"It's a cryin' shame the choir doesn't wear their robes after Easter," Maisy whispered to Deanna after the candles had been lit. "If she don't blind us, we'll sure as shootin' have to see them dimpled knees of hers winkin' at us through the whole service."
When the special music selection was over, the minister stepped up to the pulpit. Maisy elbowed Deanna, snickering as Juanita shifted from one hip to the other, fiercely tugging on her straight skirt until it could at least be seen below the flowing drape of her shawl-collared jacket. Although she smiled in response, Deanna was too nervous for any humor to be genuine.
After the invocation and responsive reading, the congregation sang an upbeat traditional hymn. Since there was a shortage of books, Deanna shared Shep's. Their joined voices stood out from the rest in her ear as they sang—his masculine one, her feminine one—blending as God designed. The words declared that their hope was built on nothing less than Jesus. And He was her last hope. All other ground was sinking sand. Only God and the Shepard next to her kept her from being consumed by the quicksand she'd gotten herself into.
She considered Shep as he sang the chorus without looking at the words—clean cut, fresh shaven, and dressed to the nines, or rather from boots to bolero. She thought him handsome from the first time she'd seen him cleaned up, but something was different. It wasn't the suit, or even the discovery that he had a decent voice. It was something else... a sense of confidence maybe, or was it joy? From out of the past, a song Deanna used to sing in the children's choir came to mind—"This Little Light of Mine."
The answer smacked her in the face. She should have known from the Bible he kept by the recliner or the devotionals she found in the bedroom and bathroom. Or the way he took a total stranger into his home without some ulterior motive. It was his faith. Unlike C. R., Shepard Jones's beauty was more than skin deep. Beyond the physical, it came from his soul.
Indulging a flight of whimsy, she imagined the two of them as a couple, worshiping at the family church, surrounded by friends and neighbors. It was just like that morning, when they'd cleared the breakfast table and done the dishes together. The last time Deanna had felt this sense of right, she'd been a child, surrounded by loving family
God, I don't want it to end.
But it had to. It was inevitable that either the law or C. R.'s shady associates would find her. If she prayed, she should at least pray for something possible.
"All things are possible through Jesus Christ." Reverend Lawrence's words from the pulpit reinforced the voice that had been echoing them in Deanna's mind. Dare she hope it was God and not Memorex?
On either side of Deanna, Maisy and Shep joined the congregation in an "Amen."
"With that truth in mind, let us present our burdens and concerns for others," the minister proceeded. "Are there any additional requests for others besides those on the prayer list printed on the back of your programs?"
Shep flipped it over scanning the names, but Deanna could no longer read it. All things are possible through Jesus Christ. The last three of the minister's words kept bouncing around in her brain. Her eyes stung, while an invisible vice closed in on her chest, making it hard to breathe. All things are possible through Jesus Christ.
Through Jesus. Was that the missing ingredient?
A hand covered her shaking one, squeezing it. It was her Shepard, her kind, gallant knight, for the moment not in denim. "Are you all right?" he said under his breath, head bowed in reverence to the minister's prayer.
Deanna nodded. She dug in vain through her purse for tissues, realizing that she must have used the last ones at the wedding reception. Just a little more than a week ago, it felt like a year ravaged with fear and despair.
Shep handed her his handkerchief. "Go on; it's clean," he teased. Around them, the congregation echoed the reverend's "Amen."
Maybe she'd made a mistake coming to church. With her guilt for staying away and all that happened of late, her emotions were too volatile. Desperate, Deanna practiced a technique of breathing she'd learned in a yoga class to regain her composure. She couldn't allow herself to become a blubbering basket case and humiliate, not just herself, but Shep as well.
"Paul prayed that the Ephesians might grasp how deep the love of Christ is," Reverend Lawrence said, commencing the sermon after reading a verse from the large Bible on the podium.
