Fiction Friday - Stained Glass Lives

The serenity of the hospital chapel numbed Sharon’s grief-stricken soul. Sunlight dancing through the stained glass windowpane created lilting patterns on the carpeted floor, contrasting with the gray shadows of her heart. “I should be getting home,” she said, puffing out her cheeks as she exhaled forcefully.

Driving through the winding streets toward home, she recounted the events of the long day. Memories of the tubes, the beeping monitors, the parade of doctors in and out of the room and the ominous silence as life stopped all blurred in her mind as tears filled her eyes.

She pulled over to the side of the road and let them fall unchecked. “Lord, I can’t imagine life without Dad. I feel like my heart is broken into a thousand tiny pieces. Life will never be whole and beautiful again.”

Jeanne, a widowed friend of the family helped Sharon make the funeral arrangements. Placing her arms around the younger woman, she said, “When my Charlie died, I felt so lost and alone. I still miss him, but the intense pain has passed. It takes awhile to get back to living.”

Rather than diminishing as the days passed, the black cloud surrounding her life intensified. Sharon barely left the house. She sat on her father’s bed, surrounded by empty boxes, trying to pack up his closet full of striped ties and button-down shirts. Each one she folded brought a new sense of grief.

“You were always there for me, Dad. You went to all my high school plays, and all my volleyball games. We did everything together.” She shouted through tightened lips and brushed angrily at the tears. “Why did you have to leave me now? I still needed you.”

Feeling alone and overwhelmed, she closed the door on the mess and looked for something edible in the fridge. The meals from well-meaning church ladies were gone. She pulled out a half-empty carton of milk, wrinkling her nose at the stench as she checked the expiration date. “I really need to get to the grocery store. Maybe tomorrow.”

Rummaging in the cupboard, she found canned chicken noodle soup, dumped it into a large mug and heated it. A heel of bread along with the soup would have to do for supper. Why bother to cook? There’s no one here but me.

Ignoring the dishes piled in the sink; Sharon slumped into the living room and plopped down on the sofa. Grabbing the remote, she flicked through the channels as she sipped on her cup of soup. Settling on a game show rerun, she tucked her feet up under her and buttoned up her emotions as she would her parka against the wintry chill.

When the doorbell rang at 3:00 in the afternoon, she shuffled over, opened the door a crack and peered out. Jeanne bustled past her with a cheery smile. The smile vanished as she looked at the younger woman. “Look at you! You look like you slept in those sweats for a week and there’s a tomato soup stain on the front of your tee shirt. When was the last time you washed your hair? It’s sticking up all over the place.”

Sharon grunted. “Go away and leave me alone. I’m trying to clean out Dad’s room.”

“Sure you are. That’s why you have that game show on TV?” Without waiting, the older woman propelled Sharon toward the bathroom. “You climb in the shower and I’ll go find something for you to wear,”

She dug in her heels at Jeanne’s persistence. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re going out to dinner, and then we’re going to the craft show at the mall. Your Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to waste away to nothing like this.”

She wanted to shout at Jeanne, but managed to keep her tone level. “How do you know what Dad would have wanted?” She regretted the bitter question immediately as a dark shadow passed over the older woman’s features.

“I’m sorry,” Sharon mumbled. “I know you were close to Dad since Charlie died.” She fled into the bathroom and turned on the hot water full force. She needed to warm the numbness in her soul, but it would take more than a hot shower.

On the drive to the mall, she stared out the window in an effort to discourage conversation but Jeanne persisted. “Did you know I started keeping house for your dad shortly after your Momma died in the accident? That was long before I met Charlie.”

Sharon shook her head, still focusing out the window. “No.”

“You were such a bitty little thing.” The older woman smiled, clicking her tongue with a sympathetic sound. “Only a month old, with no Momma. He hardly knew what to do with you. At one point he considered putting you up for adoption because he was sick with grief over your Momma’s death and scared silly about raising you alone.”

The younger woman turned to stare at her friend. “He never told me about that.”

Jeanne nodded and continued, her voice soft and comforting. “I answered his ad for a housekeeper and moved into the garage apartment to help care for you while he worked. I only stayed for two years – until he introduced me to Charlie. Then we married and moved away.”

