Coming Home (30 page)

That’s where I am,
she thought.

In spite of her tentative, sometimes despairing, steps, she found herself gripped at the oddest times by that same feeling of utter joy. She was reminded of one of Darlene’s books,
Surprised by Joy,
written by C. S. Lewis, recalling that Darlene had once proposed the author’s experience as an argument for the faith.

At the time it didn’t impress Jessie in the least, but now it was almost mystifying, this almost disconnected feeling of pure
happiness
. Here she’d only taken little baby steps, hadn’t really made a commitment at all, but it seemed to her as if God had already met her halfway.

Later that week she called Betty Robinette and scheduled a short visit for the afternoon. “I’ll take you out to the B&E Filling Station,” Jessie offered, and Betty was delighted. Her favorite restaurant.

Jessie then worked up the courage to call Michelle and offer her services as a baby-sitter.

Michelle snorted into the phone, “I’m starting to think you’re some kind of child molester.”

“Michelle, please.”

“Laura’s got her own friends, you know. Kids her age.”

“I was just thinking maybe I could be like a big sister.”

Michelle laughed into the phone. “Well, don’t that beat all. You think I can’t be a mother?”

“It’s just that … you work a lot. I’ll do it for free … for a while,” she stammered.

“Stay away from my daughter,” Michelle finally said just before hanging up. Jessie was still stewing when Laura called an hour later.
What a mess,
Jessie thought.

“That went reasonably terrible,” Laura giggled into the phone.

“I can sneak down to the Rock House, you know.”

“No, honey. It’s not right.”

“Okay,” Laura replied, her voice dejected. “Then just keep calling my mom.”

Yep, that’ll work,
Jessie thought. “Honey, I’m praying for you.”

The phone went silent for a moment. “You are?” Laura finally got out. “But I thought—”

“Things change,” Jessie told her.

“Cool!”

During the weeks that followed, Grandmother continued to exhibit unusual behavior. More staring off into space, but most unusual was her drastic curtailing of club activities. “They can muddle without me,” she told Bill in Jessie’s hearing.

“Yeah, but can you muddle without
them
?”

“Bill, you’re like …”

“I know, I know,” Bill said, winking at Jessie. “I’m like a porcupine in a balloon shop.”

A few days later, Bill confided in Jessie. “She never just
sat
alone like this before.” He began shaking his head sadly.

Sometimes in the evening, Jessie would look up, only to find her grandmother staring at her affectionately, then glancing away. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

“I’m so glad you came home,” Grandmother said to Jessie one day, tearing up. “It’s meant the world to me.”

Her compliment was very touching, but also disconcerting. Her grandmother never complimented anyone. Even Bill was the recipient of a few harrowing moments. One day he pulled Jessie aside and complained, “She told me she’s grown accustomed to my cowboy hat.”

“We’ve got one sick woman on our hands,” Jessie said, smiling, trying to lighten the moment.

“I’m telling you,” Bill said. “It’s rather …”

“Freaky.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Dr. Sawyer called on a Thursday. The results were in. “Let’s schedule an appointment so we can discuss it,” the doctor suggested, sounding rather upbeat.

Jessie had almost forgotten. In fact, during the last few weeks, she’d begun living as if her potential illness didn’t exist. More than that, she’d found herself not
caring
about the results—surrounded by a new peace in the Lord that transcended her worries.

“May I call you back and schedule it later?” Jessie asked.

Dr. Sawyer seemed hesitant, then agreed.

Jessie hung up, knowing she was slipping back into the old patterns of denial.

I’ll call in a few days,
she rationalized. But in her heart, she already knew the results, didn’t she? What did it matter if she waited?

She informed Bill and her grandmother of her decision, glossing over it. “Maybe I just need to prepare myself,” she told them. Grandmother’s expression was worried but understanding. And that was the end of the discussion. For now.

