Day 300

It was the little boy that she remembered.

Dark brown hair.  Big brown eyes.  Maybe it was just that he reminded her of her brother when he was a baby.  He couldn’t have been more than two and maybe yet still younger than that.  His smile—his growing smile.  And the wave directly from God that told her it was all going to be all right if she was pregnant.  And then, as quickly as she saw him, he was gone.

But, in that moment, her heart had been changed.

The weeks spent in worry, depression, tests and tears.  Weeks of telling herself she wasn’t.  Weeks of praying for it not to be true.  Weeks of preparing to make a pro-choice decision, if it was.  And suddenly she was okay with being a mom.  She would be…okay.

But by the following Thursday, it was over.

The call, a permanent fixture in her mind, replayed.

Standing in the back office, on her cell, the doctor’s office had finally called, but the results—she only expected one of two things.  Either they would tell her she was never pregnant, or that she was.

But the word miscarriage sent her world into a seismic upheaval.

The nurse’s voice was full of compassion, “The test results were conclusive with a miscarriage.”  All Alice could muster was a feeble, “Oh.”  Before they hung up, the nurse offered up the only kind words she could.

“Now, y’all can try again as soon you want.”

If she wasn't almost crying, Alice would have laughed.  It was a remark meant for good, but it stabbed an even wider wound in her heart.  Two emotions engulfed Alice.  Relief.  And utter, desperate grief.

That was a year ago today.  Today, a day filled with storms, and these painful memories.

Her eyes grazed over the scene before her.  On her balcony, she sat in the midst of a summer storm.  Rain came down, thunder heaved, and the wind shook the plants.  It lapped at her face, and she closed her eyes in the warm breeze.

As the storm settled in, she picked up her pen, and began to write:

Dear little one,

                To the angel I never met, to the one God used to save me, it’s been a year since I’ve “lost” you.  And “lost” seems like an inappropriate word to use here.  After all, I spent the days before I “lost” you wishing you away, praying you gone…

                …but never ‘gone’ as in taken away.  There’s a difference between never existing and something being taken.  I didn’t expect anything to exist.  And I anticipated that if it did—if you were there—that I would ultimately be the one in charge, indulging in my liberal Californian pro-choice roots.  That I would rid myself of you.  But I never, never expected anything to be decided by the hand of God.

                But I realize now that everything is within His hands.  Maybe that’s why He used that little boy’s wave—his little hand.  It was by his little baby hand that I finally felt the courage to do what I should’ve done all along….

                …love you.

                But I loved you too late.  And I love you still.  It’s the reason I see little girls and swoon.  It’s the reason I cradle children so lovingly in my arms.  It’s the reason I see new families and smile with tears in my eyes.  It’s the reason I touch my stomach some nights and remember where you were and think of the place you would’ve grown.

                You’re the reason for so much that I do.  Losing you changed my life.  God saw what would come from what came, and maybe that’s why He divined it.  Because He knew you were very thing that would incite a permanent change within my heart.  He knew I would never—could never—be the same without you.

                This letter is but a small token of thanks, of love, of surrender.  You changed my life.  I never met you.  But I knew you.  I love you.  And one day I’ll see you.  And I’ll thank you in that moment.

                This isn’t goodbye, for in God’s Kingdom, little one, there is no such thing.  Simply, this is to tell you that I’ll be seeing you.

                I love you,

                The girl you changed

As Alice finished the letter, she rose to the balcony rail, and held it loosely in the storm, the rain washing away the wet ink.

A year ago today she lost something she barely knew she wanted then, but something God knew she needed more than anything.

With that, she let the blank page fall from her fingers and into the earthen ground, letting go of the guilt and appreciating the beauty in a gift that had only until today—this very day—far surpassed her own understanding.

Therefore I will hedge up her way with thorns, and I will build a wall against her, so that she cannot find her paths (Hosea 2:6).

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7).

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.  “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9).

Day 156

“Hey kiddo, can you take care of this for me?”

In the back of the office was a bin for files to be shredded, and it wasn’t unusual for Mr. Lamlich to make his rounds once a month.

“Sure thing.”

She smiled and reached over to receive a large plastic bag, filled to the brim with wrinkled papers.

“This sure is heavy,” she said, and peered through the plastic.

“Yeah,” he murmured.  “If you see anything in there you like, it’s yours.”

Confused, she tilted her head and ran her fingers over the thin plastic.

“There’s a Bible in here, Mr. Lamlich,” she said, puzzled, “that’s a pretty heavy thing to get rid of…”

Without pause, he said, “Well, it was my son’s, and he died about a year ago, and it just makes me and the Mrs. sad, lookin’ at it, you know.  His name is in gold on the front, can’t really give it away.  Bad memories, you know.  He never read it much anyway.”

His eyes were wet, and they talked a moment about his late son.  He had worked in construction, and didn’t lead a very healthy lifestyle.  Blood pressure was high.  Just not a good life.