A lump formed in Sharon’s throat and tears stung the back of her eyes. Dad thought about adoption? She shivered as the thought chilled her heart.

The older woman reached across the console and patted her hand. “When my Charlie died, I moved back here. You were fifteen and your dad didn’t need me then, but we were still good friends. I’ve always cared for the two of you.”

Sharon turned her head toward the window to hide her tears from her friend and rode in silence the rest of the way to the buffet. Too numb to care about food, she pushed bits and pieces around her plate with her fork.

Jeanne lightened the chatter during the meal, sharing humorous “terrible-two” stories from the younger woman’s life as a toddler. She dabbed the laughter-induced tears from her eyes. “Your Dad doted on you. I’m sure you will find a scrapbook somewhere filled with all his treasured memories.”

As the women left the restaurant, Sharon could hold her grief no longer. “He never told me he thought about adoption.” She covered her face with her hands and wept in the car.

“Oh, honey, he loved your Momma so much. You were the only thing keeping him alive back then. You were his world. Though he considered it briefly, he couldn’t have given you up. You were his connection to her.”

Jeanne hugged the younger woman and handed her a tissue. “I remember the day he turned the corner on his grief. I was holding you while he talked to your Momma at the gravesite. He thanked her for giving him such a special little girl and he promised to raise you to love Jesus.”

She smiled, rubbing the younger woman’s arm. “From that day on, he devoted himself to raising you. He was the best Daddy – he gave his life to you. Don’t let him down by withering away.”

Sharon sniffled and dried her tears. She nodded and breathed deeply as she repaired her makeup in the car mirror.

“Come on; let’s go enjoy the crafts in the mall. It’ll do you good.”

For the next hour, the two women walked the mezzanine examining homemade afghans, refrigerator magnets and every imaginable craft. Though Sharon still felt numb inside, she managed to smile at Jeanne’s stories.

As they prepared to leave the mall, a pattern of colors danced on the floor by the exit. Glancing over, Sharon noticed they came from a craft stand selling stained glass sun catchers. She walked over and began to examine the pieces fascinated with the intricate patterns. A white-haired man looked up from the piece he was crafting and smiled at her.

“You like stained glass, yes?” His accent and his smile warmed her heart.

She nodded. “Your work is beautiful.”

He beamed at her compliment and brought the piece over to show her. It was an eagle with wings spread, ready to fly. “This is my favorite pattern,” he said. “I make it in memory of my Anna – she drew this eagle on paper. Now I create it in glass so I can see the sunlight shine through it. It reminds me of her.”

The man broke into a wide grin. “Come I’ll show you.” He motioned Sharon behind the display table. “See, I must cut each feather out of this big sheet of brown glass.” His workplace was littered with dozens of brown shards of glass. Sharon realized they were the feathers, each one carefully shaped and ready to be put together.

She watched, a smile of wonder beginning to curl at the edge of her lips. The man showed her how he scored then purposely tapped the glass to break it into the proper shape. He sanded the edges and fit a piece of lead caning all the way around each piece.

When several pieces were ready, he placed them in position according to the master pattern and melted small drops of solder at intervals along the seams to hold it together. Beaming, he turned to Sharon once again.

“When it’s finished, it will look like this.” He held up a completed pane depicting the eagle in flight against a blue glass sky, soaring over white-capped purple mountains. As he held it up, the sun danced through the glass, splashing color on the floor.

“Oh. Thank you for showing me! It is so beautiful.”

He smiled and said, “I sorrowed for my Anna for a long time. My heart felt like many pieces of broken glass. But in time, God put all the pieces together according to His plan. I stopped seeing the sorrow and saw the beautiful memories He gave me instead.”

“You’ll never know how you’ve helped me today,” she said, reaching in her purse for a tissue.

“You grieve for someone too – I see it in your eyes.” The man nodded and patted her hand.

“My Father. He passed away a few weeks ago. I don’t have any other family.” Sharon wasn’t sure why she was sharing her hurt with this stranger.