In August Doris pulled a few strings and was able to leapfrog Jessie over some of the admissions process, enrolling her in Colorado College, an elite downtown college only a few miles away. She’d first offered Jessie a round-trip ticket to Oregon, but the idea had long since lost its appeal. A lifetime of planning and dreaming had simply fizzled away. For the moment, her life belonged at home.
How odd,
she thought,
that I would think of my grandmother’s house as home
.

Eventually life settled into a routine, accompanied by the scent of fall and the subtle promise of Christmas. Grandmother, although less feisty, seemed to have passed the worst of her depression. Michelle eventually succumbed to Jessie’s offer, but only because of the attraction of free baby-sitting. Jessie took those opportunities to introduce Laura to an entire collection of Disney animated movies, old and new, and Laura was absolutely enthralled. Jessie elaborated on the moral of each story, as her mother once had, and in time, she planned to talk Laura out of the ghost books. Slowly, she exerted her influence, knowing that only eternity would reveal the results.

And Bill? Well, sometimes it seemed as if Bill was the cog that turned the entire wheel of the household. He shuffled through his daily routine like a hapless clown sometimes. Day after day, his country music grew louder and louder, and Doris didn’t seem to notice anymore.

Jessie continued to mourn her decision regarding Andy, sometimes crying herself to sleep. Sometimes she caught herself secondguessing herself, daydreaming of a possible future with him—what might happen if the test results returned negative. Most likely, however, he’d have already moved on. That seemed more likely than any silly fantasy she could concoct.

The dreams of her mother continued, although they became less disturbing. In her prayers she began to thank God for the tragic events of her past and the beauty of the spiritual relationship that was opening like a flower with glorious promise, giving her renewed hope that in time things would improve.

It can only get better,
she thought.

Chapter Thirty-Two

ANDY WENT SKIING alone on the first weekend Breckenridge opened. His mother didn’t appreciate ski season, because it interfered with their Saturdays, and she didn’t so much care for football season, either, because it made her husband unavailable. In fact, anything that came between her and her men was considered a sworn enemy.

Andy had consoled his mom by agreeing to a Saturday night dinner
and
a Sunday lunch. Sometimes he felt he had to negotiate with his own mother.

“I need to talk to you and Dad.”

“What is it, Andy?” Mom’s tone was suddenly worried.

“Tonight, Mom.”

“Toss me a little crumb?”

“Tonight, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Mercy, Andy. You and your father’s secrets are going to be the end of me.”

He felt bad about scaring his mother. He hadn’t intended to, but at least it gave him a deadline to formulate his thoughts. He
had
to go through with it now. In spite of the loneliness of skiing on his own, he had plenty to keep himself occupied, and yet every time he got on the lift, he felt distracted, wishing Jessie were sitting next to him. He’d tried calling a few times since their last meeting, but their conversations had been short and terse—Jessie was obviously shutting him out of her life. As troubling as that was, it wasn’t the only thing that had kept him preoccupied these last few months.

“What convinced him it was true?”
Bill had asked regarding the apostle Paul, and the question had nagged him. Sure, he’d long been aware that Paul, once known as Saul of Tarsus, had accepted the truth of the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth long before the Gospels were written. He’d also accepted that there were scores of brilliant men and women, all much smarter than he, all with access to the same information, who had no problem making a stand for Christ. But this time it had taken no more than a simple man like Bill to really shake him up. In fact, it had never occurred to him that someday he might actually doubt the veracity of his own conclusions.

What is my problem?
he thought again for what seemed like the thousandth time. He spent the afternoon in the ski lodge at a table with a note pad, scribbling and rescribbling, taking one last stab at trying to figure it all out—as if a few hours of spiritual contemplation were all he needed to figure it out.

Andy arrived at his parents’ home at about six. His father, wearing a bright holiday sweater, met him at the door. “Saw your car, Andrew. Have a good day on the slopes?”

Andrew, is it?
His father was already in a formal frame of mind.

