30 Nights With God 5n1o32

30 Nights with God

Deborah C. Cruce

Copyright © 2017 Deborah C. Cruce.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-7831-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-7832-8 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-7830-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903554

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/05/2017

“Be still, and know that I am God” Psalm 46:10a

For Daddy, you were my hero for a lot of my life, thank you for always being there for me

For God the Father, because you gave me the gift of words and never gave up on me

Table of Contents

Prologue

Day One

Dream 1

Day Two

Dream 2

Day Three

Dream 3

Day Four

Dream 4

Day Five

Dream 5

Day Six

Dream 6

Day Seven

Dream 7

Day Eight

Dream 8

Day Nine

Dream 9

Day Ten

Dream 10

Day Eleven

Dream 11

Day Twelve

Dream 12

Day Thirteen

Dream 13

Day Fourteen

Dream 14

Day Fifteen

Dream 15

Day Sixteen

Dream 16

Day Seventeen

Dream 17

Day Eighteen

Dream 18

Day Nineteen

Dream 19

Day Twenty

Dream 20

Day Twenty-One

Dream 21

Day Twenty-Two

Dream 22

Day Twenty-Three

Dream 23

Day Twenty-Four

Dream 24

Day Twenty-Five

Dream 25

Day Twenty-Six

Dream 26

Day Twenty-Seven

Dream 27

Day Twenty-Eight

Dream 28

Day Twenty-Nine

Dream 29

Day Thirty

Dream 30

Day Thirty-One

Epilogue

Heartfelt Thanks

About the Book

About the Author

Prologue

I didn’t always see angels. But after spending thirty nights with God, I see angels everywhere. They are all shapes, sizes, colors, both genders, visible and invisible. No, of course I can’t see invisible angels. I only see their actions. Like when your hat blows off and you chase it away from the street where you were about to step in front of a bus because you were worrying about your sick son at home … But I digress. Yes, I see angels now. Being exposed to the Trinity that is God for thirty straight nights will do that to you. Although I do not recommend in any way, shape, or form that you do what I did. I took the hard road. The toughest road. The life or death road. I want to tell you my story, in the hopes that you will choose another path. Choose life, not death. Choose truth, not lies. Choose God, not addictions. This is my story as best I can recall. Given that I have seen the face of God and lived to tell the tale.

Day One

November 6

I do not much about that first day except that I was angry. I was sedated most of the time. When the pills wore off, I was mean and argumentative. Being locked in a ten by twelve room was not what I wanted. And I told the doctors, nurses, attendants, counselors, kitchen help, and janitors just that at the top of my lungs. They showed me the ission papers at about six o’clock that evening, during a brief coherent moment of calm, before I fell back to sleep. At 5:35 a.m. on a Tuesday in November, after having my stomach pumped free of the twentyseven sleeping pills I had taken, I confessed to being suicidal. I checked myself in and gave them permission to keep me until they decided to release me. Not me. I waived my right to decide when to leave. In a lucid moment of deep overwhelming pain, I told them I wanted to get better. I wanted to live. What a load of garbage!

Dream 1

I dreamed that night of God. It was crystal clear, like a movie I was watching yet starring in at the same time. I say he was God, but he didn’t look like George Burns or Morgan Freeman. He looked more like a young Bill Pullman, an everyman kind of guy. I sat with arms folded, dressed in a faded green hospital gown, on a wooden bench overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. It was late. The sky was a deep dark blue and full of stars. The moon was just a bit past half full. I watched a few people with flashlights looking for sand crabs along the shore. The sound of the waves soothed me, as it always had. The rhythmic sound calmed me like the meds never did. It seemed like hours as we sat there—not speaking. I don’t know why I accepted his presence at the other end of the bench. Occasionally I would glance at him as he sat, bent slightly forward, hands clasped between his knees. My arms unfolded and slipped to my sides as I leaned back and studied the stars. I sighed, feeling some of the anger drain away. It was such a sense of relief. I looked at him again and he turned his head, a small smile crossing his lips. “Who are you?” I asked. He smiled again, but did not answer. “What are you doing?” “Praying,” he responded. “For who?” “For you, Elizabeth.” I shook my head. “That’s a waste of time. I’m too far gone. God wouldn’t want me back.”

“Yes, he does.” I snorted. “Right. How do you know?” “Because I Am.” “What? God doesn’t pray to himself. That would just be silly. Who are you really, and why are you in my dream?” He held out his hand, but I folded my arms again and clenched my hands into fists. I was not touching or taking this stranger’s hand. Yet he continued to hold it out toward me. The moonlight cast a glow across his palm and wrist, and I saw scars there. Old wounds, healed, but I could tell they had been deep. Had he tried to kill himself? No, I thought, not the right kind of mark. Then it struck me. Who. He. Was. Abruptly I rose from the bench and walked away. Then ran. Tears fell one after the other until they streamed down my face. I ran until I collapsed from the burning in my lungs, the stitch in my side, and the raw pain in my heart. I would not, could not, look Jesus in the face. I wrapped my arms around my knees, clenching my eyes closed. “No, no, no …”

Day Two

November 7

“Shhhhh, child. It’s okay. You’re safe.” A cool rag wiped my face, and I blinked my eyes open. I was staring into the blackest eyes I had ever seen. Even more unusual was the kindness I read in them. For me. Toward me. I didn’t want kindness. I wanted out of there. My dream rushed back over me and I pushed the washcloth away. “Leave. Me. Alone.” She stood there a moment and looked down at me. “I can’t do that. You need help and that’s what I’m here for.” I threw back the sheets and sat up. The room swayed and me with it. I thought I might throw up. “Hold on girl. I’ll help you.” She steadied me with her arm around my shoulder. I pushed her away. “Just get my clothes. That’s how you can help.” “They haven’t come back from the laundry yet.” “When will that be?” I said as I focused on her name tag, “Mabel.” She looked at the bright-blue watch on her wrist. “Tenish, I’d say. It’s seven now. What do you want for breakfast?” “I don’t want breakfast.” “I’ll let Dr. Pearson know,” her tone disapproving. “And we’ll start an IV for nutrients.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Wait! I don’t want an IV!” Mabel turned back. “Sooo … you do want breakfast?” Her right eyebrow raised, forming a question on her beautiful cocoa-colored face. “Sure. Fine. Toast is good.” Mabel brought back toast, scrambled eggs, a banana, and a glass of orange juice. I ate the toast while sitting in the chair by the window and looking outside at the sunshine. I ignored the rest of the food. Pushing the tray away, I noticed the red plastic bracelet on my wrist. Somehow the red indicated I was a nut case. But typed precisely on the label was “Elizabeth Ann Grace Sullivan, forty-six, December 7, November 6, and Dr. S. Pearson”—whom I did not know and had not seen. Basic info. That told them nothing about me, the real me. What other info was needed? Mabel hadn’t left my chart clipped to the end of the bed. But instructions were written on the white board on the opposite wall. It recorded my urine output, blood pressure, temperature, and other vital statistics. I did not understand the need for any of that, because physically I was healthy. A number of doctors over the past eight months had said so. I had complained of pains that no one had been able to diagnose. That’s when I suspected that something was really wrong. Sleeping pills didn’t work. Antidepressants didn’t work. Alcohol worked at first. In fact for several months it worked quite well. I worked all day, successfully, and then drank all night until I fell asleep. I was a functional situational alcoholic. At least that’s what I read on the Internet. A specific event triggered the use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, but I was still doing normal things okay. I ate. I bathed. I worked. I paid bills. Then the alcohol stopped working. I was smart enough to know what was happening, but not smart enough to stop it or get the right kind of help. My reasoning became faulty. The doctors couldn’t help so what would a counselor do except tell me that I was grieving. I already knew that. The counselor would prescribe more meds and I already had my drug of choice. Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum with caffeine-free Coke worked quite

well. Until it stopped working. Mabel watched me take my meds before she left me alone. I was physically calm but a bit agitated. I was cloudy mentally but still alert enough to feel angry and have the desire to get out of there. Mabel brought my cleaned, pressed blue jeans, long-sleeved Pike’s Peak T-shirt, and black fleece jacket at ten o’clock as promised. “When will the doctor be by?” I asked. “After lunch.” “After lunch? I’ve been waiting since seven this morning!” “He does have other patients to see, and your lab work isn’t back yet. We had some difficulties getting enough samples to run the tests.” She stared me down. I knew she was referring to me knocking over the first tray of vials and breaking them all. I guess they got the next batch when I was knocked out. “I’d like to see the doctor as soon as possible. I need to get home, call work …” “I’ll relay the message. Would you like a ham or turkey sandwich for lunch?” “I’m not hungry.” Mabel just stood there. Hand on ample hip, sassy as could be. All black power and kindness still. Firm. White uniform, chocolate skin, dark hair with just a few streaks of gray. It occurred to me I might like her under different circumstances. But here she was all up in my circumstances and in my way. “Ham sandwich.” “White or wheat?” “Wheat.” She left then, closing the door behind her. How she got in and out of my room

and I couldn’t puzzled me. Yet another sign of my cloudy mental faculties. I flopped down in the chair and spotted my Vera Bradley backpack in the corner. I didn’t bringing it, but it made sense since I carried it like a purse. I unzipped the front pocket and found all my identification, cash, debit card, credit card, and information still there and intact. info? Who knew I was here?

Dream 2

I’m on the bench again but with my own clothes on, not the wretched hospital gown. I had refused the gown and was sleeping in my jeans and shirt. This night was very similar to the previous night except I was alone on the bench. No Jesus. I sat and stared at the waves rolling in, listening to the sounds of the ocean, that low constant crash and retreat of the water. I could feel the soothing rhythm running along my nerves, calming me like the night before. My fists unclenched. It had been a frustrating afternoon. The nurse who relieved Mabel was too perky and too young for me. The doctor was distant as he answered my questions, meeting my eyes as he stated his refusal to release me until I had a thorough psychological evaluation. Following a loud outburst filled with multiple curse words, I refused dinner and knocked my meds to the floor. Now my stomach grumbled. “Want some?” Startled I looked to my right to see an older man offering me his open package of Oreos, my favorite cookies. Why not, I thought, it’s my dream. I took three cookies and nodded my thanks. I bit into the first one and sighed. Too bad he didn’t have milk too. “Here you go.” He handed me a tall glass of milk and smiled. We ate in silence. Dipping our cookies in our milk and biting off small bites. He handed me three more cookies and I even ate those, though three was my usual limit. They tasted chocolaty sweet on my tongue and the milk was fresh, rich and cold. I brushed my hands off and sighed again, draining the last of my milk all the way

to the crumbs in the bottom of the glass. I sat my empty glass on the bench between us, next to his. “Thank you,” I said quietly, digging my bare toes in the cool sand, looking at the swirls made by my feet. “You’re welcome.” There was no one out tonight, so we were alone. I felt sleepy and found myself lying down on the bench, my head pillowed on my hands. Our milk glasses gone, vanished from between us. He slid closer and offered his lap. Why I accepted, I have no idea, except I felt safe. I wanted to ask who he was, but feared the answer, so I kept quiet and closed my eyes. His hand smoothed my hair back from my face like I was a small child instead of forty-six years old. It felt good. How long had it been since I received a touch offered in comion, without need of reciprocal touch or act? I could not . It seemed like years since I had accepted a hug in comfort. Yet I allowed this familiar stranger to feed and smooth my hair like my mom used to when I was little. She loved me dearly. I knew that without doubt. But she too had retreated from my anger of the past months. She hadn’t understood. No one had. “Peace, child,” he whispered, “sleep in peace.”

Day Three

November 8

I did not know what day it was. What day of the week nor the exact calendar date either. I knew it was November, but that’s all. Every nurse, lab tech or blasted person who came through my door wanted to know my name, birthday and today’s date. I told the first two Elizabeth Ann Sullivan, December 7th, and November something. I told the third one Sarah Palin and none of her friggin’ business. I told the next one Lois Lane and she just checked my red bracelet. Finally Mabel brought the shrink-slash-counselor-slash-doctor in to see me. Aimee Conner. “Would you like to go to my office, or stay here and talk?” she asked. I wondered if this was a test and I studied her before answering. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, straight, thick, and tucked behind both ears. She wore pearl studs, but no necklace that I could see. Her blue eyes assessed me from behind rectangular dark-framed glasses. She was medium height and slender enough to wear the straight cut of her charcoal pant suit well. “Your office.” “Okay then, follow me.” She punched some code and opened the door, holding it open for me. I looked up and down the hall, curious about my surroundings. “Mabel,” she called out, “we’re going to my office. Can you come get Elizabeth in an hour?” Mabel, talking on the phone at the nurses’ station, gave her the okay sign and off we went to the right. We went through two sets of double doors before entering her office. It was small but comfortably furnished with a desk, two chairs, a love

seat, and a bookcase. There was a window along the far wall. Something soft and jazz-like was playing on a small compact disc player. The smell of vanilla from some sort of diff was a nice homey touch. She sat on the loveseat and I took the chair opposite her. “I’m so glad you could see me today. I really am ready to get out here and start over. Dr. Pearson said I couldn’t leave without a psych eval. So let’s get this done.” Aimee looked at her notes, and then flipped to a new page. “You’ve been here a little over two days, correct?” “Yes.” I smiled. I wanted to look calm and confident. “And you are ready to leave?” she asked quietly. “As soon as you do this, then the doc said I could go.” “Three days ago you tried to kill yourself. What has changed?” I squirmed a bit in my chair. I knew I needed to be convincing. “I’m calmer, clear-headed, and recognize that I made a poor choice. I want to start fresh, start over.” “What poor choice was that?” “Taking a bottle of sleeping pills.” “Why did you do that?” I shrugged, looking down and away from her. “I’d rather not talk about it. I’ve put that behind me now and I want to move forward.” She wrote for a moment, then adjusted her glasses and gazed directly into my eyes. “You said you were calmer, but didn’t you yell at Dr. Pearson yesterday?” “I got a bit angry.” “Why?”

“He said he couldn’t release me as long as I was a threat to myself. I assured him I was not going to harm myself. I already had learned that. Didn’t I call 911? But he refused to believe me.” “Then you refused dinner. How is that taking care of you?” I closed my eyes and breathed in. Stay calm. I opened my eyes and tried the smile again. “I just wasn’t hungry.” “And today?” “I’ve eaten breakfast and lunch. Ask Mabel.” “Good. What choice are you going to make the next time your problem comes up?” “I’ll handle it.” “How?” “Isn’t that your job, to give me coping mechanisms?” Her raised eyebrow confirmed I had slipped over into sarcasm. “That is a part of my job. One I cannot help you with since you refuse to discuss your problem. Apparently you have been reading up on the psychology of—.” “Depression. And nothing you say will help me, so let’s move on.” “Tell me about the alcohol.” “I have a few drinks.” “Define a few drinks.” I knew I had to be somewhat truthful. “A couple of drinks a few nights a week.” “That’s all?” she asked. “Yes.” I stated firmly. Definitely. She didn’t need to know the whole truth. Doc Aimee got up and leaned across her desk, punching an intercom button on

her phone. “Tell Mabel she can come get Ms. Sullivan.” Just her tone clued me in to the fact she was not going to let me go today, but I tried anyway. “So, I’m free to go?” “Back to your room.” “How long to process the paperwork?” “That depends on you, Elizabeth. First, you need to start telling me, and yourself, the truth.” “What are you talking about?” She flipped back a few pages in her notes. “Fourteen empty bottles of rum in the trash. Ten bottles of various sleeping pills. No food of any substance. Bills stacked on the foyer table. No clean clothes, except a load in the dryer. Five dead plants.” As she ticked off the evidence, I felt release slipping away. I stood then and began to pace in the small office. “Look, I can’t stay here. I have a job, a home, plans …” “Your job has given you a leave of absence. Your parents have cleaned your house. Your day-planner was empty of plans.” “My job knows I’m here? In the loony bin?” I dragged my hands through my hair, trying to stay calm. “My parents know I’m here too?” She consulted her notes. “Yes, you called and left work a message that first morning. And you actually spoke to your mother.” I ran my hands over my face, thinking, and thinking. How was I going to explain this? How could I spin this into a celebrity rehab type thing? “How can I explain this?” “You already did, Elizabeth.” “No. I can’t be crazy. No one should know. I have to be strong. You see why I have to leave, right?” My voice was rising. “You shouldn’t have told them.”