He smiled and held up his index finger. “Wait here.” He walked around his table and found a small eagle sun catcher, similar to the large pane he was making. “For you – so you can remember the beauty too.”

Tears spilled down Sharon’s cheeks. She held the stained glass eagle up for Jeanne to admire as the women walked back to the parked car. A genuine smile lit her face for the first time since her father’s death as a beam of sunlight filtered through the glass. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Lord, Thank You for the beauty of Your spirit as You shine through my stained-glass life.

© March 2007 Bonnie Winters
***
Fiction Friday is being hosted at Patty's site Patterings today. Be sure to visit her site and click on the linkd to read more great short stories.
If you have a story you'd like to share, add your URL in the Mr. Linky box!
Happy Reading and Writing!

Canning peaches

I don't know how some women do it - single-handedly managing to put up dozens and dozens of jars of produce. Maybe if I did it more often, I'd get faster, but it took me all day yesterday to do 14 jars . I ended up with 11 jars of peaches because one broke in the canner (What a mess!) and 2 jars of tomatoes.

Several years ago when I began to work full time, I sold my canner at a yard sale and bought a freezer telling myself I'd NEVER can again. LOL! But for some reason, this year, the desire to do it was back. Maybe it's because I'm trying to be frugal since I'm not working now. Maybe it's because we are pastoring Dan's home church where he grew up - these are the women who taught me HOW to can things so many years ago. Maybe it's because we planted a garden for the first time in years?????

I don't know what the reason is, but I decided to start again. After investing in a brand new canning pot and raiding my mother-in-law's basement for empty jars, I set to work. The first thing I made was relish using my mother-in-law's recipe. She's not able to do it anymore and her supply is dwindling. Since Dan likes it, I made a batch.Yay! All 10 pint jars sealed and looked so good on the shelf.

Then came the green beans. I froze 8 quarts from my garden, but they just taste better when canned so I filled 12 pints of beans. For the last 3 weeks I've done a half a bushel each week of peaches, ending up with 31 quarts.

Yes, it's a lot of work, but I had forgotten how satisfying it felt to see those fruit and veggie filled jars lining the shelves in my pantry. I forgot how much better that food tasted than store-bought tin cans of food. I forgot the sense of accomplishment it gave me when all the jars sealed with that little "pop!"

As I look at the visible fruit of my labor, it is a subtle reminder that I am responsible to the Lord of the harvest to help "preserve" the souls of those around me through my actions and words.

Lord help me be a good steward of Your Word, sharing it with those around me who are hurting.

Kindergarten Pirates

Great to see you here for "In Other Words" Tuesday. Today's hostess Michelle has chosen a great quote to ponder:

“The key to either great purpose or great destruction lies in where we choose to sustain our focus. Knowing this fact should move us to jealously guard our intimacy with the Lord.”

by Bill Johnson
Sr. Pastor, Bethel Church - Redding, CA

(from “Strengthen Yourself in the Lord“)

I was a kindergarten pirate.

From the time I was three years old, my parents were concerned that I had developed some serious vision problems. At first they thought it was humorous because I kept bumping into doorways or chairs which didn't get pushed all the way under the table. But soon they realized the problem was ambliopia - "crossed eyes."

I don't remember it but we made several trips to the famed Will's Eye Hospital in Philadelphia about an hour away from our home where my eyes were examined and I received a hefty prescription for glasses. I was a tiny three year old with glasses the thickness of soda bottle bottoms resting on my little nose.

At the age of five, the doctors decided I needed to wear an ugly black patch over my right eye to force my left eye to focus and to strengthen the muscles so it would become straight.

What a sight I was as I entered first grade. I wore a my right arm in a sling because I fell from a tricycle while playing with my three year old brother and a big ugly black patch over my right eye.

Our eyes, when they work together properly, send signals to our brain in "stereo." Each eye records a slightly different image and the brain puts the two images together to give us a three dimensional picture of the world around us.

Unfortunately, when one eye turns inward like mine did, the images sent to my brain were confusing, blurred and skewed. My brain had difficulty interpreting the conflicting images transmitted by each of my eyes, causing me to run into objects. Often my brain simply "turned off" the images transmitted by my weaker left eye so I no longer was able to see things three dimensionally. That's why I was clumsy and constantly running into objects.