In the kitchen, his mother barely acknowledged him. She was tossing a salad with Italian olives, baby tomatoes, and green peppers. “Well, did you have a good time on your precious slopes?”

Andy kissed her cheek.

“Well, well, well,” she muttered. “Must be pretty serious if you’re already buttering me up.”

“Oh mercy,” Andy repeated his mother’s catch phrase, smiling to himself.

They ate in the formal dining room. His father discussed issues dealing with his medical practice—patient challenges, hospital politics, drug issues. His mother shared her own latest challenge: expanding the reading library at church.

“So … what’s up with you?” Dad finally asked just as Andy had taken his last bite of apple pie.

Andy gave Mom a reassuring smile, but she only narrowed her eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then fished a photo from his front pocket and handed it across the table to his mom, who frowned when she received it.

“Who is this?”

His dad gave his mom a puzzled look. “Dear?”

She handed the photo to his dad, who appraised it carefully.

“Does she go to your church?” Mom asked.

“Very attractive,” Dad finally added, to his mother’s snort of displeasure. Andy suppressed a smile. His father had already committed himself, but then he gave Andy’s mother a supportive look, as if to say,
I can take it all back
.

“That is the girl I want to marry,” Andy said simply, and he almost added,
if she’ll have me
.

His mother paled, and his father nearly fell off his seat. “Andy, how long have you known her?”

“All my life,” he replied.

His parents exchanged a worried look, and his mother spoke first. “This is Jessica Lehman, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Mrs. Robinette took the picture. Here’s another one of us together.”

His father grabbed the second photo, squinting. This time his parents huddled together, analyzing what little information a photo could contain. “She seems—”

“Very different,” his mother finished, sounding confused.

“Well,” Andy shrugged, “she’s twenty-four now. Just graduated from college.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Degree in finance.”

“Oh my,” his mother uttered, raising her eyebrows. “She doesn’t
look
sick.”

Andy had determined not to overstate his case nor look like a romantic dunce, but love has a tendency to make blathering fools of the most composed. “I was born to take care of her,” he said, cringing the moment he said it, although he could have gone on and on, ad infinitum.

His father turned to him with a serious look. “So …
this
is what you wanted to discuss?”

“Not exactly,” Andy said. “Just … the first thing… .”

Mom was still gazing at the picture. “Is she a Christian, Andy?” As usual his mother had gotten to the crux of the issue.

“I don’t know,” Andy replied, though he had a pretty good idea that she wasn’t.

“Oh, Andy …”

When he looked up, his father was clutching his mother’s hand. The closeness of their family had sometimes seemed repressive, especially for an only child. After all, here he was a twenty-fouryear-old man trying to get his parents’ blessing on a course they couldn’t possibly approve. Yet he was old enough to see that the rewards of family outweighed the loss of independence.

“Oh, Andy …” his mother repeated, shaking her head, and then tears began to streak her face. It seemed such an exaggerated response that Andy’s father looked as bewildered as he felt himself. Mom sniffed slightly and Dad leaned back, grabbing a tissue box from a small table. After she removed a tissue and wiped her eyes, she met her son’s gaze and said simply, “Then who will bring you Home, Andy? What will become of you?”

Andy shivered and his father looked stunned. It had never occurred to Andy that his mother might already know about his religious struggles. She wasn’t one to mince words about such things, but perhaps the collapse of her son’s faith was something she couldn’t bear to admit even to herself. It also explained her determination to marry him off to “a nice Christian woman.” In his mother’s world, the wife helped immensely in stabilizing the home, offering spiritual support.

“Andy,” his father began, “what
do
you believe?”

Andy hesitated again. He’d been asking himself the same question ever since Elizabeth canceled the engagement, but it was Jessie, in spite of her own struggles, who had finally brought everything to an apex for him.

Andy shared with them the whole story, starting with his own foolish spiritual bravado, then on to his consequent sinking like a drowning man into a sea of unbelief. It took a full hour to thread the story for them, and they appeared more dejected the longer he continued. He purposely painted the events as hopelessly as possible, trying to stack the deck, because if he didn’t, when they heard his final conclusions they might not be very pleased….