Amplified by the wooden acoustics, his voice filled the room with a holy authority. His words were not just heard. Deanna could feel them. They brushed her bare arms light as angel wings, lifting the downy hairs on her skin.
"The apostle wanted them to know this love that surpassed their knowledge and understanding, that they might be filled as only God could fill them." Reverend Lawrence gave a little laugh. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"
It did, especially to a beleaguered soul drained of all spirit. Deanna let out a shaky breath.
"But I'll bet that Seth and Becky Farley didn't feel that kind of love when Becky was diagnosed with breast cancer." The young man who'd helped Shep carry some feedbags out to the loading dock at the Farm and Ranch General and the pretty woman next to him nodded, smiling. "And what about you, Mayor, when your grandson nearly died from a tractor accident. It sure didn't feel like God's love when the doctors told you he might not make it, did it?"
"No, sir, it did not," a heavyset man with jowled cheeks said.
"When bad things happen to good, innocent people, when we are pushed to the very limit of our endurance, I don't care how strong your faith is, doubt can shake it, and you will become involved in a spiritual battle between good and evil that will take no prisoners. One or the other will win." The minister leaned forward on the podium, looking around the room. "My question to you is: Which one will triumph over you?"
Twenty-one
"Which one will triumph over you?"
The question riveted Deanna to the back of the bench. Which was stronger, her doubt or her faith? Her feelings or her knowledge? Lord, I don't know. I know I want my faith to be stronger.
In the midst of her confusion, a strange warmth penetrated her awareness, as though a comforting arm braced her back instead of the old wood, curved and worn smooth by saints long since gone. Its reassuring welcome seemed to say, Hey, you came here, didn't you? That took faith.
Or was it desperation? Doubt countered, reluctant to surrender its grip upon her conscience.
A voice slipped through her awareness—a testimony of faith strong enough to hold a family together. "When our youngest son was imprisoned for drug trafficking in California, even Ruth and I, with all our knowledge and faith in His Word, felt like God had ignored our prayers for him. We'd done all we could as parents and left the rest to a God... who must have taken a vacation that week."
The minister skimmed the sea of faces in the congregation with a twinkle in his eye that belayed his previous statement. Behind him, Juanita Everett still struggled with her skirt. A baby cried out suddenly on the other side of the room, resulting in a flurry of activity to assuage it.
"Plugged that one pretty quick," someone from the other side of the room snorted, evoking a ripple of amusement among his peers.
Deanna could picture a pacifier bobbing up and down as the child suckled it, but her focus was on Reverend Lawrence. His thick, white hair gleamed in the sun cast through a palladium panel over the stained glass windows behind the choir and sanctuary Although he wore a pale blue suit with a clerical collar, in lieu of a formal white robe, the light made him look like a divine messenger, waiting patiently until the congregation was as quiet as the baby.
"I imagine more than just a few of you have felt the same way... as if your prayers weren't reaching God's ear... as if surrounded by a dark and stormy sea while He slept."
Deanna's heart squeezed out a resounding yes above the clamor of confusion in her brain. That was exactly how she felt. Reverend Lawrence might be looking the other way, but he was speaking to her heart—no, to her weary, flagging spirit, battered by the doubt the re
verend mentioned and compounded by her own self-reproach. She'd made some bad choices, like not pursuing her spiritual needs.
"No matter how old we are, we often tend to be like the little boy who sat at his mother's knee, watching with fascination the passes of her needle and thread as she embroidered.
"After studying the twisted tangle of the many-colored threads the mother had taken such great care to stitch, he became puzzled. Why, the child asked, was she working so hard on a helter-skelter work of knots and loose ends that resembled nothing at all?
"I'd say that's a pretty good description of how our lives appear at times, wouldn't you?"
Deanna nodded emphatically at the rhetorical question. Oh yes, she could see it now.
The minister continued after a reflective pause. "Laughing, the mother drew her son up on her lap and showed him the work from the topside—a beautiful piece of art coming together one thread at a time."