Like my physical well being depended on how my eyes focused as a child, my mental, emotional and spiritual well being as an adult depends on how and where I focus my spiritual eyes.

When I try to focus on things going on inside me, the world around me and on Christ too, it sends my heart confusing, blurred and skewed images. In order to make sense of it all, my heart may "turn off" the less prominent images or sensations. When that happens, all I see are my fears or debilitating memories or emotions because they tend to be the stronger perceptions.

At that point, I need to take time to stop, realize what I'm doing and refocus my eyes consciously on Him. It may mean I have to spend time in deep sharing with the Lord, telling Him how I really feel about things until all my emotions are spent. When my heart is empty, I need to listen to His voice and hear how He sees the situation.

It's like wearing a spiritual eye patch - purposely covering up my heart's stronger perceptions in order to strengthen my weaker God-perceptions. As a child, I had to wear the patch for many months until my left eye grew stronger. As an adult, it means I may have to step aside at times from my "busyness" to get alone with my Friend and Father to focus solely on our relationship. Though I have many excuses, it is NECESSARY for my inner well being.

Thankfully, the glasses I wear today are a lot more lightweight and MUCH thinner (state-of-the-art no-line bifocals with anti-reflective coating and transition lenses that darken in the sun so I don't need special sunglasses. Woohoo!) But the fact remains I still have problems with the way my eyes focus.

As long as I live I will have problems with my spiritual focus too - it's a fact of life that we battle daily with our old nature. But by guarding our relationship with our Friend and Father jealously, and consciously refocusing on Him whenever we realize our vision is becoming skewed, we will continue to strengthen our hearts and walk in intimacy with Him.

***
Michelle is our hostess today. If you'd like to participate, share your thoughts about this quote on your blog, then visit Michelle at her site Because I Love You and leave your URL in the box with the other participants.

Be sure to leave a comment for Michelle and visit some of the other participants as well to see their take on today's quote.
Happy Reading and Writing!

The ministry of hand-holding

Today's Quote Is:

“Dear Lord,I do not ask that Thou shouldst give me
some high work of thine, some noble calling or some
wondrous task. Give me a little hand to hold in mine.”
~Anonymous~
***

We all need a hand to hold.

Last week my husband and I were involved in a little fender bender. I say "little" because I didn't think anyone was seriously hurt at the time and it appeared our car had suffered minimal damage.

We had gone to a larger nearby community to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary at a nice restaurant. Of course, since shopping is limited in our small town, we visited the WalMart first before heading to the restaurant. After we finished, we got on the Interstate to go to the next exit where the restaurant was located.

As we pulled into the lane to exit the highway, a young man hit our car in the back. He was going fast enough to give us a hard jolt, but thankfully it was right in the center of the back bumper so no one spun out or flipped over.

I remember sitting in the car thinking I should go to my doctor the next day because I felt some soreness in my back and I wondered why I was so calm through all of this. From experience, I knew this wasn't a normal reaction for me - I would have been an emotional wreck, having trouble holding back the tears and shaking like a leaf. Apparently I was in shock.

The next morning I followed through, making an appointment with my chiropractor, all the time wondering if I really needed to go - after all, it didn't seem bad enough to bother. But by that evening, the emotions and other symptoms had begun to hit me full force. I began to have a lot of difficulty concentrating, forgetting little things and dizziness in addition to the headaches and upper shoulder/neck soreness.

What I thought wasn't "bad" turned out to be enough to throw me for a loop. I needed the help others could give - both the emotional support of friends and family and the support of my doctor. Thankfully I am doing better and some of the symptoms are easing up.

Through this accident last week, I realize what a healing the Lord has done in me over the last 15 years. There was a time I would have hesitated to ask for that hand because I didn't want to be a nuisance or to "bother" anyone with the needs I considered trivial - even if those needs turned out to be legitimate and big. I would have put on my Eeyore mask and struggled along telling everyone in that slow drawl - "I can make it, I'm all right."

Now I am able to ask for a hand to hold when I need it and I find I have built up a good support network of trusted people to provide those hands.