When they said their goodbyes, she walked back to the shredder, and peeled open the bag.  She held the Bible in her hands and wondered if it was right to shred God’s Word.  Mulling it over, she decided to hang onto it for a time—you never know when you could use an extra Bible.  The rest of the papers toppled out and into the canister, but something caught her eye.

Now, if Julie was not known for anything else, she was known for her planner.  Everything in her life was packed away into pages recording her trials, accomplishments, and even ordinary day-to-day tasks.  So when her eyes came upon the words Daily Journal, she stopped, delicately picking up the weathered book.

He said anything, right?  She thought to herself.

On her way home from work, the two items sat in her passenger seat, and she wondered at the pain of a father who had lost his only son.  At home, she made herself some tea and cozied up on the couch.  She read through some other books, but, distracted, her mind flashed back to the muddied pages.

Picking up the journal, she prayed that God would lead her thoughts.

Neat handwriting lined its pages.  Shifting from blue ink to red ink to green.  He never wrote in black.  Hospital visits, time in jail, a DUI, job interviews, heart surgery, medication, not being able to afford medication, his parents—he spoke of it all.  But mostly his thoughts revolved around his troubled marriage.  His wife, Sara.

He wrote about the times they fought, the nights she would leave him, and spoke of the few times where it seemed their marriage was healing.

Sometimes he skipped writing for months.

And as the months passed, his handwriting grew wilder and wilder.

March 17 – Pled guilty to DUI.

April 3 – Had a heart attack in jail, taken to the med, surgery.

April 6 – Discharged from the med.

May 7 – Took the states offer…Got out of jail at 8:45 PM.

May 8 – Sara and I spent a wonderful day together laying around and relaxing. We had several conversations concerning our past future.  There is a lot of love between us.

May  14 – My insurance officially did not work. I cannot fill my blood pressure medicines.

June 18 – My blood pressure is still high, but he let me go home.  Lost my job due to visa card purchases.

June 21 – Sara officially ended our marriage.

July 28 – I need to move somewhere where someone would pay me a little attention and show some concern for me.

July 29 – Spent the whole day in the room doing nothing as I am once again scared sh_tless and have become a recluse.  Was not able to eat anything as I did not have any money.

August 8 – Wish I would die.  I am very depressed and really have no desire to go on with life. If it wasn’t for my best friend Buckwheat I would not want to live. I am so lonely I can’t stand it.

His last entry would be in August, his print completely disfigured.  She could sense his pain as he wrote the entry.

August 11 – Found out where Sara really was this past weekend..with her boyfriend.

Julie scanned the rest of the journal for anything, but found nothing.  August 11th would be the last time he would write.  At the proverbial close of his life, she began to cry.  Someone’s words, someone’s feelings, someone's life was written in these pages.  She ached for this man.

Like a work of fiction, there were highs and lows, and each gave way to hope that he would rebound—come back and that things would start looking up.  But they never did.

Mr. Lamlich’s words came back to her.

He never read it much anyway.

Her fingers etched over the gold print on unused Bible.  If only he had known love, she thought.  True love.

She remembered when the pages of her own journals were filled with unpredictable hurt.  She remembered what it was like to be in a dark place, to have lost love.  To not want to go on.  She remembered the vivid ache, and her heart stung.

God had been speaking to her lately, almost calling her, preparing her for a life dedicated to this very purpose.  She felt passion rise in her for the homeless, the forgotten—the lost.  She wanted to save people—and, well, here was a glimpse at the true heart of man who had not known Him and died not knowing Him.

Save them, He said.  These are My children—the broken, the starved, the forgotten.

She closed the memoir on her lap, and prayed.

God, bring me someone in pain, someone hurting.  Bring me someone I can help.

Little did she know just how quickly God would answer her.

Retiring for the night, she opened her laptop to check her e-mail one last time.

Spam, spam, spam, crap, crap, crap, she thought.

She was moving so quickly down the screen, she almost missed his name.

“Hey!” greeted her in the subject line.

And as she stared in disbelief at the screen, it left her wondering how little of this message was by chance, and how much of it was God’s hand, her Father Above waiting to see his daughter’s response.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God (Ephesians 2:8).

For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Galatians 5:14).

But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him (1 John 3:17)?

Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you (Matthew 5:42).

Day 151

The Drive

They moved along the outskirts of the city, the orange glow fading behind them.  Soft music on the radio, they drove in comfortable silence.

He held her hand.  He knew that he loved her.

He had been patient, honoring her in every step.  He watched as she look demurely out the window into the shadows of the passing trees.  Though she knew not what was to come, she was excited, and he adored this about her.

Tonight was meant to be special, just like her.  She had told him once of when she was a child, in the family den, her father would walk to his large, aged stereo system, clicking on his favorite selection.  Mel Carter and the like would transform their small space into a ballroom.  He would smile as he took his daughter’s hands, her feet placed on his, and they would dance.  A childhood scattered with broken memories—this, she said, was one she surely treasured.

As he thought of this, he gently edged the car off the road.  There was nothing before them, nothing behind, and darkness surrounded them.  Their only illumination came from the stars.