Deanna's chin sagged as the point of the story registered. The tangled strings of life below are threads being masterfully woven according to the plan of the Great Weaver. Great. Just when she sees a glimmer of hope, the minister tells her she has to go to heaven before she can look down and understand. But then, the loose ends of her life would probably expedite her journey by hanging her.
God, this isn't exactly the encouragement I was hoping for.
"After His fervent prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus Himself hung on the cross, His human pain blurring His spiritually perfect vision. For that moment, all He could see was the bottom of the Father's embroidery as He cried, 'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?'"
Deanna looked past the minister at the stained-glass depiction of the Savior on the cross, nails driven through His hands, a crown of thorns forced upon His brow. Why should she, with all her admitted flaws, deserve more consideration than He, who was without sin?
"God did not forsake His Son," Reverend Lawrence averred without doubt. "Although, at that moment... driven to a point beyond human endurance, Jesus felt—" he made air quotes with his fingers—"abandoned by the Father. The key word here is felt. Feelings and faith are sometimes at odds in our lives, dear ones. Jesus felt abandoned, but He knew He was not," he explained. "Jesus felt doubt, but even while blinded by His suffering, He reached for the thread of His faith buried in the middle of the tangled knots and loose ends of His Father's embroidery. See the difference?"
But Deanna thought doubt was the sign of a poor believer. And she'd been filled with it.
"How do I know this?" The minister smiled. "Because next in the seven sayings of Jesus from the cross is 'I thirst,' which I take to mean He longed to feel God's reassuring hand, God's water for His spirit. And even though He was given vinegar and brine instead, He still reached for that hidden thread of faith, trusting that it was there. He surrendered Himself to God's will. 'Into thy hands I commend my spirit.'"
Surfacing amid the words came a message that felt like precious water to Deanna's dry spirit. It's okay to doubt. It's only human. Just don't give up.
"'The Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you,'" Reverend Lawrence declared loudly. "You can bet your bottom dollar that Jesus knew that quote from Deuteronomy and believed it with all His heart and soul. It was His earthly senses, trapped in a human body that cried out, "'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' Not..." He struck the podium with his fist. "His..." He struck it again. "Spirit." He waited for the words to sink in. "That was pain speaking, not... His... faith."
One could almost hear a pin drop. It seemed to Deanna that even the normal shuffle of people in their seats was stilled by the impact of Reverend Lawrence's words. He broke the somber spell with a grin.
"Now I know that no one in this church ever said things that he or she didn't really believe or mean when he slammed his finger in a car door or struck his thumb with a hammer."
Beside her Shep laughed outright with the rest of the congregation at the minister's tongue-in-cheek observation. "Or when his knee felt like a nail had been driven through it by a grocery cart," he said in an aside to Deanna.
"The more spiritually mature of us have conditioned ourselves to respond appropriately with an excited gee willikers or something as harmless. Any hands?" he asked facetiously
A few ventured up tentatively Deanna's was not among them.
"Others call out for God in a prayer that only the Holy Spirit can translate," he added, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "And others curse God, as if it were His fault you weren't paying attention. In other words..." Reverend Lawrence resumed when the varied reactions of the listeners stilled. "You say things you don't really mean or believe in because the pain blinds us to God's presence... and you can be sure that God has not abandoned you like it feels. He's hearing every word you say."
A few Amens mingled with humor rose from the congregation.
Reverend Lawrence silenced them by raising his hands and his voice. "And Glory be to God for showing us that, even though Jesus is the Son of God, He was also human." He turned his notes over as if he were through with them. "Why," he asked pointedly, "is this so important to you and me? Because Jesus knew that we, too, would feel abandoned, even though we believed in God's Word, and He wanted to assure us that it's only human. He didn't want a wedge of guilt to separate us from His unconditional love and understanding. He wanted us to know that He had been there, without the benefit of His godly powers... just like you. He wanted us to know that He understood."