One of the best things about God's work in my life is that I am able to hold the hands of others and offer support when they need it too. I've found a ministry of support is one of the highest works God can give us to do. There is so much suffering and pain in the world that being able to offer support to those in need is akin to showing God's love in person (or with "skin") to others. It is one of our most valuable witnessing tools as well.

Even when we can't physically hold a hand or offer support, we can pray! That is very similar to holding a hand for someone in need because when we pray, we place them in our Father's Hand and allow Him to hold them, support them and love them.

At any rate, I wonder if the author of today's quote had a low self image because it would seem like she asked the Lord for the largest, most important job in the universe and never even realized it - that of being a support and hand-holder .

***

"In Other Words" is being hosted today by Nina at her site Mama's Little Treasures. To play along, simply blog about the quote on your site then visit Nina and add your URL to the list in the Mr. Linky box! See you there!

Fiction Friday - Grandma's God-Simle

Grandma’s God-Smile
by Bonnie Winters

“Gramma, Gramma, tell me a story.” Four year old Ashleigh bounced up and down with excitement.

Grandma Minnie chuckled as she gathered her rambunctious granddaughter in her arms. “If I tell you a story, you have to promise to go right to bed. What story would you like to hear?”

“The smiley story!” The little blonde head bobbed, with no sign of fatigue.

For a moment the little white-haired woman frowned. “Smiley story?” she asked, mentally ticking off the children’s books on her granddaughter’s shelf.

“Honey, I don’t think I know any smiley stories.” She patted the child’s hair affectionately. “How about one of your bear stories?”

“No, Gramma.” Her little lip stuck out in a pout. “At church, I heard Pastor say you have a story hiding behind your smile. I want the smiley story.”

“Oh.” The old woman smiled. “I guess we better start from the beginning then, hadn’t we?”

Ashleigh cuddled close and tucked her first two fingers into her mouth, a sure sign she was beginning to relax.

“Well, honey, Grandma didn’t always like to smile. No, sir. When I was a girl, a little older than you, my front teeth were so crooked, I tried to hide my smile.”

Two concerned brown eyes gazed up at the old woman. “Why, Gramma? When you smile, it makes me feel all warm and happy inside.”

“Well, there were some mean children in my class at school who used to call me ugly names whenever I smiled, so I just clamped my lips shut tight and covered up my crooked teeth. My mother and father were poor and couldn’t afford to send me to the dentist to fix my teeth, so my teeth just stayed the way they were.”

“I wouldn’t have called you names, Gramma.” The child frowned and shook her head hard enough to make her curls bounce.

Her actions made Grandma Minnie laugh out loud. “I should hope not! I pray Jesus will live in your heart, little one, so you are kind to others.”

“Does Jesus live in your heart, Gramma?”

“Yes, He does. But I was pretty mad at Him when I was a girl because I kept praying and praying for my teeth to get straight and He never answered my prayer. I sat at the back of the church and just grumbled and complained at God every Sunday. I figured He didn’t love me because I was ugly with my crooked teeth.

“One day, the pastor came over to me and asked me why I looked like an old sour pickle all the time.” Grandma stopped to chuckle at the memory.

“He said, ‘Young’un, I know there’s a God- smile in there somewhere. I dare you to find it!’” she said, using her deepest voice to mimic the pastor’s tone.

“A God-smile?” The child stifled a yawn as she looked up into her grandmother’s face. “What did he mean - a God-smile?”

“Well, I wondered the same thing, Child.” The old woman grinned and shook her head. “But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what he meant. But he dared me to find it and I was not the kind of girl who’d ever back down from a dare. I started looking everywhere for that God-smile.

“That week, my mother sent me over to my Aunt Agatha’s house to help her with her canning. She liked to tell funny stories and sure enough, she started telling me some of her best ones. Since I was embarrassed about my teeth, I usually tried to keep my mouth clamped shut, but somehow, this time, I just couldn’t help myself. I busted out laughing so hard, I almost wet my pants.”

“Gramma! You smiled.” Ashleigh giggled and before she could help herself, she yawned out loud.

