vera sighed. She’d never said it aloud before. She’d never even told Elam. “I walked in on my mother with another man. One day while my father was working the fields. He was another Amish man in our community.” She looked at Danielle and could tell she had the girl’s full attention. “I was eleven years old.”
“What did you do?” Danielle pushed back her covers and folded her legs beneath her.
“I ran out of the room, and it was never spoken of. Until today.”
“You didn’t ask your mother about it?”
Vera was lost in the memory for a few moments, the look on her mother’s face, the man she knew as Roy Hostetler with his lips pressed against her mother’s in her parents’ bedroom. “No. But from then on, everything I’d been taught, and would be taught for the next ten years, sounded like hollow words to me. I went through the motions, said my prayers, and . . . and had to face Roy in worship every other Sunday until we moved here several years ago.” She stood up and paced the room for a moment, then turned to Danielle. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I just thought it might help. I had to forgive my mother even though she didn’t seem to require it from me. Maybe she had made her peace with God on her own.” She smoothed the wrinkles from her black apron, wishing Danielle’s expression would give a hint as to whether Vera was getting through to her.
“Why did it take you ten years before you got close to God again?”
Then Vera gave her the most honest, regrettable answer she had, the hardest part of the story. “I don’t know.”
Danielle was quiet, her head cocked to one side.
“But one day I couldn’t stand the emptiness I felt, despite all that I’d been blessed with. I had a loving husband and my boys. But something was amiss. I’d always prayed and done all the things I mentioned to you before, but something still wasn’t right in my heart.” Vera sat down again. “So I set out to figure out what it was. I couldn’t talk to any of our people because . . . well, I’d been brought up Amish, and I didn’t think anyone would understand why I didn’t trust the Lord and why I constantly questioned His will. It just isn’t our way.”
Danielle was quiet.
“One day I walked out into a full field of wildflowers back in Middlefield. A neighbor was caring for Jacob and Levi that day. I sat down in the field.” Vera paused as she blinked back tears at the recollection. “And I remember I just felt so alone. And I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I poured out everything I had inside of me, the built-up resentments, the fears, the worries . . . and I gave it all to God. I opened my heart and let Him in, and I cried for a long, long time.” Vera realized she was crying now. She looked up at Danielle, who still appeared emotionless, and Vera felt ridiculous. Apparently today wasn’t nearly so much about Danielle as it was about herself. She straightened, sniffled, and looked away from Danielle for a moment, then turned back to her.
“He is the only way. That’s what I’m saying. If you’re feeling alone or longing for peace, He is the way.” She turned to leave, feeling a flush rising up her neck and filling her cheeks. “You must be weary of my yammering on. I’ll leave you be now and finish cleaning.”
“Vera?”
Stopping in the doorway, Vera slowly turned around and raised an eyebrow, wishing she could just go home and think. “Ya?” Danielle rose and walked toward her. “Ach, back to bed now. You shouldn’t be up.” But the girl kept coming until she stood right in front of her. Vera waited.
“Is that all I have to do?” Danielle bit her bottom lip and blinked a few times. “Just forgive my mother and open my heart to God, trust Him, and give Him my worries and fears?”
Vera smiled. “It’s a lot, my child. But, ya . . . We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. Talk to God like a friend. He will be there for you.”
Danielle stepped closer and threw her arms around Vera’s neck, and Vera didn’t move for a moment. The girl trembled, weeping. Then slowly she wrapped her arms around Danielle and cried with her. They stood there for several long minutes, and Vera silently thanked God for giving her courage and strength. She would pray that Danielle would turn to Him, but today was also a huge reminder for Vera about who was in control. She herself was far from perfect, and living as Christ asked was a daily battle. But it’s so worth it. . .
“Thank you,” Danielle whispered, sniffling.
Vera eased her away and smiled. “Nee, thank you, child.”
Twenty
A FEW DAYS LATER, DANIELLE PICKED UP HER CELL to call Martha. It was around two o’clock, in between Vera’s morning and late-afternoon visits. She talked to Martha every day, but it had taken this long for her conversation with Vera to soak in enough to feel comfortable mentioning it to Martha. She hadn’t done what Vera suggested yet—forgive her mother and give it all to God—but she was thinking about it.