“You told them.” She scanned her notes again. “You called them and said you were getting help, asked them to pray for you.” I reached over and snatched the notebook. “Stop it. Just stop analyzing me and looking at me that way. I just need to get out of here …” Just then Mabel opened the door. The scream came from deep within. “NO, I AM NOT GOING BACK TO THAT ROOM.” Some part of me watched the rest of me have a breakdown right there in the counselor’s office. The tears, the anger, the pain all took over. It was like I couldn’t plug all the holes in the dam any more. There were too many truths leaking through into my carefully constructed make-believe world. How could I hide the ugly truth if everyone knew it? Where could I hide? And still I fought until they sedated me and took me back to the room.

Dream 3

I was curled up in my bed at home when I awoke in my dream. It was daylight with the windows cracked and the blinds slanted open. I I used to do that when I woke up early all through spring and summer. I hadn’t this year. I was dressed in my favorite nightgown and I had a cup of my favorite coffee in my hands. I sipped slowly, suspicious. It sure tasted real. And I might have thought it was except for the man sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed, sipping his own coffee. A plate of beignets sat between us on the bed and I watched him eat one, then carefully lick the sugar off each finger. I took one. “Oreos last night and beignets tonight. I’m going to get fat.” “Mine are calorie free.” He grinned. “Did Jesus send you?” I asked. “Jesus prayed. I sent myself. Don’t try to figure it out.” He waved a hand in the air and then deftly changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Elizabeth?” I paused and did a quick assessment of myself. “Okay.” “Good. Just relax and enjoy your coffee and doughnuts.” This was ludicrous. “What kind of meds are they giving me?” “I’m not here because of the meds, Elizabeth.” I tilted my head and studied his earnest face and demeanor. He was calm, assured, and radiated peace. The kindness in his eyes reminded me of Mabel’s. “Mabel is one of mine.” “But this is a dream?” “Yes.”

“You’re not real.” He raised both eyebrows. “You’re not! You are some manifestation of a hero or rescuer or something. You are not God.” He did not argue with me but got up and looked at the pictures on my walls. Collages of pictures of all the people I loved. He pointed to a picture of me with my best friend. “Theresa misses you and prays for you every day.” “I miss her.” “She couldn’t have you drinking in front of her grandkids.” “I know.” Guilt churned. He pointed then to an Easter picture from several years ago. All of my family was in it. A neighbor had taken the photo. “They miss you too. They want to help.” “They can’t help. No one can.” He turned to look at me then. His hands stuck deep in his khaki pockets. His dark brown eyes filled with concern. “I can.” Sarcasm swelled with the pain in my chest. “Really? Well if you are really God, then put my family back together again. Then I might believe you.” “No,” he said softly yet clearly. I waved him off then. “Then just go. I don’t want to know you. You can’t help me either.” I reached into my night stand drawer and pulled out a bottle of rum. I opened it, defiant as he watched. I tilted the bottle up, but nothing came out. I threw it across the room and it slammed against the wall. “Has that helped you?” God asked. “It dulls the pain.” “I can heal the wound that causes the pain.”

I flipped over on my side, turning my back to him and shutting my eyes. “Bring back my husband and daughter and we’ll talk.”

Day Four

November 9

“Good morning! Your breakfast is here.” I rolled to my side away from Mabel. What had God said about her last night? She was one of his. I could see that now. “I’m not hungry.” “I thought we were done with that attitude.” “I don’t feel good.” She moved quickly and quietly for such a large woman. Her feet barely whispered across the tile floor and her cool hand was on my forehead. She stuck the temperature reader in my ear. It beeped, but she said nothing. “You need to take your meds.” I held out my hand, took the cup, downed the meds with a sip of water, and closed my eyes. I was so tired. Just so very tired. *** I covered my eyes at the sudden brightness from the overhead light, until it blinked away. “Elizabeth? Mabel says you aren’t feeling well. Is that true?” Shrink Lady asked. I flashed back to yesterday’s conversation about her wanting me to tell her the truth. “I feel awful.” Doc Aimee pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down and looked me in the face. “I think we should talk about yesterday.”

“Look. I’m sorry about yelling at you, and getting upset. It won’t happen again.” “What upset you?” “It doesn’t matter.” “Yes, it matters a great deal.” I tuned her out then. I closed my eyes, my mind, and willed myself to sleep again. No dreams. No nightmares. Pain free. Silent. Quiet. Sleep.

Dream 4

“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see you.” God and I sat on the swings in a very busy park. It was a bright sunny day and children ran everywhere. Slides, merry-go-rounds, and the monkey bars were all covered with kids. Moms and Dads watched over them, or chased them, or threw Frisbees with them. They laughed and smiled and hugged. I used to love the park. Now it made me sad, and I closed my eyes. The roar of the ocean waves filled my ears. We were at the beach now, but so were all the families. Playing volleyball, building sand castles, and flying kites. “Why are you doing this to me? Just leave me alone.” I covered my face with my hands. My heart broke to hear them all. Then it was silent. And dark beyond my closed eyelids. I heard an owl hoot and then the crackle of a fire. I smelled something burning. I wiped my tears and opened my eyes. We were in a small clearing in the woods with a wonderful fire, and hot dogs were roasting over the flames. God turned the skewers the hot dogs were on—to burn them evenly I assumed. He glanced back at me. “Better?” I nodded, my face stuck in a sad position. “Good. Have a hotdog.” I started to say no, but my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten all day. He handed me a foot long with ketchup, mustard, onions, pickles and little bit of chili. “You’re just like my mom, always feeding me.” “Where do you think moms got that from?”

I took a bite and chewed. “You?” He pointed to himself. I took another bite. It was perfect. “This is just the way I like it.” “I know.” He put napkins in my lap and a Diet Cherry Coke in the drink holder of my folding camp chair. I watched as he fixed his hot dog with sauerkraut. “Ewww … how can you eat that?” God smiled at me. “I like variety.” Images flashed through my mind. Blue birds, cardinals, sparrows, sea gulls, pelicans, hummingbirds, eagles, and many more than I could name. Oaks, redwoods, palms, firs, pines, birches and again more than I could name. Butterflies, flowers, types of clouds, the shades of the color blue … thoughts spun faster and faster through my mind. And people, the variety of people. Shades of white, brown, and red skin, with all kinds of textures and colors of hair, light and dark eyes, short and tall heights, and baby sizes to Sumo wrestler sizes. Stunned, I stared into his eyes and saw my thoughts there. I nodded thoughtfully, wiping my mouth free of mustard and chili. “I can see that.” He took a big bite of his own hotdog and chewed with his cheeks puffed out. God could be a pig about his food. He seemed satisfied with our silence and sat back in his chair to study the flames. I did likewise. I watched them flicker and reach, changing colors, greedily burning up the wood. The warmth seeped into my bones and my tiredness gradually overcame me. I think I actually nodded off in my dream. Isn’t that weird? To fall asleep while sleeping? I awoke briefly as God tucked me into bed at the private care facility, the thirty day live-in program, where I was spending my days. The place was called Safe Haven. A part of me hoped it really was.

Day Five

November 10

“Girl, what have you got on your face? It looks like mustard … … where did you get mustard?” “The hotdog,” I mumbled, rolling away from her and the light. “You’ve got to get up. You’ve got visitors today.” That got my attention. I pushed the hair from my face and propped up on one arm. “Who?” “You need to get a shower. Eat. They should be here shortly.” “Who, Mabel?” “Your mom and dad.” I slid from the bed, and then stopped halfway to the bathroom. “I have nothing to wear. I can’t let them see me like this. No makeup. No. Tell them no.” I turned back toward the bed, but Mabel blocked me. “Go get in the shower. I’ll work on clothes, make up and such. Wash that hair too.” Mabel pushed me into the bathroom and closed the door. I did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Dingy straggly brown hair, dark circles under dark eyes, shallow unhealthy skin, thin lips stretched into a grimace. What had I done to myself? I got in the shower, turning it on full blast and hot. I lathered my hair up and let the suds wash down over my face and body. For a few moments I was okay and then the tears started. My parents, whom I adored, were coming to see me in a mental hospital. A thirty day program for crazy people.

How far I had fallen this past eight months. I had become no one. Not a wife. Not a mother. Not an employee. Not a friend. Not a daughter, sister or aunt. I wept, the sobs shaking me until I sank to the floor of the shower. The loss overwhelmed me. I could do nothing but cry. Mabel found me there, the water running cold. She turned off the shower and somehow got me up, dried off and wrapped me in a towel. She bustled out of the room for a moment and came back with a suitcase and a small travel case. “Your mom brought some of your things.” She opened the suitcase and unzipped the case. I rose from my seat on the toilet and walked into the room and my gaze went immediately to the pictures on the table, and the stack of books, and the vase of bright white daisies. Where had she found daisies in November? Leave it to mom to find the impossible. A smile tried to cross my lips. I picked up the first photo of mom and dad from last Christmas. The second photo was of me and my best friend, Theresa. The last photo I tipped down on the table. Taking a deep breath, I ran a hand through the clothes in the suitcase and peered into the shoulder bag. I saw make up, hair brush, and found all kinds of comfy clothes—jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, socks, tennis shoes, and my flannel nightgown. All good choices for a woman going nowhere the next month. “Do you need help getting dressed? Do you want me to dry your hair?” Mabel asked. I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay.” “I’ve put your parents in the guest waiting room, so you buzz me when you get ready and I’ll take you out to them.” I nodded, fingering the soft flannel of my gown. I stood there another few minutes, looking at the pictures, the clothes, the books. Flashes of memories kept coming and coming. Vacations with family, sleepovers with mom making cookies, sharing tears over boys and hurt feelings and failed tests, watching football with dad, dad teaching me how to drive, college graduation … years and years of shared joys and sorrows.

I wanted to see Mom and Dad … but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not like this. I had to get better first. Grabbing my backpack from the floor I searched out a pen and a scrap piece of paper. After scribbling furiously for a few minutes I buzzed Mabel. She pushed open the door, her smile fading quickly to concern. “Why aren’t you dressed?” I held out the letter I’d written. “Please take this to my parents.” She took the folded page slowly. “Are you sure?” “They can come back, right?” “Yes. Visiting day next week.” I nodded. As soon as she left I went to the window and peered out between the slats of the blinds. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my parents walking back to their car, on the other side of the six foot chain link fence. After a few minutes, I saw them. They walked holding hands, heads down. When had they aged so much? Had I done that? To me they had always been young, vibrant, active and alive. I hoped they had understood the note and would return next week.

Dream 5

“Dear Mom and Dad, Thank you so much for coming today and bringing me a few of my things. You can’t begin to understand or appreciate what you have until you’ve truly lost it all. In fact I’ve even lost me. Your daughter is here somewhere, but I’m asking you to be patient a while longer, and give me a chance to find her again. I love you both so much. I simply cannot bear for you to see me this way. I will try harder to get well. And the next time you come your daughter will be here to greet you. Love, Elizabeth Ann” “It’s a nice letter,” God said. “I just wrote fast. I didn’t think about it.” “I said it was a nice letter.” “I should have seen them. They’ve already put up with so much …” “They are fine.” “They looked old. I should be taking care of them, not them taking care of me.” “Elizabeth?” I stopped pacing on my back porch and looked at him. His dark brown eyes were kind and I felt mine fill again with tears. “They understand. They would have liked to have seen you, but they are okay.” “At least I can’t complain to Doc Aimee about a horrible childhood. I had the best childhood.” I threw my hands in the air and started pacing again. “What went wrong?”

He stopped my pacing by stepping in front of me and taking my shoulders in his large gentle hands. “You tell me what went wrong.” “No!” burst out of me. I shook my head. “No.” “Okay. Let’s go for a walk then.” He took my hand and then we were at the park where I used to walk every day. “Two miles?” he asked. Feeling restless I said, “Three miles.” And off we went. We set a steady pace and wove in and out of those slower than us. My stride was good. My balance was good. My shoes fit well. “We should be able to talk—” I cut God off. “Let’s just walk today.” So we walked. Me and God. A three mile loop around the park, past other walkers, through the trees, listening to the birds, watching the dogs and squirrels. I worked up a healthy sweat and it felt good. When we stopped, he handed me a water bottle. It was cool and refreshing. Why did everything seem more in my dreams? Was it just the dream or God? “Me.” God said. “Stop reading my mind.” “You’re broadcasting so loudly, no one has to read it. They can just look at your face.” We sat down under a shade tree away from the other people. “I used to be a good poker player.” “You really weren’t. Theresa let you win. And everyone knew about you kissing Adam in the attic. Everyone knew you had a crush on Joey, except Joey. He was a bit obtuse. Theresa thought it best to let you pretend to hide things. She is your best friend.” “She was. Then life got busy.”

“You were still good friends, your relationship changed and adapted. She misses you.” “I can’t believe that. I stood her up five times in the last six months. She still leaves messages on my answering machine, but she stopped trying to make plans with me. I don’t call back.” I slammed my water bottle down and stood up. “This is impossible. How am I going to put my life back together again? I have hurt everyone. Pieces of my life are missing. I don’t have the strength or the wisdom to do this.” “You have help.” I snorted. “Shrink lady? Doc Aimee? I know more about depression than she’ll ever know.” “Wrong.” He corrected me. “She’s quite smart, and beyond that she’s kind.” “Great.” I rolled my eyes. “You have more help.” “Mabel? Yes, you said she was one of yours. I can see that, but that perky CindyLou-Who chick makes me want to plug my ears.” God chuckled. “She’s just young.” I sat back down on the bench. “You have more help.” “Who else?” “Me.” “You are a figment of my dreaming imagination.” “Just a little faith, Elizabeth,” he took my hand in his, “I need you to have just a little faith.”

Day Six

November 11

I stared out the window, perched with my knees up in my chair, still in my pajamas at 12:17 p.m. I used to say the longer you stayed in your pajamas the better a day was. The people around here don’t think that way. Mabel had been bugging me about getting dressed, but I was just too tired. “Just have a little faith, he says,” I mumbled to myself. That proved He wasn’t God. He was asking for the impossible. “And I am the God of the impossible,” I said out loud in a deep annoying voice. I’m sure some pastor had said it repeatedly to the congregation and me throughout my life. My gaze dropped to the stack of books my mom had brought. One of them was my much-used, long-time retired New King James Instructional Bible. The spine was creased and cracked, the pages folded, bent and covered in blue, black and red ink. A rubber-band held all the pages in because the back third had pulled away from the spine. I knew why she had brought this one instead of my newer one. I had loved that Bible. It was a constant companion during the early days of my adult life. Days when I had been trying to find my own faith. I knew the verses about faith, unbelief, and the God of the possible. I had believed strongly in them. Had. Past tense. Then a large black hole had opened and swallowed my life. “What are you mumbling to yourself?” Mabel asked, clearing away my lunch tray.

Raw and emotional, I asked the question. “Do you belong to God?” “Yes, I do.” “Have you ever dreamed about God?” Mabel thought a moment then shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so, I don’t my dreams much. But I have seen Him when I was awake.” I sat up, letting my feet drop to the floor. “You have?” She smiled. “Every day. In the sun rise, in my husband’s face, in the breeze, in the bird’s song, in the flowers here in our garden, in the counselor crying with her patient, in the doctor writing prescriptions for the drugs created to help, not harm, in the stars at night, in the mirror above my bathroom sink.” I hunched back over. “I meant like really see Him, like you see me.” Mabel cocked her head. “Well, the Bible says Moses wanted to see God, but God only let him see Him from behind. But when Moses spoke face to face with God, then Moses glowed with the glory of God. I believe I would if I had seen the glory of God.” She paused her straightening of sheets and fluffing of pillows, “Have you seen God, Elizabeth?” I shook my head, not meeting her eyes. “God wouldn’t appear to someone like me.” Mabel took my face in her gentle hands. “You listen to me. I have believed in God a long time. The Bible says Jesus came to save the lost, which was me. Lost as could be until Jesus found me, recued me and made me His own. You are just the person Jesus would show himself to.” “Thanks, Mabel,” I said half-sarcastic. “If you are dreaming about God, then listen to Him, follow Him wherever He goes. He will lead you home.”