Like her, Deanna thought, her mind racing with the current of her emotions rather than against it. Like her, Jesus had been pursued by the righteous and the not so righteous. Like her, He'd prayed to be spared, but God hadn't answered His prayer the way He preferred but according to God's plan.
But, God, I don't know if I can accept Your will like Jesus. I'm not that strong. I'm not worth the dirt under His toenails.
"Each and every one of you is precious enough to Jesus that He died for You. You don't have to be worthy for His Grace. And that's a mighty good deal, since none of us are."
Gooseflesh rose on Deanna's arms. This was too weird, even for her. It felt as if the minister was reading her mind without even looking at her. But she knew better. The irony was not lost on Deanna.
What she felt and what she knew were at odds... just like her feelings of abandonment were at odds with the Word she professed to believe in. God hadn't abandoned her. He'd been with her all the time, waiting for her to reach up in faith for the hand she could not see. He'd sent her a shepherd.
"Remember, God doesn't expect us to be perfect. He knows from experience how hard that is within the limitations of the human form, even for the Son of God. All He expects is for us to reach up for Him in trust, admit our shortcomings, ask forgiveness for them, and try our best."
A sob caught in her throat. Deanna blew her nose in a lame attempt to cover it. At Shep's inquisitive look—how could he miss the fact that she was in tears?—she quipped, "If I'd known how good church was for my sinuses, I'd have attended every week and skipped my allergy shots."
The minister glanced over at a board on the wall where the music selections were listed and announced the page number of the last one. The organ began to play softly above the shuffle of pages and feet as the congregation rose.
"As we sing, I want to invite you to lay your burdens down at the altar of God. There may be someone heavy on your heart. Bring them here. You may be overwhelmed by concerns of your own. Nothing is too big or too small for our God. Or maybe you've felt like Jesus, overcome by pain and persecution.
In her mind's eye, Deanna saw the interrogation where the police had hammered the nail of accusation with merciless questions through her fear-stricken heart.
"By rejection and humiliation..."
They'd made her feel like trash... C. R.'s throwaway a criminal... "Abandoned by God."
There'd been no one to turn to, and God hadn't answered her pleas—at least
she couldn't see that He had.
"Then come here and claim God's promise. He's reaching down for you right now, waiting for you to take His hand."
"Are you sick, honey?" Maisy, her heavy makeup accentuating the concern on her face, put a comforting hand on Deanna's arm.
She couldn't answer. A blade of emotion was slitting her throat from the inside out. And Reverend Lawrence—no, God— was offering a balm.
"He's saying, My child, I've been there. I know what You are feeling. I understand."
The reverend extended his hands to the congregation. "Come, beloved. There is always room at the cross for you."
With the crescendo of the organ, the people began to sing the hymn. Each word strengthened Deanna's conviction that it was no coincidence that she wound up in Buffalo Butte, with this man, in this church. For the first time since its onset, the storm had cleared. And through it, Deanna saw a nail-scarred hand reaching out to her. All she had to do was take it—trust in it.
***
Shep wasn't sure what came over Deanna back at the church— contrition, the Holy Spirit, or maybe a little of both. She not only sniffled through the sermon, but when Reverend Lawrence gave the altar call, she went forward, so visibly shaken that Shep had gone with her. When Maisy and Esther flocked to either side of her like mother hens, he stepped aside in relief. Maybe it was a woman thing.
"I'm so sorry," Deanna said for the umpteenth time as he pulled up to the ranch house. "I felt like an idiot, crying like a baby in front of the whole church. It would have taken a plug big as a wagon wheel to shut me up."
Shep couldn't help but smile. She may have lost her composure, but not her Brooklyn accent and wisecracking wit. "People cry at the altar all the time."
"The way I was carrying on though, I scared the others away... like it was catching." She blew her nose on the ball of tissues Shep grabbed as they left the church. His handkerchief had reached its limit, too. "Miss Maisy and Miss Esther must think I'm some kind of lunatic."
Winsor, Linda Page 18