“Yep, I sure did. It felt so good; I smiled all the way home. I grinned at Old Gus who was sweeping the sidewalk at the butcher shop. I even grinned at Pop Harris who was pumping gas for John McGee who owned the grocery store.

“Pop Harris winked at me and said, ‘Girl, you‘ve got such a pretty smile, you ought to use it more often.’”

The child cuddled closer, her breathing becoming shallower and her eyelids heavier.

“Honey, I felt so good when Pop Harris said that, I grinned for two days straight. That Sunday in church, I went to the altar and told the Lord I was sorry for being such a pickle-faced Christian and if He would help me, I would never hide my smile again.”

Gramma shifted, trying to get more comfortable under the weight of the sleeping child. In the quiet twilight of the room, she smiled as several recent memories flooded back. There was JoAnna, dying of cancer in the hospital who reached out and said, “Thank you for your smile. The Light of God inside you always shines out from your smile. It has always encouraged me when I was down.”

She remembered how Elva, her neighbor, had grabbed her hand two weeks ago and said, “Minnie, you’re always smiling. It’s a real smile. The kind that shines out of your eyes, not one of those fake put on ones. How can you smile, even during the bad times?”

Tears pooled in the old woman’s eyes as she relived the joy of sharing Jesus, the Light of the world. She had prayed for Elva to become a Christian everyday ever since she moved next door thirty years ago.

“I got my smile from my Heavenly Father’s side of the family,” she whispered as she bent down and kissed her sleeping granddaughter before picking her up and carrying her to bed. Looking up toward heaven, she smiled again and prayed. “Thank you Lord for helping me find my God-smile.”

©August 2007 Bonnie Winters

This week Fiction Friday is hosted by Joanne over at her site An Open Book. To read more great short stories by Christian authors, visit her site and click on the author links.

To share a story of your own, leave your name and URL in the Mr.Linky Box.

Happy writing!

IOW Tuesdays - Trust Him to order your steps

In Other Words Tuesdays
Today's Quote Is:

Order my steps, in Your word
Order my tongue, in Your word
Guide my feet, in Your word
Wash my heart, in Your word
Show me how to walk, in Your word
Show me how to talk, in Your word.

(refrain)I want to walk worthy, my calling to fulfill

Please order my steps, Lord, and I’ll do Your blessed will

The world is ever changing, but You are still the same

If You order my steps, I’ll praise Your name.

~A hymn by Glen Burleigh~

***

If God ordered your steps right into a lion's den would you still be willing to follow Him?

Into a lion's den? Whoa - wait a minute God, I've been a good person, I've followed you all my life - I don't deserve to have to go through the pain and suffering of a lion's den. I mean, come on, God. Those lions have sharp teeth and it would hurt if they bit me.

Sure it sounds a little humorous, but the truth is, those who become His greatest servants are those who walked through the fire with Him by their side first. Christians do go through hurricanes and tornadoes and lose everything they own. Their houses burn down and their loved ones pass away through tragic circumstances. Bad things happen to good people.

What makes the difference is the way we handle those circumstances. I've been in some painful situations and my first reaction isn't usually pretty. I get angry with God and rant like a frantic child, beating on His breast because of the pain and unfairness of the situation. Like Jonah, I've tried to run from the uncomfortable places He wanted me to go. But after I cry out the grief and hurt, after I let go of my own desire to escape pain, I reach a place of emptiness.

In that place, He can come by His Spirit and comfort or help me see what He is trying to say to me. I can sense His presence and I get a glimpse of the bigger picture of life. It's not all about me. There are those around me who will be directly influenced by the pain and suffering I experience, both while I am going through it and after the healing has come. It's about trusting Him to order my steps.

One of my favorite scenes is from the book, Hinds Feet in High Places by Hannah Hurnard. The main character Much Afraid is on her journey to the High Places where she will receive Hinds feet to replace her crippled deformed feet. She has come through loneliness, isolation and disappointment - each time she thinks she is about to start upward into the high places, her path has turned in the opposite direction.