Dream 6

“Will you lead me home?” I asked God. “Yes.” He answered without hesitation. I lay on a blanket, hands behind my head, eyes closed, the sun warm on my face and body. I felt warm from the inside out. The field where we lay had a wide expanse of sky and clouds above us. “I assume your home and my home are at different addresses.” “Possibly.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I rolled to my side and looked at him, stretched out mimicking my pose. He wore black cargo shorts, a tan T-shirt with “Jesus Saves” in bold black letters on the front—and sandals—leather flip flops that lay side-by-side next to his feet. He had long feet, long toes and hairy legs. Today his chin was shadowed with a gray-speckled beard. This was the most casual I had ever seen him. “I am so lost. I have to be found before you can lead me home.” “And yet, here I am.” “What about real people? Mabel, Doc, Mom and Dad, Theresa … why can’t they find me?” “Because they have never been where you are. They try to imagine and fall short. They can get part of the way there, but only a few can reach you where you are. Those who have also walked this journey, like you, like me.” “Like you?” “I feel pain too, Elizabeth. And loss and grief.” I stared, stunned. God felt pain? No, I had never considered that possibility. God

was love. Perfect love. The three in One. A perfect relationship … “…until one of us was killed.” “Jesus,” I whispered. “We are whole again, but I felt the loss.” I lay back and stared into the sky. Thinking as I watched the clouds flow past. A pair of eagles soared overhead and then landed on a mountain top that rose above the stand of tall birch trees that surrounded us on three sides. An open meadow lay at our feet and I sat up. “Could God really find me?”

Day Seven

November 12

“Come in, Elizabeth. Everyone say hello.” Reluctantly, I entered the conference room where five other people were settling in chairs in a circle. One of those was Doc, the other four were strangers-though I had seen them walking the halls when I would stand with my nose pressed to the window in my door. I had not been given free reign yet, though I had eaten in the dining hall and walked the gardens in the past couple of days. Attendants were always stationed about, making sure us crazy people didn’t just wander off or make a break for freedom. I hadn’t tried to run. I hadn’t wanted to leave since the day my parents came by. Of course, I really didn’t want to stay either. It’s like picking at a just scabbed over wound that itches and you know there is still a piece of glass in there somewhere. You can feel the warmth of an infection. You pick at it until it bleeds; hoping the glass and pus will come out because you know if it doesn’t that sharp instruments digging into that tender spot is next. That painful process was what I had been avoiding for months now. This meeting would mean the opening of that wound. I sat in the only open chair, next to Doc Aimee, waiting for the command to reveal my dark painful past. It didn’t come. “Stephen, yesterday you were talking about your last month spent at home …” I listened without looking up as Stephen talked about becoming a virtual prisoner in his home. Though he was frightened of everything outside his home and felt safe inside, he also felt isolated. An electrical fire broke out in his laundry room and the firemen had to carry him from his home. He hadn’t been

able to cross the threshold to exit his house. Stephen was here to learn to live in the world, and to live with the reality of life. I could relate to his desire to escape reality. We were released for lunch and an hour of exercise or reading or playing games. I chose to eat outside today, though it was definitely starting to feel like autumn had finally arrived. Though the colors of fall and the crisp mornings and evenings were my favorite time of the year, I lived in the Deep South where those days were few. The crisp breeze felt good on my face and cleared my brain of the cobwebs, leaving the memories to surface. I was processing Stephen’s story and the responses of the others. Doc and the other two women had been verbally ive. The other man had been silent like me, yet not like me. I learned that afternoon that he, Richard, suffered from Survivor’s Guilt. We gathered again at 2:00, but I did not see how listening to their stories would help me and I said as much to Doc Aimee. “That’s why I’m the leader here,” Doc said. I shrugged. “Okay.” I resumed my seat next to her though I felt like teacher’s pet. Maybe she would be so focused on them that she would forget me. I was wrong again. “Elizabeth, before we stop for today, I’d like you to tell the group why you are here.” I blinked at her, surprised, and then glanced around the circle. Curiosity, empathy, disinterest were reflected in their eyes and body language. “I’d prefer not to.” “We all know that, but it is the necessary first step.” Tears filled my eyes. I was so tired of the tears and the crying. I blinked them back, trying to keep them from falling. The woman sitting next to me held out a tissue and I accepted it. And I looked around the circle again. What I didn’t see was judgment—even from Disinterested Guy.

“Okay.” I carefully folded the tissue into a tiny square after dabbing away my tears. “Okay,” I breathed in and out again. “I am here because I tried to commit suicide.” “That’s right, Elizabeth. Do you want to tell us why?” “I just wanted the pain to stop.” I sensed, rather than saw the heads nodding in understanding.

Dream 7

I lay in my bed in my current home away from home staring at the patterns of light thrown through the blinds across my walls. “You had a hard day.” God said. “Yes.” “You didn’t want to me at the beach, or in the park, or in the mountains.” “Nope. This is reality. I have to figure out how to face it and not self-destruct in the process.” “I am very proud of you.” I turned to my side then and tried to see his face in the darkness. “Really? Why? You are still here, so obviously I am not quite in reality yet.” “On the contrary. I am the most “real” person in your life right now. And though your rational mind hasn’t accepted that yet, the emotional part has.” “Are we talking alternative reality, like Star Trek or Stargate?” “Not quite, though I am glad to see your sense of humor is yet intact.” I smiled then. I couldn’t be all bad if I managed to make the Creator of the Universe smile. Then I thought back to the afternoon session, the tears and pain that were only the beginning. I had unlocked Pandora’s Box, and the next few days would reveal all. I would have to re-live, re-experience the events of the past year. “What do you think of your group?” “I don’t know yet.” I folded my hands under my head and looked back in my mind’s eye. Stephen. A bit nerdy, slim and awkward. The dark square glasses suited his face though. Dorothy. Young, feminine, and sweet. Annie. Fiftyish

African-American woman in a wheel-chair. Richard. Tall, reserved, yet intelligent and kind. “Group therapy, the bonding of complete strangers, seems over-rated, weird even. But since I’m not quite all here, what do I know?” I did try it once, right after. Mom and my sister went with me. It was a group. I just couldn’t sit there and talk about it. Now … well … I’m here aren’t I? He got up from the chair and laid a gentle hand on my head. “Yes,” he said, “You are here now, and you will get better.” “I’m glad one of us thinks so.” “I know so.” “Oohhh … is this one of your ‘I know all’ statements?” “Yes, Elizabeth, have faith.” “You keep saying that, but …” “Time. Give it time.” I fell asleep then and dreamed of sleeping peacefully. He is so trying to win me over to the light.

Day Eight

November 13

“What have you been writing all morning?” Mabel asked. I paused and looked up from my furious scribbling. One of the books mom had brought was a blank journal. It was an eight and a half by eleven inch size and I had awakened with the urge to write down everything that had happened to me the past seven days. I recognized that my mind was fuzzy on some of the details, especially the first few days and nights, but I was trying to capture as much as I could in words this morning. “Nothing.” Mabel quirked an eyebrow at me. “It’s really stupid.” Her hand went to her hip. “My life story.” Mabel nodded and smiled. “I better get you some more pens then.” Good as gold, when I got back to the room after our afternoon session with Aimee, there was a pack of pens on my table! I kept writing. Today had been a reprieve because we had spent most of the day talking about Richard. He was the disinterested one. His morning report had been almost ordinary. The rest of them knew his story, but I did not. At lunch I had asked Annie, the older black lady in our group, to tell me his story. I did not know why Annie was in our group yet, but she was the most approachable. She was in a wheelchair and a bit overweight, but appeared to be mentally sharp as a tack.

Richard and his family were on a vacation in the mountains. The scenery was gorgeous, the day was perfect, and they had been singing and taking pictures. Then they had a flat tire. Richard got out to check it and told them to stay put because he was worried they would get hit by a car. There was no guardrail and no easement. He had set the emergency brake, but it gave way and the car went over the side of the cliff with his wife and two sons inside. They all died. He watched them die because he insisted they stay in the car. I looked over to where Richard sat alone, stirring his food around his plate. “How long has he been here?” “A long time,” Annie said. “Isn’t this banana pudding good today?” I started at the abrupt change in subject, but accepted it was her way of changing the topic. I learned that Annie was an expert at changing the subject, pretending the world and she were just fine. Which left only Dorothy to round out our band of inmates. She struck me as the craziest of us all, yet there were glimpses of wisdom beyond her years. She was young, only twenty or so, brunette, fairly attractive, and wore a pair of red sequined shoes everywhere—even to bed. She believed she was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. I found myself feeling less outcast and more a sense of belonging in this group. These people knew pain, knew grief, knew the desire to check out of reality, and I felt a kinship to them all. Finally I itted–-it might be possible—I was one of them.

Dream 8

It continues to amaze me how I dream all night and yet feel rested in the morning. “What is this?” I asked stupidly because I knew what it was. “A tandem bike.” “Okay. Why do you have it?” I watched God run a cloth over the bright red fenders and red seats. “We’re going for a ride.” “I haven’t ridden a bike in years.” I backed away. God knows how old I am. And God knows something else. Something we hadn’t talked about directly. Something I wasn’t ready to face. He rang the bell on the handlebars. The clear tone seemed to echo for miles. “It will be fun.” I shook my head. “No.” “Elizabeth.” He used that godly tone with me, not forceful but insistent. It’s very hard to tell the Creator of the Universe no. Even if you both know you have a good reason. So it was talk about the unspoken or go for a ride. “Only if I get to drive.” He cocked a graying eyebrow at me. “How’s that been working for you?” I crossed my arms like a three year old about to have a tantrum. “Okay, then,” he said. “We’ll try it your way.”

Now I am suspicious because he gave in to me. Do I have trust issues or what? God kicked the stand up and held the bike steady while I got positioned, then he got on the back seat. “Ready?” I asked. “Yes.” Off we went. Well … sort of. We stayed upright but the bike kind of shook. The path ahead split off into three directions. “Which way?” I hollered back, scared to take my eyes off the path. “You’re driving! You’re in charge.” That’s right, I thought to myself, squaring my shoulders and firmly gripping the handlebars. I chose the path to the right, not just because that’s the way the bike was leaning. The scenery was nice, but the path appeared pretty rough. There were other bicyclists like me pedaling along. Some bikes had two, three or even five seats. The back one was always empty though. Strange. We all seemed to be struggling to avoid the potholes and boulders in the path. “Someone should fix this,” I said aloud. Yet, I kept pedaling, and I realized that God was greeting people as we ed them. By name, of course! He knew all these people. We ed a couple with a baby who had a flat tire. We ed an elderly couple whose basket had broken off and spilled their groceries on the path. And I realized that God weighs a ton. I pulled over to the grass and got off. Luckily God held the bike up as I crashed to the ground panting, my arms shaking from the strain of directing the bike and keeping it on the path. “I’m exhausted. That is hard work.” “Yes, I know.” “Then why did you suggest it?” He handed me a bottle of water and sat down beside me. “I was planning to drive, Elizabeth. I was going to give you a ride.” I chugged the water, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. He was

trying to teach me a lesson and I was being obtuse, hard-headed, childish, but then I continued anyway. “I’d still be exhausted.” “Maybe. Maybe not.” “Okay. Let’s ride back and this time you drive.” He brightened immediately and jumped up. He turned the bike around and climbed on. This time I climbed on behind him. “Ready?” he asked, grinning at me. “Let’s see what you got.” We pushed off and I awoke in my bed. “No fair,” I shouted at the ceiling.

Day Nine

November 14

I am exhausted and curious as to why. I had the revelation just the day before that even though I was up every night with God, I awoke rested. Today that is simply not true. What changed? What was different about last night’s dream? “Elizabeth? Where are you today?” I yawned again and covered my mouth. “Sorry, I’m really tired today.” “Rough night?” Annie asked, reaching out a slim black hand to pat my arm. “You could say that.” “Anything you want to share?” Doc Aimee asked. I shook my head and looked down. “We’re a long way from Kansas. It’s safe here,” Dorothy inserted softly. I knew she meant well. “Thanks, Dorothy. I’m just not there yet.” “You don’t trust us,” Stephen said. “I don’t trust me either, so don’t take it personally.” “What does that mean? You don’t trust you?” Doc Aimee asked quietly. All eyes were on me and I squirmed in my chair. “I don’t trust me to make good choices, to distinguish between fantasy and reality.” “Sometime our fantasies are based in reality—we are just too close to see that,” said Dorothy.

Everyone looked at Dorothy, who smiled innocently and serenely, oblivious to the truth she had spoken. Aimee nodded, “That is quite true, Dorothy.” She checked her watch and closed her notebook. “Let’s break for lunch, and this afternoon we will have individual appointments. Richard at 1:00. Dorothy at 2:00. Stephen at 3:00. Elizabeth at 4:00, and Annie at 6:00 after dinner. Okay?” “I’m getting my hair done at 2:00 today to go see the wizard tonight. Can I switch with Richard?” “The wizard will have to take your hair just like it is.” “Okay.” She picked up her basket with the stuffed Toto inside and skipped out. I watched her leave, seemingly unperturbed with her mixture of fantasy and reality. Was she right though? Was my fantasy of God visiting me in my dreams somehow based in the reality I found myself in? I believed God existed, but so does Satan. I believed God could fix the situation that had caused my suicide attempt. In fact I ed He was mixed up in the middle of that somehow. It was still blurry, that night. I wondered if I would ever .

***

I continued to write in my journal until Cindy-Lou-Who came to take me to see Doc. I was still puzzling over my tiredness. It reminded me of how I felt before I came here. How I’d felt every day for the past eight months. God was present in all the dreams. I was present. We were in different locations that He usually chose. If I wanted to be somewhere different he accommodated me. He talked or listened or fed me as needed, or comforted and encouraged. Last night had been different though. I sensed a lesson. “Why don’t we talk about your trust issues since that came up in group today?” Doc Aimee asked as she settled into the chair across from me.

I had to shift my focus to her, mentally changing gears. “Okay.” “Who don’t you trust?” “Everybody.” “That’s pretty broad. Your mom and dad?” I nodded. “I trust them.” “Yet, you didn’t listen when they said you needed help.” “I did listen. I even agreed with them, but I didn’t think anything could help.” I squeezed the throw pillow in my arms. “All right. Your sister?” “No.” “Why not?” I shrugged. “I love her though.” “Your friends, Theresa—” “No.” I shook my head. “They have kids, grandkids, and others.” “Father Andrew?” She looked up from her writing. “No.” “Why?” “He puts God first, not me.” “Is that your criteria for trust? If someone will put you and your needs first?” I stopped and thought. I hadn’t considered that particular line of reasoning, but it applied to mom, dad, Theresa, and my sister. Father Andrew too. “Yes, that seems right.”

“Are you trustworthy?” she asked. “Under normal circumstances, yes.” “Under normal circumstances there are people whom you would put before your own needs?” “Yes.” “Do you think that is healthy?” “I think there needs to be checks and balances like anything else. If someone else’s need is greater than mine, then their need should be met. Any relationship requires give and take depending on whose need is greater.” She nodded in agreement. “Who decides?” Again I paused, looking inward. “I guess I do.” “Do you trust me?” “Somewhat.” “Mabel?” “Some.” “The group.” “Not yet.” “Yourself?” “Not right now.” “Why?” “The boundaries are fuzzy about what is the best thing right now for me. Two weeks ago I would have told you a bottle of rum was best, and I bought it and drank it. Today I can see that a bottle of rum isn’t going to stop the pain. If I left today though, I would probably slip back into that mindset within a few days.”