She sat with a smile, intrigued.

“Come on,” he pushed open his car door.

Together, they stood in front of an audience of tall grass, a long stretch of road, and a bright moon.  She laughed, giddily eager.

“What are we doing?” she squeezed his hand.

“Just wait,” he smiled, “and stand…riiiiiiiight there.”

She tapped her foot, playfully impatient, and watched while he ran back to the car.

And it was then she heard it.

The smooth voice of Sam Cooke floated into the sky, and all the stars seemed to dance as they shined.

She pursed her lips as he walked towards her.  He was smiling still, his eyes bright.  He stood maybe five feet from her.  “Well, we have your music,” he started, taking one step toward her.  “We have the night sky…”  Another step.  “And I have you.”  Another step.  “Now,” he said, standing before her, shoulders bowed, invitingly, “may I have this dance?”

Her voice was almost inaudible, her eyes touched, and her hand was outstretched.  “Yes.”

He took her fingers in his and held her close.  They danced without speaking for a  time, the soothing chords of an old era washing over them.  Her head rested on his shoulders, and when she finally looked up at him, she was crying.  “Thank you,” she kissed him.  “This is special.”

She was special.  He knew that he wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life in hers, honoring her, protecting her, and loving her.  God had written him a beautiful love story, and he was determined to honor Him and the woman He had placed in his life for him to love.

—Dedicated to Micaela F. Berry

Okay, so maybe I’ve been watching too much of The Notebook lately.  Maybe.

But maybe not.

The above is a dream that I’ve held in my heart for a long time.  At some point I refused this dream, tying an anvil to it and letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean in my heart.  Too painful, too unrealistic.  Men like this don’t exist.  I’ve dated a million men—none have even come close!  I give up and I’m sending this dream away.  I refuse to have hope in something that will never exist.

But, this challenge is changing everything.  God is dramatically changing my life day by day.  So much so that sometimes I have to look in a mirror just to see if I recognize myself.

With all the lies God has been digging into, one of them is that, really, after October, I gave up fully on the idea of marriage.  And looking back, I never had a healthy idea of marriage anyway.  I thought that I would have to settle on anyone just to have someone.

But it’s now, while I’m learning and changing, that God is working on this within me.  And it’s through several different platforms.

Movies, like A Walk to Remember.  Books like Redeeming Love.  Real life married couples who consciously work on honoring each other.

It’s possible, Jamie.  Believe it.  Don’t shut down.  Don’t tune out or turn off the idea that it exists.

In time, I think my heart will be fully healed.  And I’m not saying that I think I will be married.  All I’m saying at this point is that God has started to reopen something inside of me that I was determined to keep closed.

Day 36

“I don’t have to…I get to.”

As the pastor continued teaching, I couldn’t let go of those words.

All week I’ve been praying about what of my story to share with my Sunday group.

How deep can I go?  What can they handle?  What can I handle?  What can I say to keep them from running?

Throughout the week I heard God telling me to tell it all.  To share everything.  Not out of guilt.  Not out of shame.  But to tell of His grace, His glory, how He pulled me away from my poisonous, addicted life.  The things He used to change my life aren’t pretty, but God builds beauty out of ashes, and, baby, I was burnt.

I don’t have to tell them, but I get to stationed itself in my heart.

As 5:30 rounded the clock, I was in a panic.  My heart was literally beating out of my chest.  Please let them love me after this, I prayed.

A friend reminded me yesterday that being obedient to the will of God is a lot better than wishing you had been.  And tonight I was obedient to God, and I shared my life with these girls who have so quickly become my family.  I don’t know how each felt afterwards, but I heard God saying, "One.  One needs to hear this."  And so I followed Him, knowing that if He said "only one" then that's the one that mattered.

At the end of the night, my eyes were met by gazes full of abounding love and grace, just as if Christ Himself had been sitting there, listening to me.

After the last few girls left, I curled up in front of my fireplace, partly from emotional exhaustion, and partly just taking a moment to praise God while Chris Tomlin and Audrey Assad’s song Winter Snow played on REPEAT.  The first time I heard this song was in my car, and it brought tears to my eyes.  I’m assuming it talks of God sending Christ to us, but my heart took on a meaning of its own.

It makes me think of how God didn’t bring me to Him.  He wasn’t quiet or gentle.  He saved me by ripping everything from me.

Could've come like a mighty storm

With all the strength of a hurricane

You could've come like a forest fire

With the power of heaven in Your flame

And You did, for me.

You could've swept in like a tidal wave

Or an ocean to ravish our hearts

You could have come through like a roaring flood

To wipe away the things we've scarred

And You did, for me.

For me, He did so much.  He tore away at the life I knew.  He took it from me by force, piece by painful piece.

What are you afraid of?  I hear Him gently.  This is the path I gave you.  Would you want anything different, anything less?  If they love Me, they love you.  Don’t let your fear keep you.  Peace.

Peace.  And I am at peace tonight, because He fell from the sky in the night to the earth below, and saved me.  And I get to tell that story.