At long last she comes to the foothills of the high places, only to find herself at a dead end. Her heart aches with disappointment as she cries out to the Shepherd. After He allows her to express her anger and bitter disappointment over yet another dead end, He points out a small path that zig-zags up the face of the cliff before her. A path it seems only the deer can navigate.

Poor Much Afraid becomes faint just thinking about it and is ready to turn around and flee home. But the Shepherd ropes her securely to her traveling companions and helps her onto the path. Once she begins her ascent, she realizes it isn't really as treacherous as it appeared from the ground. She had to learn to trust Him to order her steps.

I want to walk worthy, my calling to fulfill
Please order my steps, Lord, and I’ll do Your blessed will
The world is ever changing, but You are still the same
If You order my steps, I’ll praise Your name.

***

In Other Words is being hosted today by Lori at her site All You Have To Give

If you'd like to participate, simply blog about the quote on your site, then visit Lori and leave your blog URL in the Mr. Linky box. Be sure to check our Lori's take on the quote and leave her a comment. If you have time, check out what some of the others have to say too. There's lots of inspirational reading here!

Fiction Friday - Love Never Fails

This week, I've chosen a story that appeared in the online e-zine "Reflections" published by Janet Lynn Erikkson in 2006. I learned a lot from Janet and had several stories published there before she stopped publishing it last year.
***

Love Never Fails
Bonnie Winters

Jenny inhaled and exhaled forcefully as she worked up her nerve. She had never done anything like this before, but that insistent nudging in her heart convinced her she must follow this through. She gripped the photo album in her right arm and raised her other hand to knock on the door.

No response.

Good, no one is there. She poised to turn back down the carpeted hall to make a silent escape.
“Come in.” The voice sounded so feeble that she almost missed it. She gulped and gently pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The old woman sat in her wheelchair, her head tipped slightly forward as though her neck muscles had little strength. One corner of her mouth drooped.

“Hi, Mrs. Turner. My name is Jenny.” There was no turning back now. Her words rushed out in a flurry. “You don’t know me, but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. May I sit and visit with you for a little while?”

The woman seemed to struggle as she nodded her head. With gnarled fingers, she motioned for Jenny to sit in an upholstered chair close by.

Jenny tried to smile as she eased herself into the chair. She clutched the worn photo album and forced her breathing to slow. Unsure where to begin, she stared at her scuffed sneakers for several minutes.

“Why are you here, dear?” The woman’s crooked mouth gave her the appearance of frowning and her words slurred, making her speech hard to understand.

Jenny looked up from the floor into her faded blue eyes. “Nadine asked me to come…” She hesitated as she noticed a tear forming in the old woman’s eyes. “I mean, before she died, she asked me to return this album to you.”

When the woman didn’t respond, she scooted her chair closer to the wheelchair. “Nadine loved you very much. She planned to come and tell you herself, but before she could get away, the accident…” She reached for a tissue on the windowsill and blotted the tears from her cheeks. She retrieved another and handed it to the old woman. “Let me start at the beginning.”

Mrs. Turner nodded.

“I met Nadine at the diner where she worked. I was a scared kid. I had run away from home and only had a few bucks left. There was nowhere to turn except maybe to become a… well, you know. I had to support myself somehow.” She nearly choked on the words. Heat rose in her cheeks.

“I sat way back in the corner booth so nobody would see me.” She fiddled with a button on her sweater as she studied the floor again.

“Nadine waited on me that day. She got my lunch, then took her break and sat with me – asked if I wanted to talk.” She gave a half-hearted laugh before continuing. “She said she knew I was hungry by the way I stuffed my face. Then she shoved her sandwich over for me to eat too. As I ate, she told me she had run away from home when she was fifteen.”

A groan from the woman startled Jenny out of her reverie. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need a nurse or something?”

The old woman shook her head. “Just water please.”

Jenny got up and fumbled with the wrapper on the plastic tumbler, and poured water from the pitcher on the bedside stand. Poking a straw into it, she held out the cup. “Want some ice? I could … ”

Mrs. Turner took the glass in her right hand, shaking as she took a sip. She handed the glass back to Jenny. “Please sit. Tell me more.”

“You loved Nadine, didn’t you? She told me you loved her a lot.”