I watched her scribble lots of notes. She looked up and met my gaze. “God?” Startled, I stammered. “Wwh..at?” “Do you trust God?” “Absolutely not!” I jumped up, my vehemence surprising her and myself. “He could have stopped it. He could have intervened. He could have saved them, and He did nothing.” I was yelling, but not out of control, still I left her office, slamming the door behind me.

Dream 9

We were back on the bicycle path. There were people everywhere. People I had no desire to be around or interact with. I was in ill humor—to say the least—and God looked troubled. We didn’t speak and eventually I sat on the bench beside the bike. He ed me but remained silent. I was angry and wanted to yell. But still this was God, even if it was only my dream. “You could have saved them.” “Yes.” “Yet, you didn’t.” “No.” “Why should I trust you? Why should I trust the God who let my husband and daughter die? Why should I trust You on the front of that bike?” “What’s your definition of trust? The one you and Aimee talked about today?” “Someone who puts me first.” “…should your need be greater … right?” “Yes.” “I have done that, Elizabeth. I put you first. I put you before my Son.” “Jesus,” I whispered. “You’re going to use Jesus on me. You know I love Him. You know I am ashamed to let Him see how far I have fallen into sin. He died for my sins, you didn’t!” “But I sent Him. I sent Him to die for your sins.”

“He was innocent. I deserve the punishment. Is that what this is? Is this punishment?” “No!” He exclaimed. “The debt was paid in full.” He continued softly yet firmly, “I put you first.” I sat crying, shaking my head, my whole body shaking. Grief poured out of everywhere. He held me then for a long time, until I calmed. He gave me a cloth hanky. God carried a handkerchief. I wiped my face, blew my nose and offered it back. He grimaced and made it disappear. “You could have saved them.” “Yes.” “Yet, you didn’t.” “No.” “And you won’t tell me why?” “No.” “Why? Help me understand.” “My dearest child, no. I do not have to explain and you do not have to understand. Accept that I put you first. I put Sean first. I put Hannah first. I put Aimee first. I put Mabel first. I put Stephen, Annie, Dorothy and Richard first. I put Theresa first. I put Cindy-Lou-Who first. “By your own definition—I am trustworthy. Tonight will either be our last visit or tomorrow night we will go on a ride. It’s up to you.” When I awoke in the morning, there was a spring green bicycle helmet with daisies painted all over it next to my journal and Bible.

Day Ten

November 15

I asked for a private meeting with Aimee and to be excused from the afternoon session with group. I carried the bike helmet all over and asked everyone if it belonged to them. Mabel said it was delivered to me yesterday from a bike company in California. Of course all boxes are opened to ensure client safety. She said she put it in my room. I know who sent it. Acceptance was hard. I wasn’t any closer when I got to Aimee’s office. I paced the small office while Doc Aimee waited patiently. “If I accept that God put me first by sending Jesus to die for my sins, does that mean I accept Sean and Hannah’s deaths?” “What do you think?” “I think they are separate, because together it is too much for me … today.” “Then what can you handle today?” I sat down and picked up the bike helmet. Running my hands over the smooth surface. It was shiny new, but if I fell it would get scratched and dented, while it protected my head. We hadn’t ridden with them the night I drove, but then we hadn’t been going anywhere fast. “You’ve been thinking about your definition of trust. Someone putting you first?” “Yes. So either my definition is wrong or trusting Mom and Dad is wrong. And if my definition is right, then it extends to God too.”

“I see your dilemma. What does the bike helmet have to do with all this?” “Nothing.” I shrugged. “I just like the daisies.” “Who sent it to you?” “I don’t know,” I said looking at the helmet as I traced a daisy with one finger. Then I looked up and into Aimee’s eyes. “Maybe God?” She nodded and made a few notes, quietly accepting my answer. No raised eyebrow or funny face. “You don’t think that’s odd that I would speculate the King of Kings sent me a riding helmet?” She smiled then, getting up from her chair. She circled her desk and picked up a black gym bag. She plunked it on her desk, unzipped it and retrieved a scratched-up, faded pink helmet with music notes. “He might have sent mine.” My mouth fell open–-closed—then opened again. I wanted to ask a thousand questions. Did she dream of God? Was she crazy? Was it in the water here? What happened to her? “How long have you been riding?” “About six years now. It’s great exercise. I find it clears my head, my heart, and my soul. And though I come back tired, I am also refreshed.” “Do you,” I swallowed hard, “do you ride with anyone?” She smiled again as she zipped up the bag and placed it back under her desk. It was a secretive smile—a quiet happy smile. “No. I don’t ride with anyone.”

Dream 10

I was on the bicycle path alone. I saw the tandem bike up ahead, parked by the bench where we had sat last night. I had lain awake awhile, considering my actions. Should I give up these nightly fantasies of God or go for a ride? Did I trust God or not? I wanted to get better—I mean I must—I had called for help when I took the pills—though that night was still a blur. I was taking my prescribed meds, going to group, talking with Aimee. It seemed as if the next step should be to give up these nightly dreams of visiting with God. Wasn’t that keeping me this side of loony? Yet, I wanted to go for a ride. I wanted Him to drive. I wanted Him to see how hard my life was–picking directions, pedaling to keep up, or get ahead, or just survive the day. I wanted to see if He could do it better. Physically and mentally, I was following the prescribed treatment. What about my spirit, my soul? Who better to heal those than God? So here I was in riding clothes with my new helmet. Ready to go. Yet where was God? Then I walked over to the bikes. Bikes, plural. There were three bikes actually. One was the tandem we had ridden the other night. One was a single-seat bike. And one was a tandem but there was no seat in back. Odd. Very odd. I knew in my heart and head this was another test. A lesson. Was I riding alone?

Was I riding and pretending he was there? Was I riding with God? I went to the tandem bike, put the kick stand up and got on the back seat. “Are you coming?” I asked. The bike bell chimed and there He was—smiling—dressed much like me but with a sky blue helmet with people all over it. Of course. “Glad you could make it,” I said. “Glad you invited me, Elizabeth. Hang on.” And off we went. At first I was uncomfortable. I craned my neck to see where we were going and what was up ahead. “Where are we going?” He looked back and laughed. “Pedal.” So I pedaled. I focused on Him and when He pedaled, I pedaled, and when He coasted, I coasted. When He took his hands off the handle bars and waved them in the air, I screamed. He just laughed again and put his hands back on the handle bars. We took the road to the right as I had done and I thought – Yeah, let’s see how he does, but he was fine. I was fine. The bumps were there. The people were there. He negotiated like a pro rider. He greeted people and I saw their faces light up and then gaze wistfully after us. After enjoying the wind in my face and the trees flashing past, we pulled over to the grass. He was beaming with delight. He handed me a bottle of water from the basket on the front of the bike. “Wasn’t that fun?” I nodded. “But you scared me a few times. I thought I was going to fall off.” He shook his head. “Just follow me. All you have to do is pedal and I will do the rest. You hungry?”

My stomach growled. “I guess so.” This time he pulled a sandwich from the basket. I bit into it and it was great. Fresh soft bread piled with chicken salad, lettuce and tomato. “Can I have one?” A small quiet voice asked. I looked down into the olive face of a young Asian boy. He was dressed simply in a navy blue T-shirt, shorts and beat up tennis shoes. Where had he come from? I looked around and noticed the other people who had been biking had stopped too, but they were tending to flats, hushing crying babies, tending to cuts and bruises from falls on the path. I looked at God. “Can’t we help them?” “Yes, we can.” He reached in the basket and pulled out another sandwich and a bottle of water. “What would you like?” “Peanut butter and jelly.” “Here you go.” The little boy took a huge bite and chewed slowly. He sighed. “Hhmmmm …” I felt a tug on my bike shorts. I looked down and there stood a smaller female version of the little boy. She giggled at me, her finger in her mouth. “Who is this?” The little boy looked up at God. “Can I have one for my sister too?” “Of course you can.” God handed him another bottle of water and a sandwich. The boy handed them off to his sister, who scampered away. The boy shook his head, very grown-up like and looked up at God. “Thanks, Abba.” God leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “You are welcome, Lee.” “Me, too, please?” Another voice spoke from behind me. I turned and saw a line of people. I swallowed my last bite of sandwich and

looked at God. “This happen a lot?” “Yes. Still want to help?” I shrugged. “Sure.” “Come over here on the other side.” Before I knew it we had two lines of people on either side of our tandem bike. And to my amazement whatever the person asked for – I reached in and out it came. Water plus a chicken sandwich, tuna on wheat, pastrami with mustard, turkey rollups, and even a taco. I do not know how long we did this but no one was turned away. Everyone got something. And something extra too. God spoke to each, and smoothed worried brows, and healed cuts. He even fixed flats. When the last person walked away, I looked in the basket and there was still one sandwich left. “Hey, there’s still a sandwich here.” “I know.” He reached in and grabbed it up. “It’s for you and me to split. I worked up an appetite, how about you?” I laughed and he halved the sandwich between us. I collapsed on the ground. “Now that was fun.” “If you ride with me, you can do more of that. Every day.” I sobered quickly. “You mean every night, right?” “No, Elizabeth, I mean every day. You will learn how. You have to keep riding with me though.”

Day Eleven

November 16

I woke up hopeful the next morning. Not entirely sure why, yet still the happiest I had been in a long while. It seemed helping people, even if only in my dreams, made me feel useful. “Mabel, why do you work here?” I helped her now to straighten my bed, change sheets, and check my toiletries and towels. “I like helping people,” she said. “But I wasn’t very appreciative or grateful that first week. In fact, I was rude and hard to take care of.” I really wanted to know why she would stick with a sour puss like me and continue to show me kindness. “I don’t do it to be thanked or appreciated.” Mabel said. “I do it because it’s the right thing to do. You needed help. You just couldn’t see that I was helping you. You needed to be loved through all your pain. God gave me the ability to do that. So I have to use it.” “So you think God gave you the ability to love the unlovable like me?” “You are not unlovable! But yes, God gave me the gift of loving those who are hard to love—-I always try to look to their heart, to see where they have been, to walk an imaginary mile in their shoes. I read the history and get to know peoples’ stories. We are all walking-wounded in one way or another.” “But isn’t that hard? Not everyone gets well. Not everyone wants to. Some people are just cruel; I mean deep down to their bones nasty.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. “Some days are harder than others and you are right, not everyone gets better, but God still calls us to love with agape love. You are my sister-in-Christ. You are my family.” “Even if I spent thirty days here, and was nothing but a pain in your backside?” I asked again. “Even if you fought me every day about eating or taking your meds or not getting dressed or called me names. I would continue to love you as best I could. I am not perfect though. Only one was perfect. Jesus.” I nodded. Jesus was the only perfect one. As I wrote my adventure from last night in my journal, I thought about what Mabel had said. Agape love was translated often as unconditional love, the love that God pours on us and which we should shower on others. We are to try to love each other. It had seemed so simple before, when my family was whole. The love had poured out of me to them and family and friends. But I had lost my connection to the source. Mabel said God helped her. Could he help me? I wasn’t sure. The morning session was hard. Doc Aimee asked me to talk about the night I tried to commit suicide. I only ed so much and then nothing. “I wanted the pain to stop. It was 2 a.m. and I sat staring at the pills in their little brown bottle on the table next to the near empty bottle of rum. The pain was still so intense. Gnawing through my bones. I’d tried shopping, eating, sleeping, sex, gambling, and now alcohol … the pain wouldn’t stop.” I breathed in and out, twisting my hands in my lap. I ed God showing up, but I couldn’t tell them that. God and I talked, but I couldn’t say that either. “…so I took the pills and called 911.” “Why did you call 911?” Dorothy asked. I shrugged. “I changed my mind.” “What changed your mind?” Richard was listening. My gaze locked with his. Had he tried to kill himself too? If he had, no one had said it aloud. I looked at the pain in his hazel eyes. It was a pain I recognized. He needed to hear the truth. Even if it sounded crazy, he needed to know I had not been alone.

“God asked me to call 911.” The rest of the group squirmed, but Richard’s gaze remained steady locked with mine. “God’s the only reason I am still alive.” “Me too,” he whispered, “but it still hurts.” I nodded, leaning forward and keeping my focus on him. “Hurts like every nerve is exposed and raw.” “Yes,” he agreed whispering still. “You have to hang on.” “I’m trying. Will you put in a good word for me?” “Of course, but Richard, God would love to hear from you himself.” Richard nodded, solemn. “I’ll think about it.”

***

“So let’s talk about what you didn’t talk about in the session this morning. Take me back to 2 a.m. on Tuesday …” She made a few notes, and then looked expectantly at me. “Doc … I told you all I .” I looked over her shoulder, out the window, and watched the leaves swirl in the autumn breeze. Surely she would let this subject drop. “I think there is at least a bit more. You itted to Richard—albeit in front of the rest of us—that God was there. Tell me about God asking you to call 911.” I looked into her kind eyes. So blue behind her dark rims, so intent on helping me face what I had no desire to face. Yet somehow the anger, or most of it had drained away in the ten days I had been here. Was it the meds? Was it the group sessions? Was it God’s nightly visits? Was it all of the above? I didn’t know.

Clearing my throat, I settled in my seat, pulling a pillow in front of me and wrapping my arms around it. I began. “The pain wouldn’t stop. The pills were on the table in front of me. The almost empty bottle of rum sat next to them. I had tried everything to escape the pain, to numb it, but nothing worked … then He was there …” I fell silent taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Go on,” she said. “I’d tried everything … except me … God said.” I slipped back into the scene playing in my memory as if it were happening again. “Go away.” I peered into God’s caring face for but a moment before hiding my face behind my hands. “You shouldn’t see this, see me.” “Let me help.” I shook my head, the tears falling. “Too much is wrong. I am so broken. Do you have any idea what I’ve done the last six months? I can’t even stand myself. I’ve hurt everyone—my family, my friends, co-workers …” “…not all…” he inserted. “Almost all of them.” I popped the top off the pills. “The pain won’t stop. I simply cannot live like this anymore, so I will die and be with them.” God smiled sadly and reached across the table to take my hand, but I pulled back and took the pills, filling my mouth. I swallowed them with the last bit of the rum and Coke. “There. It’s done.” “Sweet child. You can choose this but I want to show you something …” God leaned close to me and breathed a whisper, a caress, into my face. My eyes flickered shut for a moment it seemed and then popped open. I stared wide-eyed into God’s face. Alert and clear-minded, I reached for my cell phone …” Doc Aimee waited for me to continue, but I couldn’t. “What did God show you?” I shook my head, wrapping my arms around the pillow. “I don’t know. I can’t , even though I try.”

“You should ask Him.”

Dream 11

“Why can’t I any more of that night?” What did God show me that made me call 911 and ask for help? Whatever it was had faded fast because as soon as the emergency people arrived, I was drunk and belligerent again. In a life that was in ruins, God had shown me something to bring me back from the dead. Yet it was gone like the wind, unseen yet not unfelt. It felt like hope. But hope for what? God sat beside me on the bench at the beach as people strolled by. No one noticed us. “Why can’t I ?” “It doesn’t matter. What matters is you chose life.” “I chose life because of what you showed me. I need that to hang on to, a reason to get better.” “Hold on to me.” God held out his hand and I took it this time. “I hope you know what you are doing.” God chuckled. “Yes. I Do. Although I am often accused of not knowing.” “So what do I do now? Can’t you just …” I snapped my fingers, “…make me well.” He laughed out loud. “I could, but what would you learn?” “I’m supposed to learn something?” My voice rising an octave. “Yes, otherwise you keep repeating the same mistakes.”