Martha answered, sounding groggy and grumpy.
“Hi. It’s me. How are you feeling? How’s the foot today?” Danielle shuffled across the floor and closed the partially opened window. Earlier the room had felt stuffy, so she’d welcomed the cool breeze drifting through the bedroom amidst the rays of sun that beamed down on the wooden floors. But as predicted, the temperature was steadily dropping today.
“It still hurts. I’m not sure when I’m ever going to be able to walk on it again.” Martha sighed. “But if there is anything good about this terrible situation, it’s all the creamed celery Katie Ann has been bringing me. How are you feeling?”
Danielle settled into the rocking chair that Vera had brought over for their bedroom. Earlier in the week, she’d shown up with a coffee table and two end tables for the living room. “I feel good. Fat, but good. I just don’t feel like I need to stay in the bed all the time.”
“You do exactly what the doctor said. It’s only September, and you need to keep that baby inside until at least the end of October, preferably all the way until Christmas. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Danielle smiled. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you that Vera and I are getting along really well.”
“I told you. Vera is a good person. Stubborn sometimes. And controlling. But she has a heart of gold, I tell ya.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right. We had a really long conversation a few days ago. About God.” Danielle recalled Vera’s tears. And her own.
“Well, I hope someone can get through that thick skull of yours. The world shines a whole lot brighter with God in your heart.”
Danielle smiled over her gruff words. “I’ve been praying, you know. Vera explained it to me in a way that makes sense. I think. I don’t know. Maybe not. But she opened up to me, and . . . anyway . . . we’re a lot closer now. And I can tell that it makes Levi happy too.”
“Honey, that’s great. I miss you so much. I’d come over there, but this foot is just killing me.” Martha paused, groaning. “And I hate being in this bed having everyone wait on me.”
Sure you do. Danielle smiled. She’d had a broken bone before and knew that Martha was probably well on the road to healing. “Well, Vera is actually doing a very good job taking care of me. She makes sure I have three balanced meals every day, the house is clean, and . . . the last couple days, we’ve talked a lot. I feel more like a daughter to her now.”
Martha was silent.
“Martha? You still there?”
“Uh, yes. Just listening to Dude snore here on the floor next to the bed. Big lug of a dog stays in my room all the time. He’s supposed to be Arnold’s dog. Anyway, dear, I better go. Take care of yourself and our baby.”
“I will.”
MARTHA SHOT UP in the bed, swung
her legs over the side, and yelled, “Arnold!”
A few minutes later, her husband rushed into the room. “What is it, my love? Are you in pain?”
“I’d like to take a bath and put some makeup on. And do my hair. I look a wreck, and I don’t know how you’re putting up with me like this.” She pushed herself from the bed, balancing on one foot.
“Careful, dear.” Arnold reached for her, but she eased his hand away.
“Just hand me those crutches and please help me to the bathroom. I’m going to bathe and make myself presentable.” Arnold eased the crutches under each of her arms. She glanced at the wheelchair Arnold had rented and frowned. “I’m not getting in that thing anymore. It makes me feel like an old woman.”
Arnold stood in front of her, his hands extended like he might have to catch her. “Have you ever walked on crutches? Do you know how?”
“How hard can it be?” She let her weight fall onto the crutches, pinching her underarm on the left side. Argh. She resituated them and tried again until she was finally able to take a step toward the doorway.
“Snookums, you don’t have to get all dolled up just for me. I’m happy to give you a sponge bath here in the bed. You know that.” His eyes twinkled, but Martha just looked at him and shook her head.
“I’m not getting dolled up for you.” She eased past him. “I’m getting myself ready so I can go see Danielle. You know, I love that Vera, but she’s up to her old tricks again. This time she’s trying to steal my daughter.” She twisted to face Arnold. “Why haven’t you been going over there to keep an eye on things?”
Arnold’s mouth dropped open. “Because you said you needed me here. Because you have been in awful pain.” He rubbed his chin, frowning. “I don’t think you should be going anywhere. You don’t seem . . . yourself.”
Martha carted herself out of the bedroom door and down the hall in less than a minute, yelling over her shoulder, “Vera has her own daughters! I’m not letting her steal mine.”