“She told you that?” A hint of wonder lifted the old woman’s voice.

“Yeah.” The tightness between the girl’s shoulders eased. “She said the two of you fought the day she left home. She said you begged her to come home, but she left anyway. Said it was the dumbest thing she ever did.”

A tear trickled down the leathery cheek. “Did she tell you I followed her to the city, to try to make her come home?”

Jenny nodded. “Nadine cried when she told me that. She said she was so scared about being on her own, but she was too stubborn to let you know.” She opened the photo album, holding it for the old woman to see. “Nadine showed me the pictures of the two of you together when she was a kid. By that time I was really missing my mom. Nadine told me I was a lot like her; you know, stubborn. Too proud to give in.”

With her good hand, Mrs. Turner stroked the photo of seven-year old Nadine in her Easter dress. “We used to go to Sunday school. My Nadine was such a good girl. She loved Jesus so much. I just don’t know what happened.”

“Yeah. She told me about that too.” She reached over and patted the old woman’s hand. “She said she got in with the wrong kids and started drinking. She didn’t want to go to church anymore. Then she met Billy. They started messing around and she got pregnant.”

“No!” The hand that held the cup trembled. Her voice was an agonizing whisper. “I didn’t know. My poor Nadine. She never told me.”

“She was afraid to tell you. That’s why she ran away. She was afraid you’d be so disappointed that you’d stop loving her. She ran away and had her baby but gave it up for adoption.”
The woman’s head drooped. Tears slipped to the album pages. “I could never stop loving her. Love never fails…”

“Here.” Jenny lifted the woman’s chin and dried her wrinkled cheeks. “Nadine read me that chapter about love in First Corinthians. She told me about Jesus. Did you know she started going back to church just a few months ago? Said she needed Jesus back in her life, because she just couldn’t live without love anymore. She missed her daughter and you so bad. She figured you probably never stopped praying for her.”

The woman’s eyes lost some of their dullness. “She did?”

The young girl grinned. “Yup. She showed me how to know Jesus’ love too. That’s how I know it was real for her.”

The right side of the woman’s mouth tilted up into a smile.

“After she got to know Jesus, she wanted to come home,” Jenny said. “Before she came, though, she wanted to find her daughter and tell her all about her grandmother.” She turned the page and showed Mrs. Turner an old photo of Nadine with her newborn baby girl, then one of the baby by herself. “She called her Gracie, after you.”

As Mrs. Turner gazed at her newfound granddaughter, joy and grief played across her face. Reaching out, Jenny laid her hand on the old woman’s arm. “Gracie is twenty-three years old now. Nadine found her and went to see her a week before the accident. They made plans to come and visit you together. She was going to call you the day she met me in the restaurant. She invited me home to her apartment because she didn’t want me to end up scared and alone like she did.”

“Why didn’t she call?” Her voice trembled.

“She never got the chance. We talked all that evening and into the next day. By that time we were both hungry so she went out to get something for us to eat. She crossed the street in front of the house and was hit by a drunk driver.” Jenny grasped the old woman’s hand and held it to her tear-stained cheek. “I’m so sorry. I feel like it’s my fault. She was going to the store to take care of me when it happened.”

The woman covered her hand with a strong grip. Jenny stood and stumbled into her embrace. They wept together. When she sat down again, she reached for two fresh tissues and handed one to Mrs. Turner.

“I rode in the ambulance with her. Before she died, she made me promise to bring you this album. Gracie’s picture and phone number are here in the back. Tour granddaughter loves Jesus too and wants to come and see you – if you want her to.” The girl’s heart pounded as she waited for the woman’s response.

“Thank you.” Tears of joy glistened in the older woman’s eyes.

Jenny rose to leave, wanting to give the woman time to digest the news.

“Jenny.”

She turned.

“Jenny, what about you?”

A smile trembled on the girl’s lips. “I stopped here to see you on my way home. Mom’s waiting in the car for me. She said she loves me and never stopped praying for me…”
Mrs. Turner smiled her crooked half-smile as she caressed the photo of her granddaughter. “Love never fails…”

© 2006 by Bonnie Winters