Exasperated, I shook my head. “So tell me what to do.” “Listen to Aimee. Be still. Heal. Talk. Listen. Make amends. Rest. Lean on me. Learn to love yourself. Learn to forgive. Be kind to yourself and to others. Take your meds. And never let go of me.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m really scared.” “I won’t leave you.” “How long will this take?” God pulled me up and we walked along the pier out over the water. The waves crashed below, the gulls circled and screeched above. A warm breeze caressed my face and swirled my hair all over the place. And I held tight to His hand. “As long as it takes. You are body, mind, heart and soul. You need to heal physically, mentally and spiritually.” “Physically—resting, meds, and eating properly. Mentally – talking, listening to Aimee and participating in group. Spiritually – these nights with you.” “Not a bad combo, right?” “And the tandem bike?” “Is good for all three. Ready for a ride?” “Yes, please.”

Day Twelve

November 17

I was writing in my journal just after breakfast and before session when I heard the alarm go off. Not the fire alarm—“the patient in need of medical assistance alarm.” Opening my door, a new privilege, I stood in my doorway. Mabel ran by and told all of us to stay put. Five people converged on the room down the hall. Moments later a gurney was rushed in and then wheeled out. Cindy-Lou sat on top of someone doing R chest compressions, but I couldn’t see who it was because of everyone around them. They rushed down the hall and through the double doors into the medical rooms. I glanced at the people standing in their doorways. Some were patients like me, others were nurses or other staff. “Does anyone know who that was?” Mabel came walking back through the double doors. “Okay everybody, go back into your rooms, get dressed and I’ll come by in a few minutes to check on you.” I reached out for Mabel’s hand and stopped her. She was trying to hurry past without speaking to me. “Who was that?” “Elizabeth,” she patted my hand and looked into my eyes. “You need to pray.” “For who, Mabel?” She just shook her head and glanced back down the hall. “I can’t say.” I went back to my table and tried to write again, about the adventures on the bike and the lessons I was learning about myself. Yet I kept peering out into the dreary day and wondering what was happening down the hall. Anxious,

uncertain, I laid down my pen. Mabel had said to pray. Did I how? “Sweet Jesus,” the words stuck in my dry throat. “Dearest God,” I tried again, hesitant yet determined. “I do not know who that was or what happened, but I know someone needs your help. Please help them. Please help the doctors and nurses. Please help us all. Amen.” Somehow I managed to shower and dress, between moments spent in the doorway, looking down the hall for signs of life. Surely they would bring whoever that was back to their room. But before I knew it, it was time for group. I slowly walked down the opposite hallway towards our room. Stephen and Annie were already present, but there was no sign of Aimee. “Do either of you know who that was this morning?” “No,” Annie shook her head, her nimble fingers guiding the crochet needle. This was a new hobby for her. Stephen slumped down in his chair and shook his head too. “Have either of you seen Dorothy or Richard?” Richard came in then—-hair still wet from a shower—-it was the first time I’d seen him disheveled. Part of me had feared it was him. Then Aimee came in and turned to shut the door. She stood there a moment, facing away from us. The click of the door triggered something in me. It was like the sound of a gunshot. Definitive. Deadly. ”Where’s Dorothy?” Aimee cleared her throat and walked to her chair. “I have some bad news.” I felt horror creep up my throat and close it off. Tears welled in my eyes. Not Dorothy. Not wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly-or-anyone-live-in-Oz Dorothy. “Dorothy died this morning. She left a note. She said she wanted to stay in Oz.” “Noooo …” I whispered. ”This can’t be right. Not again.” “How?” Richard asked.

“Not important. If someone wants to die, they will always find a way.” We each sat in various stages of shock and disbelief. Crying, thinking, and praying. Anger surfaced. I jumped up and began pacing back and forth. “I thought this was a safe place. Isn’t that what you are always telling us? That this is a safe place? How could this have happened?” “Elizabeth.” Her calm tone was that of a professional counselor dealing with a client. It ticked me off. Even though I sensed her grief, mine was running wild and handling it was the last thing I wanted to do. “Let’s sit down and talk about this,” she said. “What’s to talk about? Dorothy came here to get better, right? And now she’s dead. Can any of us get better? Or are we all doomed?” “Please sit down, Elizabeth.” Her weariness silenced me somehow. I sat. But anger rolled like waves off of me. “First, yes, Dorothy did come here to get better. You are not Dorothy. None of you are Dorothy. Each of you have to walk the path before you to healing. Dorothy looked ahead and did not want to get better. She could not see better on the other side of her mountain.” “She was happier in Oz,” I added. “But Oz wasn’t real.” “But why couldn’t she stay there? Why couldn’t you or her family leave her in Oz?” Aimee raised a shaky hand to cover her eyes. I saw her take a breath, but then one tear trickled down her cheek, and dropped off her chin. “I don’t know.” She raised her head and looked at each of us. “I don’t know. Some days the evil in this world wins. Today is one of those days. I hate it. She was sweet, loving, giving, and joyful in her make-believe safe world. But being Dorothy from

Kansas wasn’t normal, and pretending to be a fictitious character isn’t normal. So we push, talk, analyze, medicate, and treat until reality is seen and accepted. “Why is that normal?” Aimee continued. “Some days, I don’t know. In Dorothy’s world, the skies were blue, the people kind. All she had to worry about was getting her hair done to see the wizard. A wizard whom she loved and adored and he her. She always had Toto with her. A stuffed dog didn’t die. So what? So what that Toto wasn’t real? For her it was safe and real. Kansas wasn’t safe. Why would anyone want to voluntarily go back to a place that you know wasn’t safe?” We all sat stunned. Silent. Aimee put her hands over her face and sobbed deep heartfelt sobs. I scooted closer and put an arm around her shoulders. Annie scooted in on the other side. Richard and Stephen both shifted their chairs in closer, silent yet strangely ive. We were an odd group of five, yet connected by this tragedy and our Dorothy feelings … and our fear. Reality had come screeching into our small safe world. Life and death. Joy and sorrow. Good and evil. And our brave leader had showed us a chink in her armor. Annie handed Aimee several tissues and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose and took several long deep breaths to calm herself. “Please forgive me. That was quite unprofessional.” Annie patted Aimee’s hands, which she held clasped between her own. “But quite human. How can you help us if you don’t know what we’re feeling? How can we trust you if we don’t believe you care?” A light went on in my head. God. Jesus. Me. Lessons. How could God help us unless He sent Jesus to get “human” with us? How could Jesus know us unless he was “human” with us? Why would we trust a high priest who had never felt what we felt? Yet Jesus came and lived among us. He knew us. How would I learn the lessons without going through the very real trial and error process? How could I ever hope to succeed without God? How could any of us? The empathy I felt for the people in this room was a surprise. I hated the loss and pain I had suffered through to get to this point. I hated the grief they had

suffered. Yet this feeling of empathy was an unexpected gift. We could help each other.

Dream 12

He was waiting for me by the tandem bike in the park where we had fed the people. I had walked a bit before ing Him, looking at all the people. My gaze scanned their faces; my ears heard their voices —- ing the many languages and nationalities not simply obvious from their skin tones, hair, eyes or size. I saw a variety of young families and gatherings of multi-generational families. Some were happier than others. Some were stressed or anxious. Some were joyful in their laughter. Some were peaceful in their silent hand-holding. Life. All of life. I saw them. Really saw them. I saw and felt their pain. Felt their joys. Felt as if I were one of them. I recognized the young family with the baby from my church, but I had never noticed the slant to Emma’s eyes. I saw an older couple I recognized from my pharmacy, but I had never before seen the way he guided her steps with such patience and gentleness. My insurance agent was playing football with two boys, one just like him and one of mixed race. He hugged both and called them son. Life. I sat next to God. “Was I really so unseeing? So busy with my own life that I didn’t see them?” “Yes.” “And you wanted me to see them?” “Yes.” “And you had to take my husband and child to do that?” my voice cracked. “Wrong question.”

I sat a minute or two in silence to combat the anger that had sprung to life so instantly. Thinking. I was still so emotional over Sean and Hannah’s deaths. Dorothy’s death today had been like a hot poker in that raw wound. I knew that. I had battled the despair and tried to process her death all day. “I had to lose my husband and daughter to see them?” “A better question. You tell me.” I thought about my life. My very small world revolved around Sean and Hannah and work. Did I ever look beyond our circle of people? It wasn’t perfect, but it was comfortable, predictable, and filled with love. Love we gave freely to each other, and to family and close friends, but not beyond that boundary. Had that been wrong? We had gone to church, tithed, given food to the postal workers’ drive, and walked for the Breast Cancer foundation. Were we supposed to do more, see more, give more? I had always considered myself a good Christian. Had I missed the point? “Losing Sean and Hannah has opened my eyes and my heart to the pain around me. Not the pain in Bangladesh, but the pain in my small therapy group. But that’s not why they are gone. They are gone because of an accident, and they are with you now.” I paused until he looked at me and met my gaze. “They are with you, right?” God took my hand and folded it in both of His. “Yes, Elizabeth. They are with me. And no.” “Not even a peek?” He sat for a brief moment, studying me thoughtfully and then nodded His head as if he were agreeing with Himself. “Close your eyes.” I closed my eyes and there they were. Just like I ed them. They were fishing of all things. Sitting on the end of a pier, fishing poles in hand, and laughing at something an older man was saying. Then I recognized my grandpa —still in overalls, an old cap, and work boots. He was telling them a story, but I couldn’t hear it. There were other people around them. And for a moment

Hannah looked over at me and smiled. I felt she saw me. Then they were gone, and I was looking into the deep dark brown eyes of God again. I drew in a shaky breathe. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You are welcome,” he whispered back. “Now, are you ready for a bike ride?” I hesitated. I stared into his kind eyes and felt the tears fill mine. I clamped my lips shut and shook my head. My vision blurred as I tried to blink back the tears, but they won and ran down my cheeks. “Need to cry?” I nodded, and God folded me into his arms. “I never liked going fishing,” I sobbed. “I would go now and enjoy every minute.” I cried harder. I soaked God’s T-shirt, but He never let go. It was a blessing and a curse to have seen them. I was reassured they were okay, but the feelings of loneliness overwhelmed me. They had each other—and Grandpa. Who did I have? “Who do you have, Elizabeth?” He tilted my face up and wiped it clean with a handkerchief. “Tell me.” “I miss them so much.” “I know.” “The pain …” I stuttered and collapsed again. I cried for a long time. I really have no idea how long we sat there, but I slowly realized that someone else was there with us. I heard a low humming sound. I wiped my eyes clear again and blinked. We were encircled by angels. I mean they looked like people - tall, short, old, young, Asian, Caucasian, African-American, but they seemed to glow. The humming was coming from them. I felt their warmth and comfort all through my being. Then they each came and laid a hand on me, or kissed my brow, or took my hand for just a brief moment and walked away. I watched as they went out to the people I’d wandered through earlier and appeared to be ministering to them also. Then they faded from my sight.

I sighed deeply and realized I felt better. “Angels?” He smiled. “They look like us, like me, like humans.” “They get more done that way.” “What were they doing just now?” “Ministering where they can, providing assistance to the people.” I sat quietly, my mind churning through the possibilities of angels walking with me daily. “Sean and Hannah had angels with them?” “Yes, dear Elizabeth.” “They weren’t alone then? Couldn’t they have saved them?” “That is not their task to physically or spiritually save those to whom they are assigned. They serve me and worship me by ministering to the people.” “Do I have a guardian angel?” “Of course you do, and he is particularly fond of you.” God smiled and smoothed back my hair. “Though I must say you are a challenge to take care of.” “And Dorothy? Did she have an angel too?” “Yes. Do not fret about your friend. Her choice does not have to be your choice. Though I will it to cajoling or persuading, I do not force life on anyone. It is a free gift. It is up to you to use the gift.”

Day Thirteen

November 18

News of Dorothy’s death spread through the halls and I noticed other patients watching Annie and me as we ate our lunches. “What do you think they are whispering about? Do they think Dorothy’s suicide is contagious or something?” Annie shrugged and scraped the bowl of banana pudding clean. She sighed contentedly as she put down her spoon. She let her gaze circle the room, and then shrugged again as a few looked away. “Who knows what any of them are thinking? Some could feel sorry for us. A few might wonder how she did it and if we know. Then a few might be wondering if they should offer condolences since she was in our group. It’s okay though. What matters is what you think.” “What do you mean?” “How are you handling Dorothy’s death? What does it mean to you?” “Okay, Doc Annie, are you worried about me?” “You were very quiet this morning in Chapel. You said you liked to sing in church.” “I really can’t sing. I just didn’t want to inflict my voice on anyone today.” “Just checking.” “What about you? How are you handling Dorothy’s death?” She sat silent for a moment looking inward, and then a slight smile curved her lips. “I am sad, but okay. She sure knew how to make me laugh with all that Wizard of Oz talk, and carrying that stuffed dog and basket around. And she could come up with some fairy-tale of a story, yet she was always kind, always

generous.” “Yes. I hope she is ed for that, and not for being crazy.” Annie wheeled off and I returned to my room to freshen up. I hadn’t told anyone in group, but my parents were coming for a visit. That’s why I had been quiet. Between that and Dorothy, my feelings were all over the place. I had been mentally preparing myself for the emotional reunion. I loved them so. And they loved me. Yet like most families we had both good days and bad days, disagreements, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings as well as holiday celebrations and joys that would never have been complete without each other. So I was anxious and excited. Sad and hopeful. Mabel was putting my parents in one of the guest waiting rooms, which were bright and comfy. It would give us a bit of privacy too. My bedroom was a good size for me, but quite small for three people. I walked down the hall slowly. Pausing before the doorway, I listened to their quiet talk. It was so good to hear their voices. I stepped into the entrance, forcing a nervous smile. We stood for a moment staring at each other, our gazes checking for welcome, forgiveness, love, and then we were all hugging. It felt so good to be held by them. I apologized a lot and mom shushed me as if to say all was forgiven. Then the questions poured forth. “How are you feeling? We’ve talked to your counselor a couple of times and she said you were okay, but are you really? Do you need anything?” Mom asked as we sat side by side on the couch. Dad pulled a chair up so that we were all three knee to knee. “I am doing okay. But it’s hard. So, I need you to keep praying for me. I know this is where I need to be right now.” “Thank God!” My mom took my face in her hands and searched deep in my eyes. “You look better, more like yourself. Are you eating enough?” She fumbled with her purse and pulled out a small pie-shaped plastic container. “It’s pecan pie. Grandma made it just for you.”

“Thank you, Mom. Did you sneak dumplings in too?” A look of consternation crossed her face. “I couldn’t figure out how to keep them warm without using a thermos. They make you go through the metal detectors to get in here, you know?” I had to laugh, and I hugged her tightly. I felt my dad’s hand on my shoulder, and I turned my head to wink at him. “How are you holding up, Dad?” “I’m doing fine. Just worried about you.” “I’m getting better.” “Good. You get well, and come stay awhile with us until you get your feet back under you. No worries, you understand? Your house is fine. The bills are paid. You just get well.” I squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Daddy.” “You’re welcome. We love you very much.” Before we knew it, it was time for them to leave. We had barely caught up on relatives, television shows—both mom and I loved Castle—and life in general. Life was still happening outside these walls. I watched them go. I felt deeply the ing of years as memories of holidays past flashed before me. Christmases with Mom in the kitchen, and Dad watching football or shelling pecans or playing Mario with Hannah. Mom popping up six times during dinner to get more food, or tea or whatever she thought we needed. I never ever left her home empty-handed. I had a blessed childhood. Even if I only recognized it now in my forth-sixth year of life.