…
Why do I keep coming back to this?
he’d asked himself in the loneliness of a clamoring crowd of skiers catching a breather till their next ski run. He’d barely heard the noise of the room, although on a few occasions, some young woman would catch his eye from across the room and smile flirtatiously. He returned a warm but less than enthusiastic smile, then looked away, thinking only of Jessie.

In spite of the chaos of the ski lodge, he’d wished to be someplace different, where the routine of life couldn’t lull him into the old patterns of thinking.

All that afternoon, he felt like the man pounding at the gates of a giant castle, to no avail. Why did God seem so distant? Where was He?

And why am I so unhappy?
Andy wondered if he could dig deep enough into his heart to find at least a semblance of an answer.

But the answer was obvious.
I’m lonely.

And not just lonely for Jess but lonely for God. Lonely for what I

had before
.

For some reason he had always felt compelled to make sense of life, and while that was biting off more than he—or anyone—could chew, it occurred to him that no matter his ultimate conclusions, no matter how deeply he pondered man’s existence, one thing was obvious:

Something went terribly wrong here
. The entire scheme of life, all of mankind, seemed to testify to this. His own heart illustrated this innate wrongness—an obvious depravity—in spite of the fact that outwardly he appeared to live a good and clean life. Even mankind’s aversion to suffering and pain indicated that humanity wasn’t supposed to live in a suffering world. No matter how you sliced the deck, no matter whether you bought the story of a Garden of Eden or not, something had gone terribly wrong on planet earth.

And in turn, those very things seemed to point to—seemed to
demand
—the need for redemption. Yet, from his cursory understanding of the religions and philosophies of the world, only Christianity offered a means. While he couldn’t speak for the world, he could speak for himself. He knew his own heart, his own pride and selfishness, and knew without a doubt that he needed redemption. He needed a Savior.

Our hearts are restless until they find rest in thee,
Augustine had written, and despite his intellectual struggles, Andy knew firsthand the angst of restlessness. At one point he’d briefly—
very
briefly—dabbled in New Age thought, only to abandon it with a fervor that far outstripped his abandonment of Christianity. The god of other religions seemed so impersonal, weak, insufficient. But why was that so disturbing to him? Did his heart innately
know
God must be different? Did his heart
know
the truth even while his mind struggled to believe it?

It struck him so deeply then, so obviously, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. He
wanted
Christianity to be true. He
wanted
to believe in a God who knew him personally, who loved him more than
His
own life.

Freud was wrong,
Andy thought.
Our wishes, our
wants,
if interpreted correctly, ultimately point to reality. How can we, as human beings, long for something that doesn’t exist? How can we long for God if He doesn’t exist? And how can we long for redemption from suffering and sin if redemption doesn’t exist?

For Christians, the means of that redemption was the cross—once metaphorically foretold by the serpent on the stake, which the Israelites, if willing, could behold and be saved.

But I still don’t understand,
Andy thought.

The cross is foolishness to the wise,
the apostle Paul had indicated.

Andy shivered.
I need the cross whether I can fully understand it or not
.

In that moment, Andy made a decision. He had
enough
evidence. Bill was right—the highly intellectual Paul would not have been foolish enough to simply accept the word of a few uneducated fishermen. The future writer of the Epistles would have demanded evidence.

So, following his heart, Andy chose to bow before the cross, regardless of doubt, because even his intellect told him that the cross, whether metaphor or myth—or the absolute truth—was what he needed. So there in the chalet, he bowed his head—his intellect—to God, and his prayer of surrender echoed the man of old who said to Jesus, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.”

Would God accept such a feeble sacrifice? Would God forgive his strange mingling of belief and doubt? While the answer seemed to be implied within the mercy of the Scriptures, he had no choice anyway. It was the
only
first step he could make, albeit the most faltering step he could imagine.