Dream 13

I watched the waves crash on the shore. The beach was deserted even though the sky was bright blue and the sun’s warmth made it very pleasant for November. I had ridden the tandem bike here alone. Not specifically excluding God, but wanting to be alone with my thoughts. The night before, God had said life was a gift. Today I had realized what a blessed life I had been given with parents who were still married and loved each other, extended family, and a few faithfulbeyond-belief friends. I had had a marriage full of laughter, and a daughter full of joy. Gifts that were gone now, but not forgotten. I picked up the Bible I had brought with me and turned to Job. It was a tough story to read and accept. Reading it was one thing. Living through it was another. I had to allow myself to heal before I could help anyone else. I had to get past the pain. Yet how? Aimee was all about expressing your grief and anger in healthy ways. God was about being still, learning lessons, and seeing the people around me. What could I learn tonight that would help me get better? “Want to play?” I had never seen the young man sitting next to me on the bench. He was probably about sixteen or seventeen with curly blond hair and bright green eyes. He was tossing a baseball in the air, and I realized he was dressed in a baseball uniform. The Angels. That should have been my first clue. “What?” I asked, confused by his appearance. “Want to play?” he enunciated slowly. “I’ll get you a helmet and a bat.” He got up and walked behind the bench. In the parking lot right behind us was a batting cage. There was a row of shelves with various helmets and a trash can filled with bats. Skeptical, I rose and followed him. What was God up to tonight? “I’ve never

done this before.” “No problem. I’ll help you until you get comfortable.” Before I knew it, he had me fitted with a helmet and swinging a bat, testing for length and weight. Once I found one I could swing fairly well, I was ready for my first attempt at hitting a ball. He started the machine then ran to get behind me, showing me how to stand, how to hold the bat and helping me swing. Crack! The bat connected with the ball and it went zooming back at the other end of the netted cage. I was shocked. “Cool.” My teacher kept instructing me, guiding me until I was in the cage by myself. He increased the speed of the balls coming out of the machine just a bit. “Focus, Lizzie, focus. Hit it with all your might.” He knew my name. I had to pay attention to the balls coming at me, but a part of my brain slipped off to ponder and ask questions. “Who are you?” I called out, my gaze slipping to where he gripped the net. “Watch the ball, not me.” I whacked it good. “What’s your name?” “Joshua.” “A friend of God’s sent to teach me a lesson?” “Close, but I’m no teacher. I watch over you, Lizzie.” I stopped, turned, and stared, dropping the bat down, and nearly got hit by the next baseball. Someone sent by God to watch over me? “You’re my guardian angel?” I asked. “I have a teenage boy for a guardian angel?” “Don’t be so surprised or I might take offense.”

Another ball zipped past me. “Come on Lizzie; let’s see what you’ve got.” I hadn’t been called Lizzie since high school. Which I guess was appropriate given the age of this angel. Correction, the appearance of this angel. Taking a deep breath, I swung at the next ball and the next one without connecting to anything. “I can’t do this.” “Yes, you can. Let all that pain, all that anger, all that frustration you carry around inside of you, let it up and out. I want you to beat the devil out of that ball coming at you.” I swung again and tipped it wild. “Better. Focus.” I really didn’t want to let the anger out because I was scared of it. But beating the devil out of this baseball did sound good, and it felt good too as I connected and sent it flying back. It reminded me that I had always wanted to throw plates —like the stereotypical Greek person would. But right now, with the sun bright and warm, and a sea breeze blowing cool across my face, and Joshua calling out corrections to my posture, stance, and chin and hand positions, I was doing okay. I don’t know how long I had been at it, when I realized God was sitting in the bleachers with Joshua. There was sweat running down my back. I stepped out of the batting cage and took off the helmet, letting the bat swing down to rest on the ground. “I think it’s your turn, Joshua.” He rose and bounded down the bleachers, hair wild and eyes twinkling. “I think you’re right. The boss wants to talk to you.” Using my hand to shade my eyes, I looked up at God and he patted the seat next to Him. I climbed up and strode across the seats, then dropped down next to him onto a seat cushion covered in halos. “Hi.” “Hello back at you.” He offered the bag in his hand to me. “Peanut?”

I grabbed a handful. “Sorry I rode off without you. I acted without thinking. I had a lot on my mind.” “Yes, I know.” “I just wanted to sort through it all, get a grip on what to do. You know?” He nodded, and raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course, you know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You know everything.” “Really?” he asked. “Are you certain?” “You’re God.” “And I know everything?” I nodded, perplexed by this questioning. “Yes, you know everything.” “So, then I would know what you need to do, could possibly offer you guidance on appreciating your life?” “Well, yeah.” I ran a hand through my hair and tried to back track through my thoughts tonight. Had I hurt God’s feelings? Did God have feelings? I think we had already covered that one. Love. Sorrow. Those were feelings indeed. “I just wanted to sort it out myself.” He took my hand then, and held it between his two strong ones. “And what I’m trying to get you to learn is this, Elizabeth. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.” “Okay. You’re right. But sometimes I just want to turn it over in my own head first …” “And make a plan…” “Yeah. And then I can run it past you for approval.” God shook his head at me. He shook his head at me and then looked me in the eyes. “Tell me what is wrong with what you just said.”

Day Fourteen

November 19

I woke up with sore muscles and a tired mind. I lay in the bed, hands clasped under my head while I gazed at nothing. It seemed I still had much to learn about God, life, healing, grieving and living. Just when I thought I was getting a handle on my situation and could wrap my brain around a plan, I hit a wall. “Tell me what is wrong with what you just said.” I had been stumped. I was still stumped. And Joshua had stopped hitting balls, and looked from God and to me and back again. They had a silent interchange, and I was back in bed. Would I see Joshua again? Did he know the answer? I had lived most of my adult life by a plan, based on basic right and wrong, ethics, and Christian beliefs. Had I been doing it wrong? And if so, then what was the right way? I had to find some answers while I was awake, and I needed help from people smarter than me. There was a tap on my door, and then Mabel pushed it open. “Girl, why are you still in bed? You missed breakfast and your morning session is about to start.” Mabel qualified as someone smarter than me where God things were concerned. “Mabel, I need some help.” She stepped into the room, letting the door close behind her. “Is something wrong?” I sat up and scooted back against my pillows, crossing my legs Indian style. “Not

really wrong, but not right either. How do I know how God wants me to live?” “Ask Him.” “Mabel! I need real practical steps.” “Okay, okay.” She sat on the bed next to me. “I love to read, Elizabeth. I read the Bible, every day. I also read Christian books. Between the Bible and what the Christian writers say, I formed a philosophy for my life.” “What philosophy?” Mabel shook her head now and stood. “How God wants me to live and how He wants you to live are different because we are different. But there are some basics like prayer and Bible Study that can point you in the right direction. And listening! Listening to Him is really important.” “But Mabel, I’ve prayed for years and years, and I’ve done Bible studies at my church for more than ten years.” “And?” “And it didn’t help. When Sean and Hannah died, none of that mattered. I couldn’t see God in any of it.” “True faith is more than being a good Bible study student or repeating prayers from habit. You have to have that personal connection, that one-on-one face time with God, and the ability to humbly sit at Jesus’ feet. Like Mary.” “Which Mary?” “Mary and Martha, the sisters. You sound like you have done all the Martha things right -- which is needed -- but you haven’t done the Mary part and sat at Jesus’ feet and listened.” “Listen? How can I listen to Jesus?” “The Bible is a good place to start. The parables and stories he told are meant to be delved into, deeply, past the surface words, and applied to our lives.”

Frustrated, I shook my hands in the air. “How do you know all this stuff?” “Let’s pray and see if God gives the okay for me to bring you some books this afternoon.” Mabel took both my hands in hers, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, too. “Dearest Lord, your child Elizabeth is searching for answers to some very important questions. Let me know if I should bring her some books or offer any other guidance. In Jesus name, we pray. Amen.” “Amen.” I opened my eyes and looked up at her. “You expect God to answer you pretty quickly?” “I expect Him to answer in His own time. Faith, girl. I walk by faith that He hears me when I ask and speaks to me when I listen.”

Dream 14

I sat in the mid-day autumn sunshine, in the park, on a multi-colored quilt my grandmother had made. It was the wedding ring quilt she had given me when I graduated high school. In reality it was old, worn, wearing thin and was safely put up in the top of my closet. Tonight it was like new. Scattered around me were the books Mabel had brought to me. And right in front of me was an open Bible. “What are you doing?” “Hey there,” I smiled at Joshua. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.” “My job is to watch over, protect, and help you where I can. Last night it was learning to hit a baseball, tonight it looks like you’re studying. What can I do?” I looked at the books I had been reading that afternoon. “Okay. Obviously, my goal is to get well enough to leave this place. But I don’t know if I will still be dreaming about God when I leave here. Mabel said to just ask God what he wants me to do. But how do normal Christian people get answers to their questions? How do they live their lives like God wants them to? I thought I was doing that already, but there’s more needed. Something is missing. I can see that now. God wasn’t happy with my answer last night.” “Those are big questions.” “And?” I asked expectantly. I mean he was an angel and could hang out with God anytime he wanted, right? “What did God say to do?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve got books here by Max Lucado, Beth Moore, Angela Thomas, and John Eldredge. These are really smart people who are close to God and are doing what God called them to do. How did they know what God called them to do?”

By now I was getting pretty imioned in my plea and my frustration was starting to show. Here I was fourteen days and nights --almost half-way into my thirty day stay -- and I wanted a plan for when I left this place. I wanted direction. I wanted God’s direction. “Lizzie …” Joshua started. “I mean these people are so together…” “Lizzie…” he tried again. “I want to live well. I want to appreciate this second chance … that’s what I see this as…a second chance … and …” “And?” Joshua asked. I threw my hands down and stared at Joshua, my eyes filling with tears, my heart full of fear. “And I don’t want to mess it up. Not now. Not after I’ve spent these nights with Him.” He moved across the quilt, pushing books out of the way, and my teenagelooking guardian angel took me in his arms and held me close. For only a few moments. Then he took me by the shoulders and shook me gently. “Hear me, Lizzie. You are going to mess up. You are going to make mistakes. You are not perfect, and no matter what you do while you are on this earth, it won’t be perfect either. That isn’t what He wants.” “What does He want?” He laughed then and stood up holding out his hand. “Come on.” I took his hand and let him pull me up. “Where are we going?” But we were already there. It was a church full of people singing one of my favorite praise songs “Here I am to Worship” by Michael W. Smith. We stood at the back of the church and sang the whole song with them. It was beautiful, heartfelt, but also slightly off beat and off pitch. When I closed my eyes and lifted my hands, I felt us shift. Now we were in a food line in a women’s shelter. There was no singing here, but I felt the love

from each of the ladies who filled the plates for those in front of and behind us. The grey-haired lady handing out drinks said “God bless you” to each woman as they took their cup. And then there were more ladies who directed us to tables to sit, eat a good meal and be warm. I listened to conversations about the women’s day looking for work, filling out forms to get assistance, and trying to stay warm. I heard the fear and despair in their voices, and I felt the gift of caring. Then we were in a busy office. Telephones ringing, copiers copying, people talking, questions and answers flying through the air. There was a customer problem. What could be done? There was a personal problem interrupting an employee’s day. What could be done? There was a computer down. What could be done? There was a dead cell phone. What could be done? I’d experienced each of those situations. I watched as each was addressed and handled with good humor and patience. Next we were in a drive-thru window at a busy fast food restaurant. I saw in an instant that the cashier was worried about something. She paused and prayed, and went on taking orders with a smile and a cheerful attitude. Then her manager walked by and squeezed her arm. No words, just a touch of reassurance. The silence was deafening. I peered around a walled-in-courtyard curiously, watching as robed monks tended their gardens. They hoed and turned the earth. They planted, staked up and watered in silence. Walking through the building I observed them as they scrubbed floors, washed pots, and prayed on their knees in the chapel. The sense of peace was amazing. The laughter made me jump and I watched, smiling, as a dad tickled his two children, while the mom turned down their beds. Prayers were said, hugs and kisses exchanged, then the lights went out. “Mommy?” a young voice called out from the dark. “Yes?” a voice responded. “I love you.” “I love you, too sweetheart.” We sat back down on the quilt in the park. “Wow. That was awesome. So God wants me to sing praise songs, volunteer at a homeless shelter, and work for a cell phone company, have two more kids, a monastery …” “Or?” Joshua’s smile was hopeful.

“Or maybe he wants me to love Him and love others.” “Ding. Ding. Ding. Give Lizzie a prize.” “But I KNEW THAT!” “I thought so, but some lessons need to be refreshed.” I grabbed a notebook and started drawing lines and writing in days of the week. I marked off work days. “So if I still work forty hours a week, then my evenings are free. I need to call and see which shelter needs …” “Hold your horses. What are you doing?” “Making a schedule. How can I help if I am not organized?” “What did God say?” “Love God. Love your neighbor. I wonder if it’s too late to the Christmas choir.” I wrote that on my calendar on Thursday nights. My pen disappeared first, then the notebook, then the books, and then Joshua waved good bye. It was just me and my Bible. Then. There was God. Sitting comfortably cross-legged in front of me. Bemused by the evening’s events and my mind filled with questions and images and Joshua, I raised my hands in the air. “What do you want me to do?” The applause from heaven was deafening. God smiled. Talk about positive reinforcement. He knew I still didn’t get it. Not entirely. But I had finally asked the right question to the absolutely right person.

Day Fifteen

November 20

“What do you want me to do?” Can a mere human ask the Creator of the Universe such a question? Am I not supposed to know what to do? Didn’t Father Andrew preach “Love God, Love Neighbor” at least three times a year? Take care of widows, orphans, the homeless, missionaries? All of these are good things that need doing, but my question was personal now. What does God want Elizabeth Ann Grace Sullivan to do today, now, and in the future? I wrote all morning—skipping the group session—a huge no-no. I wrote down all the things that I felt that I could do, then all the things I’d like to try doing, and all the things I did not want to do nor felt qualified to even try to do. Mabel said she felt called to love people, but how did she end up here, in an addiction treatment center? For the first time in a very long time, I tried to look up ages in the Bible about how to follow Jesus. But my memory was faulty. I needed access to a concordance or a computer. Mabel bustled into the room with a bright smile and my lunch on a tray. “How are you feeling? Headache gone?” A wave of guilt rushed over me and flushed my cheeks with embarrassment. “Mabel, I am so sorry. I lied about having a headache. I was writing and I simply did not want to break my concentration. Can you forgive me? Please?” She set my tray down carefully on the bed. Her hands went to her ample hips and her smile turned into a frown. Dark brown eyes assessed me and I met her gaze. I did not want her to doubt my sincerity. “Recognizing and itting your bad decisions is a good sign of a healthy conscience. Yes, I forgive you. Don’t

do it again.” I sighed. “Thank you, Mabel. Now can I make a request?” “You have to go this afternoon.” “Yes, yes, you are absolutely right. How do I get computer time?” “Doc Aimee has to sign off on it and schedule you. Ask her this afternoon.” I hungrily ate my lunch of a chicken salad sandwich, an apple and a chocolate chip cookie. I couldn’t the last time I had been excited about something. I had a mission. I wanted to study, do research, and ask questions. I wanted to be prepared to meet God tonight. As I brushed my hair, standing before the bathroom mirror, I paused. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Me asking the question and Him giving me a step by step plan for the rest of my life. He’d probably say get well first, and I really understood that now. But then what? After my thirty days here, what was next? And somehow that is what we talked about in group. “What happens when we leave?” I asked, peering around at the circle to see if my question provoked any interest. “What do you mean, Elizabeth?” “What’s next for us? Do we go back to our old life and try not to go crazy again?” Silence. Doc Aimee scanned the group, but her gaze returned to me. “What is worrying you most?” “Dorothy didn’t want to go back so much that she killed herself. My old life wasn’t working for me either. How do I change it? What can I change? I failed. That’s why I am here. How do I keep from failing again?” “Excellent question. What can you change?” Aimee eyed the whole group again.

“This question is for all of you. What can you change so that you continue to get well and do not relapse into poor choices and behaviors again?” I studied the group, who were each looking a bit overwhelmed and scared to answer. My hands became my focal point. Twisting them together in my lap. “Elizabeth, give us one suggestion.” I said the first thing that popped in my head. “Continue counseling.” “Richard?” Thoughtful as always, he weighed his words carefully. “Reconnect with trusted family and friends.” “Good. Trustworthy people who have our best interest at heart are valuable allies. If anyone suggests you go back to bad behaviors—you must walk awayand do so quickly. Strength comes with time, but it is always better to not even tempt yourself. Neither should you get into a verbal sparring match with anyone who is trying to sabotage your healing.” “Stephen? What about you?” Stephen pushed his glasses up his nose. “I guess for me—church.” “Yes. Although our facility is not a faith-based program, most of us working here recognize the healing that comes from a spiritual relationship with God. If you feel like Stephen, then find a church community and get involved.” “Annie? What do you think?” Annie looked at each of us with her solemn cinnamon eyes. “Help other people survive this kind of crazy.” A bell dinged in my head. A light came on. I spoke up. “Yes, Annie, you are so right. Yet how? That’s my frustration. How can what I’ve been through help someone else?” “We survived,” Richard said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rubbed his eyes, then face and head, and then let his hands fall to his lap. “We each are

surviving. We will not be victims of grief, depression, anxiety, phobias, or fear. Like an alcoholic who goes one more day without a drink, each day we live is a victory over our tragedies. We are a testament to survival.” And he was right. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. But Richard was right. Now, yes, I was only fifteen days into my stay, but I was already looking forward—not backward. Each of them had been here longer and I realized they would leave before me. “Richard, when do you leave?” “Friday.” “Are you ready?” He ran his hands up and down his thighs nervously. “My brother and a cousin are going to spend the first month home with me, alternating every week.” We waited, sensing his need to voice something else. “Dorothy’s funeral is tomorrow morning, and it’s at the cemetery where my family is buried. I want to go, and yet I know it will be painful, excruciating really, but a true test of whether I am ready to the world again.” Richard had spoken of the elephant in the room. The funeral. Doc Aimee was taking anyone who wanted to go. Several others from the staff were going also. How would we deal with it?

Dream 15

I sat on the park bench writing in my journal, waiting on God. The tandem bike was parked right next to me and the basket was filled with presents. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but I had seen that basket feed more than a hundred people all kinds of sandwiches and drinks. It was a miracle basket. I was still amazed but no longer surprised. I had come to expect the unexpected, and I was always filled with wonder at His creativity. This evening was no different. The park was busy. Pleasantly so. I watched the others, content in my space, when a young woman ed me on the bench. “Ready to ride?” she asked. “Yes. I’m just waiting on … my … ah … for God, you know?” Her smile was wide and inviting. “I’m ready if you are.” I stared. She had dark, almost black hair that fell long, thick and straight over her shoulders. She had a slender athletic build and I guessed she would stand at about five foot nine inches or so. A pale peaches and cream complexion. Yet it was the eyes, a deep, dark, blue filled with love and kindness that gave her identity away. She was God. Still I stammered. “Who..who are you?” “I am the third member of the Trinity. I am the Helper, the Spirit, the Guide, the Teacher to steer you to the right path.” “Holy Spirit? Really?” “Really.” “Wow. I mean wow. But why now? Will I see God again? I mean the other

member of God? Not Jesus, but God the Father? Doesn’t that get confusing?” She turned toward me, resting her arm along the back of the bench. “You have a lot of questions. And questions need answers or direction to answers. That is my job. To help you listen, to encourage you, to speak on your behalf, whatever is needed to help you on your journey through this life.” “I’ve never seen you before, or have I?” There was something familiar about her. “These are unique circumstances, but I have helped you before and will all your life. I live within you and with you always.” Just listening to her speak soothed me, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. She got up and grabbed the bike, pushing up the kickstand. “Ready for a ride?” “Did you put all the presents in the basket?” I asked as I ed her. “Questions, questions and more questions. Come on. It’s a beautiful night for a ride.” I went to the back seat of the bike. I had learned that lesson well. If God wanted to go anywhere, He always led, even if He was now a She. We started off pretty slow and steady, but soon the landscape changed and so did the people. The basket appeared between our seats. “Give those away,” she said. I picked up the top box. The tag read: Love, Elizabeth. “What is it?” “Bits and pieces of you. Let’s stop a moment.” We pulled over and we were in front of the coffee shop I used to go to regularly. The door opened and Carrie came out, the one who usually waited on me. “Toss her one,” the Spirit said. I looked at the box and then Carrie, who was leaning against the front window of the shop looking rather sad. “Really?

“Elizabeth.” “Hey, Carrie, heads up,” and I tossed the box her way. The silver box with the pink ribbon landed in her hands. She looked around, but didn’t see us. As she opened the box I heard my voice coming out of it saying; ‘I’ll say a prayer for your mom.’ “Her mom has ovarian cancer.” I glanced between Carrie and the Spirit. “I don’t understand.” “Let’s keep going. Just to give the presents away.” Our ride was smooth and steady. We rode through familiar neighborhoods, places I have lived, worked or played. I tossed the gaily wrapped boxes as we went. I was amazed to hear my voice, my words, or see my hug or touch or even silent presence treated as a gift. Lunch with old friends—three boxes of whispered prayers and hands held. One box held an extra tip for a waiter, another a smile for the mailman. Others, a place in the line of traffic to a driver, a thank you to the clerk at the dry cleaners, a “Have a blessed day” to the library lady, lending an ear to the Panera cashier and more. I was stunned that the boxes continued to fill the basket and that these brief exchanges were considered gifts. My glow was dimmed only briefly by a few who shrugged off my gift, who tossed their boxes into the trash, or who shrugged them away. Untouched and unaccepting of my gift. We arrived back at the bench and I collapsed, exhausted yet exhilarated. It was like the feeling I had when God and I handed out sandwiches. “Dear Teacher?” I called to her where she stood wiping the bike down with a soft cloth. “Yes?” “Help me understand.” “What questions have you been asking and what did you ask God the Father last night?”

“What does God want me to do?” “And tonight is your answer. What did you see?” I thought back over the past hour. “Be kind to people. But even more than that, He wants me to love them all.” “Good. How were you doing that?” “By seeing them, knowing them, responding to them, right where we were.” “Exactly right, Elizabeth.” Perplexed, I shook my head. “That seems too simple.” The Holy Spirit laughed. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” “So teach me.” “Go boldly into your life. Bravely love those you come in with, and not just those who love you back or welcome your smiles. You must love and be kind to even the unlovely.” I ed those who responded to my gift with indifference or failed to respond at all. “That’s really hard.” “It does take practice, but I will help. All you have to do is ask me, and I will respond. This is what we want most of all for our children. To love and be loved.” “Even though we are created in your image, we still manage to hurt each other and that makes loving difficult.” She ed me on the bench and took my hand in hers. It was a reassuring feminine move and it felt good. “You are quite right. Difficult, but not impossible. And where do you get help for the difficult and even the impossible?” “You. Him. Jesus.” “Yes. Ask. Listen. Wait expectantly and the answers will come.”

“Waiting is not my strong point.” She laughed again, a sound like the most beautiful wind chimes. “He warned me about you.”

Day Sixteen

November 21

Reeling from the visions of last night’s dream, I struggled to stay focused enough to get dressed for Dorothy’s funeral. I did discover that Dorothy was her real name. A family name. I hope the name wasn’t cursed by generations of Dorothy’s being so abused and mistreated. Mom had packed me a pair of black slacks and a black sweater that was going to be my outfit for the day. It was dreary and cold and the day before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving. I had lost track of time. Safe Haven was providing turkey and dressing for everyone and their families. Mom and Dad were coming by at 11:00 tomorrow and then going to my sister’s afterward. Mabel knocked on the door and came in. “You look nice.” “Thanks. I feel almost normal.” “Here,” Mabel handed me a shoebox, “Dorothy’s mom wanted me to give these to you.” I handed the box back to Mabel. I didn’t need to look inside. “Dorothy should have them.” Mabel opened the box with the Ruby Red Slippers and pulled out a slip of folded white paper. It had the hospital logo up in the right corner. “Please give these shoes to Elizabeth. She wants to go home again and they can help her. I hear in her voice the happiness she had there and I think she can be happy again. I cannot. The Lord curses the house of the wicked, but He blesses the home of the righteous.” Proverbs 3:33 NIV

I stood silent, stunned at her wisdom and depth of understanding. Then I smiled. She was still with us, with me, though she had chosen a different path. The slippers gleamed in their satin liner, winking up at me. “Will you wear them?” Mabel asked. I nodded. “For Dorothy. For all of us.” So, I went to Dorothy’s funeral in sedate black clothes wearing the sparkly Ruby Red Slippers. The four of us, Aimee, Richard, Stephen and I, linked arms as we crossed the parking lot to the packed church. Annie had chosen not to go saying the wheelchair was too hard to maneuver—an excuse—but it was okay. The funeral service was sad, yet lovely. Her parents were heartbroken and cried most of the service. Still I sensed Dorothy’s influence on the songs as “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” played while they wheeled the casket out of the church. That’s when I lost it and started crying also. Driving through the cemetery, Richard kept his gaze fixed out the window. I wondered if he knew exactly where his family was. Stupid me, of course he did. Tears ran silently down his face and dripped off his chin until Stephen offered him a handkerchief. At Dorothy’s graveside, the Pastor said another short prayer and then invited her parents to say something. They declined, yet stood next to the casket as the rest of us walked by for one last goodbye. Then we walked with Richard to his family’s graves. He sank to the ground as if his legs could no longer him and I stepped forward to go to him, but Aimee caught my arm and shook her head. “Let him try to do this himself.” “Okay,” I whispered, though my heart broke for him.

Dream 16

I was quiet tonight and wasn’t surprised to find myself on the beach bench under the bright full moon with very few people around. The sound of the waves soothed my tender heart and spirit. She sat quietly with me, the Holy Spirit. I ed the first few nights spent with Father God, sharing Oreos and milk and other goodies. He had always been feeding me. It felt like ages since those nights when I was closed off from feeling anything except anger and desperate sadness. “You have grown. You are finding yourself again.” “I’m alive.” I said, but not with joy or thanksgiving. “Yes. Just because Richard felt guilty for being alive and you did not, does not mean he loved his family more than you.” “But I tried to commit suicide to escape the pain, not because I felt guilty for being alive. Will guilt ambush me later?” “No. You did not play any role in your husband and daughter’s death. You weren’t supposed to go, nor did you suggest they go. It was their regular daddydaughter time and it was an accident. Richard’s was an accident too, but he was there.” “So why am I feeling like this is all a temporary fix? Did Dorothy know something the rest of us haven’t realized? Is it ridiculous for us to think we can get out of here and live any kind of normal life?” “What’s normal?” “I have no idea.” “That’s right. You are going to create a new normal. You have decisions to make about where to live, work, play, and go to church. Decisions about what will help

you remain close to us. But we will be with you, all you have to do is ask.” I shook my head, silent. Richard was leaving Friday. And it scared me because I knew my turn was coming. I would reach my thirty days and be sent home to try my wings without the structured and secure environment of Safe Haven. Would I fail? “This is all too hard.” “Tonight it seems that way because you are aching with the loss of Dorothy. Some days will be that way. Just what Aimee has taught you.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Rest. Eat. Pray. Take my meds. Call someone. Exercise. Go to the group meetings. And if none of that helps, then go in and see Aimee.” “I am always available.” “But I won’t see you like this, will I? I mean this is a special gig, isn’t it?” “Yes, Elizabeth, but even if these are special circumstances, you will be as important to me then as you are now.”

Day Seventeen

November 22 Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and rainy. I don’t mind cold weather, but the rain I could have done without. My mood matched the weather – dismal. Mabel and Doc were off today to be with their families. Those who were working today were attempting to be in the holiday spirit. Which meant I had to endure CindyLou-Who’s cheerful self. “Happy Thanksgiving, Elizabeth! How are you this fine morning?” “Fine?” I pulled the curtains aside. “What do you see out there?” “Rain to nourish the earth. Air to breathe. Growing plants and trees and grass …” I raised my hand to silence her. “Okay. I get it.” “Are you going to get breakfast? Richard and Annie were looking for you.” “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.” I dressed quickly in jeans and a sweatshirt, though to be honest I really did not want to see anyone. Still, my stomach was growling and I needed to eat. The Ruby Red slippers winked again at me from the bottom of my closet as I slipped my feet into my Keds. She was really gone. I hadn’t asked God about her. Scared, I think, of what He might say. Still I’m not sure if He would even answer or just give me one of those “my ways are not your ways, my thoughts are not your thoughts” kind of answers. The cafeteria was busy. No one had scheduled appointments or group sessions or doctor visits today because of the holiday. And some already had visitors. Annie

waved to me from across the room and I wove in-between the tables and people to reach her and Richard. I leaned down and hugged the black woman who had become so precious to me in such a short period of time. “Happy Thanksgiving.” “And to you, dear child.” I held out my hand to Richard, which he took in both of his. “Happy Thanksgiving.” “Thank you. And to you too.” “I see you are both taking advantage of the extra goodies this morning.” The table was covered with food and an empty plate set before my chair. Richard picked up his fork and pointed at the full table. “We didn’t want to go back, and we wanted enough for you.” “Thanks.” Sharing food is an intimate thing. I reading an article about that once upon a time. I had shared it with Sean and Hannah, and then they both had begun stealing food from my plate and then each other’s plate. It wouldn’t have been so funny if we had been in our own kitchen, but at the time we had been dining out at Ruby Tuesday’s. We had all gotten the giggles, and the waitress had been a bit skeptical of approaching the table. I froze. Napkin in my lap. Fork in my hand. Head bowed to whisper a prayer. I froze at the memory and the smile on my face. “Is something wrong?” asked Annie. “Do you see something in your food?” I looked up at them both. “Nothing like that. I just had a memory of Sean and Hannah, and I’m smiling instead of crying.” They both remained silent, watching me. Uncertainty lurked on their faces. “I think that’s a good thing.”

Annie resumed eating. “You need to share that with group tomorrow.” “Are we having session? I thought we were having a casual getting-out-of-here party for Richard.” “Yeah,” Richard said, “but I think this is something you should share.” “Okay.” I ate hungrily for a few moments, glancing around to see who had company. I spotted Stephen in the far corner with an older couple. They looked really serious. As I watched, Stephen seemed to be trying to convince them of something, but the older man just shook his head. “That’s Stephen’s parents,” Annie said. “They don’t approve of him being in here. They wanted him to come to their church and let their Elders lay hands on him. I’m surprised they came today.” “It’s hard for older people to change their ways,” I said. “Especially if this is what they have been taught all their life. It’s easy to say ‘We don’t believe in this or that’ until this or that happens to you or your child.” “What about you?” Richard asked. “How do your folks feel about you being in this place?” “My parents would have put me in here three months ago.” I put down my fork and pushed my empty plate back, leaning forward with elbows on the table. “Are you excited about tomorrow?” “Actually, I am. My brother is coming to get me and he is going to stay with me this first full week. Then Shane, my cousin, is coming next weekend to stay a week. The family is really, really good.” “But …” He glanced between me and Annie, who paused in eating the last bite of her waffle. “Not all of my extended family is as ive. Sara’s family still has issues about me not being charged with negligent homicide. My lawyer has been in with Jarrod, my brother, and he has the information on the lawsuit at the house.” “That’s horrible.”

Richard shrugged. “They are grieving, angry, and I’m here.” “Still! Why? What can they hope to gain?”

Dream 17

“Why?” I asked Father God. “There isn’t an answer that will make you feel better.” “But you could change this, change us.” “Yes, I could.” “But you won’t.” “Again there isn’t an answer I can give you that will make you feel better.” “Can’t you just appear to them and tell them to let the lawsuit drop? That the whole thing was an accident? That their daughter and grandchildren are with you and fine.” “I could, but then why would they need faith? I have provided them everything they need to survive this earthly tragedy. They can walk by faith, trust in me, or not.” “And that’s it. You make it sound easy, but you are the Creator of the Universe, for you it is easy. For us, loss, pain, grief, betrayals are very hard to deal with, to endure, and to get over. For us, this kind of tragedy becomes a turning point in our lives.” “Yes, Elizabeth, these can be turning points. Turn toward me or wander off the path and get lost. So lost that instead of living in close communion with me, you drag through each day, each year, as if burdened with the whole world. I want my children to have abundant life.” “I’m not perfect. I know that. They aren’t perfect. They are reacting and sometimes we get it wrong.” “Which is why My mercies are new every morning.”

“God, sometimes you make me crazy!” I stood up and walked away briskly, but then I turned back. “I wandered off. You saved me.” “You called for me. I respond to my children.” “When? When did I call for you?” Truly I did not ever calling specifically for God to save me, because I quite specifically blamed Him for the deaths of Sean and Hannah. I had stopped going to church just a couple weeks after the funeral. I had seen Father Andrew a couple times after that at the request of my parents, but the meetings hadn’t gone well at all. Though a wonderful pastor and teacher, he simply hadn’t known what to do with my anger. Then the excessive behaviors had started about the time the shock and numbness had worn off. Still, in my pain, I had railed at a God so unloving, so uncaring, and so unmerciful as to take my family from me. I certainly hadn’t asked for help. The following months had gone from bad to worse as I skipped outings with friends, avoided dinners with my family, ate dinner in bed zoning out in front of the television, and discovered I liked Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum. I had no qualms about having a drink now and then, but my drink had always been a nice glass of White Zinfandel. Maybe even two, but no more. Wine wasn’t touching the pain. The rum provided the first nights of complete sleep without nightmares since the accident. I was hooked and quickly. Before I knew it I was having a short one with lunch to get me through the rest of the work day and a lot more at night. I was lost and some part of me knew that. Unfortunately that part was kept gagged most of the time by the rest of me. I did start to lose track of hours those couple weeks before I crashed. Even days. One morning I got up, dressed, and went to work to discover it was Sunday. No one had been there to see me, and I had told myself surely I was coming down with the flu since I was so muddled. It was amazing, looking back, at the things I told myself to rationalize and explain my actions. But right now I stood six feet from God, who did not lie, and I truly couldn’t calling to Him. “Show me when.” The memory flooded back. It was earlier in the evening on the night I took the pills, in the package store where I bought the rum. There had been several other

people in there, and one couple had been there counting out their coins to see if they had enough for a bottle of the cheapest whiskey. The girl didn’t look twenty-one and the guy looked ancient. She walked over to me and asked me for a couple dollars. They both got paid the next day, she said. I looked into her eyes and saw someone hardened by life, someone whose innocence had been ripped away. I gave her two dollars and as she walked away I whispered, “God help them.” I looked at the bottle in my hand and knew I was still going to buy it. “God help me.” I blinked and was back in the dream with God. “And it isn’t easy,” he said. “What?” I stammered. “It isn’t easy for me to watch you suffer, walk away, choose something other than me. There’s nothing easy about it.”

Day Eighteen

November 23

“What shocked me at breakfast was that I wasn’t in tears. I had a slight smile on my lips. That was a first.” I finished telling Doc Aimee the memory of sharing food with Sean and Hannah, and looked to her for a reaction. “How did that make you feel?” Aimee asked. “Good initially, but …” “But?” “Last night I was sad. Does my acceptance mean I love them less?” “Of course not!” Annie said. “No way.” Richard said. “Why would you think that?” Stephen asked. “Absolutely not.” Aimee said. I offered a weak smile and nodded. “I guess I was overthinking it and got sidetracked.” Aimee continued, “ing them without the pain, or guilt, or any negative emotion is definitely a goal. When you how your daughter argued with you about her hair color, or how Sean always forgot the dry cleaning, you should them truthfully in love.” “Our families aren’t perfect because they are made up of people with faults, flaws, and weaknesses just like you and me. Richard, are you ready to deal with

your family, with the reality of life again?” Richard rubbed his hands up and down his black slacks. He was dressed in his funeral clothes to go home. “I am. They are throwing me a welcome home gathering. I’m a little nervous, but my brother said he only invited the ones we both like.” “That sounds nice. So before we break from group and go enjoy the goodies I see on the table, remind us all of how you are going to take care of yourself.” “Pray. Take my meds. Continue counseling. Rest. Eat. Start running again— gradually. Let my brother and cousin help.” We all offered a round of applause, then went to Richard and hugged him. Over punch and cake we talked about how good Thanksgiving dinner had been and how many visitors had come by. The showing of “The Wizard of Oz” had been well attended in the community room too. I had sat next to Annie, dressed in sweat pants, but with the Ruby Red Slippers on my feet. I had cajoled Stephen into ing us because he had been sad ever since his parents had left. Still, as the clock ticked closer to eleven o’clock, we grew quieter. Finally one of the nurses stuck her head in and said Richard’s brother was here. We lined up at the door, and he shook hands and hugged us all. At the door he turned back and smiled. “Every one of you is invited to my house for Christmas Eve. Doc has the address to give each of you. See you then.” Then he was gone.

Dream 18

“I’m happy for Richard.” I said. “Good.” “We’ll be getting someone new Monday according to Aimee.” Silence. I looked up from my hands into the wise brown eyes of God. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for walking away from you. I’m sorry for hurting you by hurting myself. I’m sorry for not getting help sooner. I’m sorry … that’s it … I’m just sorry.” “Thank you. Apology accepted.” He ran his large weathered hand gently over my hair, like a father soothing a child. “I know you are happy for Richard, yet still sad over Dorothy, and Stephen’s parents, and even Richard leaving. So, what would you like to do tonight?” I thought about it for a moment. ing my first refusal to ride a bike with Him. But I had found joy in letting God lead. “Ride.” “Done.” The tandem bike appeared, empty basket attached in the front, and the usual two helmets. We climbed aboard, God in front and me on the back. He pushed the kickstand up and held the bike upright with his strength. Turning toward me he asked, “Do you trust me?” “Yes,” I nodded. “Hang on.” And off we went. He set a steady pace as if he had a destination in mind, yet I could not fathom where it could be. We circled through the familiar park and people waved at us as we rode by. Their names rolled from his lips without

hesitation. We stopped beside a young man. A well-worn backpack hung across his shoulders. He greeted God in a language I did not understand. His expression grew serious though as they talked, and he glanced back at me, nodding. Then he stepped beside me and laid his hands on my shoulders. In English he said, “Elizabeth, St. Augustine said ‘Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.’ Be angry at the situation, not the people. Have the courage to forgive, change, grow and help. Hope is born in this.” “Thank you. That’s lovely. How will I ever it though?” The young man reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of folded ivory paper. “For you.” And he pressed it into my hand. “Farewell my friend,” he said patting God on the shoulder. “Ready to keep going, Elizabeth?” “Uh-huh …” I said looking back at the young man. “Elizabeth?” “Yes?” “Pedal, girl, pedal. We left the park and the landscape changed. We rode into the emerald green countryside. Rolling hills covered with the most beautiful shades of green grasses and bright flowers I had ever seen. The road was paved, yet slim and bordered most of the way with short stone fences. In the distance I saw a small town. Focused on that, I bobbled a bit when we suddenly came to a stop in the rode. “You okay?” God asked. I stared past him. “Is that a herd of sheep?” “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Where are we?” “Ireland. Don’t worry I’ll have you home in time for breakfast.” To my amazement he started peddling again and eased us through the middle of the baaing and bleating fluffy creatures. Their shepherd tipped his flat cap at us as we parted his herd and exited the other side. I laughed out loud. I simply couldn’t help it. God grinned over his shoulder. “Pedal.” So I pedaled and stared out over the landscape as the buildings in the distance got closer and closer. A honk from a car horn right behind us almost had me tumbling off the bike, but I caught myself in time to see the smallest car I’d ever seen slip past us. God tipped his flat cap at him. Hey, when did God change clothes? Yet I looked down to find myself similarly clad. A wool sweater over a T-Shirt, a soft scarf, a tweed cap and a rain jacket with hood. And sturdy boots on our feet. The breeze was cool. The air fresh. For the first time I let go of the handle bars and sat up straight, letting God have complete control. I raised my face to the breeze, breathing deeply, and felt the first rain drops. My hands found the handlebars. “It’s raining,” I said, stating the obvious. Apparently I didn’t think the creator of the cosmos could identify the precipitation falling from the sky. We entered the small town. People walked along the sidewalks, some with umbrellas, and some without. Some just pulled their rain slickers up around their ears and their caps down lower. By then we were stopping in front of a shop and God was hopping of the bike. “Care for a cup of tea?” The place was warm, dry and inviting. Not nearly as packed as I would have expected. My gaze was immediately drawn to the large fireplace on the back wall. The flames leaped and crackled, and the smell of peat was earthy, rich, and almost sweet.

A young woman greeted us and asked if we would like a table or to sit at the bar. God smiled, “We’ll sit near the fire. We got a bit damp.” “It’s a lovely soft day, isn’t it?” she said, leading us across the room. “Soft?” I questioned. “Damp, hazy, blurred around the edges. Not sharp or clear or bright,” she explained. I nodded. “Soft.” God ordered us two cups of Irish breakfast tea with milk and sugar. I was trying to take it all in. We had never gone to another country before. The voices of the other people rose and fell around us, their accents drawing me into their world. The walls had pictures of lush Irish pastures and stone castles, as well as portraits of Mary and the infant Jesus. On the wall beside the bar were two wellused dartboards. Musical instruments sat in a corner beside dark wood shelves lined with books. We were in an authentic Irish pub. “They make the best tea,” he said, his dark eyes twinkled at me. The tea arrived in a lovely china pot with matching cups. I poured for us both and added both milk and sugar to mine. I sipped it cautiously as he prepared his. I sighed with pleasure. We drank in pleasant silence. The rain outside a steady sort, it drove a few more customers inside. A few sat at the bar and ordered a Guinness, but most sat at the tables and ordered tea and scones. I watched and listened, enjoying myself. I had just refilled my cup of tea, when the door blew open and a tall woman came inside. She shook the rain from her long auburn hair and stomped her soft leather walking boots. I watched as she greeted the hostess with a hug. She shrugged out of her coat revealing a hunter green sweater and dark blue jeans tucked into the boots. Her voice was soft, yet carried. Friendly, lyrical even— musical. She walked to the bar and ordered something, but kept moving greeting the patrons on the bar stools and then everyone in the room. She kept working her way back and forth across the room until she stood next to God and me.

God stood to greet her and they hugged like old friends. He grabbed a chair from the next table and swung it around for her to us. She sat with a deep sigh, and then turned her gaze on me. Her eyes were bluer than the clearest brightest day. Her skin was pale almost translucent with just a hint of healthy pink. She smiled and her mouth formed a wide grin with white even teeth. There was something familiar about her. “Welcome, Elizabeth. Welcome to Ireland.” She held out a slim long-fingered hand and I slipped my hand into hers. Her grip was remarkably firm. The bartender broke the spell when he sat a tall steaming mug in front of her. “Do I know you?” I asked. God chuckled. “Elizabeth, this is Isabeau, the Holy Spirit.” “But she looks different.” I looked back and forth between them. “And you are both here. And …” my voice trailed off as I sat perplexed. She smiled, then lifted her mug and sipped. “Hmmm. Perfect. Just what I needed to take the chill off my bones.” “What is it?” I asked. “Irish coffee. Would you like a taste?” Intrigued by her offer, I accepted the mug and sipped as she had done. The flavors blossomed in my mouth. Robust coffee-flavor yet also cinnamon, and possibly vanilla and cream. “Delicious.” “Isabeau?” God asked quietly. “We’re fine, dear one. Aren’t we, Elizabeth?” I didn’t understand the interchange until God rose to his feet again. I stood also. God waved at me to sit. “Sit. Relax. Enjoy. I’ll be back to get you. Isabeau will take good care of you.” “Surely I will. Sit, child, sit. Finish your tea.”

I sat slowly and watched God exit. I must have stared a bit at the door because she said, “Don’t you worry. He will return. No harm will be done.” “You have a name? Isabeau? And you look different from last night. Familiar, yet not.” “I wear many faces, but I am the same. And, yes, I have a name. I find it best to have one when I move among my children.” I blinked and looked around. “You mean we really are in Ireland?” “Of course we are. Abba felt you needed a change of scenery. Haven’t you always wanted to go to Ireland?” “Why, yes, I have. Since I was a little girl and saw Brigadoon with Gene Kelly, and The Quiet Man with John Wayne.” “So, then here we are.” “But why?” “We need to have a conversation.” I picked up my tea, needing something to do with my hands. I sat back in my chair, staring past her, thinking. I wasn’t sure what to make of this. “A conversation about what? And why with you?” “Do you have the piece of paper from the young man you spoke to earlier tonight?” I retrieved it from my jacket pocket. “Read it out loud please.” Clearing my throat, I unfolded the paper and read it silently first. I had no idea where this was going. “Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.” “This is what we need to talk about.”

“I need to talk about anger and courage.” “Yes. We want your hope restored.” “And God and I couldn’t have this conversation?” She smiled crookedly, and love grew in her eyes. “Of course you could, and you still might, but this is where He wanted you to start this journey. You must acknowledge the anger you are holding on to first.” “At God? For the accident? For taking Sean and Hannah? I already have and I am using courage—if you will—to change that attitude.” She leaned forward then, placing her cup carefully on the table. “There is another anger inside you.” I froze. No. Surely not. I sat my cup down, too, and then crossed my arms against the sudden pain in my stomach. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Isabeau waited. My anger surged at her for forcing this moment. “No.” Still she waited. Moments turned into long minutes as we sat locked in silent battle. The other patrons drank their tea and ate their scones. A couple played darts and our waitress lifted a fiddle from the wall and began to play a beautiful sad melody. Finally into the silence she spoke a name. “John Buchanan.”

Day Nineteen

November 24

“No!” I awoke with a start. Sitting straight up in bed, I covered my face with my hands, my breath coming in heaves. Tears streaked my face as the dream came back in vivid detail. “No! No! No!” I didn’t know how but I had willed myself awake to escape the dream. Shaking all over, I slipped from the bed and went into the tiny bathroom. I splashed cool water on my face and drying it, I peered into the mirror. I saw my face, not the face of the Holy Spirit. Isabeau. I sat at my table by the window and pulled the blinds open. It was barely daylight. I felt the window pane, and the coolness eased my heated flesh. Why? Why did I have to go there? Couldn’t I keep a few of my human imperfections? Restless, wanting escape from the thoughts in my head, the memories trying to resurface, I pulled on a workout clothes and sweatshirt. I knew I couldn’t go outside, but maybe I could get access to the workout room. At the nurse’s station, Cindy-Lou popped her head up as I opened my door. “You’re up early. What can I do for you?” “Can I use the exercise room?” She checked her watch. “It’s not open for another thirty minutes …” she paused, “but I guess it’ll be okay.” “Can I get a couple ibuprofen, too?” “Headache?” she asked while typing something into her computer. “Okay. Let me grab those for you.”

In just a minute she was back with a bottle of water and two headache pills. I walked with her down the hall to the gym. She unlocked the door and let me in. “I’ll check on you in a bit.” I nodded. We both knew there was a camera up on the corner of the room, so she could see me. If something happened to me, she would hit the alarm and help would arrive in three seconds. No worries. Where had help been when my husband and child were heading into the path of an eighteen wheeler? Anger surged. I straddled the treill and turned it on. As the belt began to move I stepped on, holding the handles. It had been forever since I had done any kind of workout. Another casualty of the accident that took my family. The losses kept piling up. My faith, my friends, my family, my self-esteem, my very self; I had lost so much. Didn’t I have a right to be angry? And anger needed a direction, a scapegoat, so why not John Buchanan? I increased the speed of the machine. Feeling the burn in my resistant muscles made me feel like I was excising some of my anger. I focused on the burn. I focused on the sweat popping out on my back. Glad I’d put on a T-shirt under my sweatshirt, I stripped the sweatshirt off and let it drop to the floor. I let go of the handles and increased the speed a bit more. Loss. I had lost so much. I choked back a sob, then another, conscious of CindyLou watching me on the camera. I wanted to rage. The whole situation struck me as unfair. I’d gotten past being angry at God. My faith was growing, step by baby step, as I learned to trust God again. The accident wasn’t His fault. But it was John Buchanan’s fault. Anger surged again. It had a target. It had a reason. It had a purpose. The lawsuit had been filed. My lawsuit wasn’t like Richard’s in-law’s lawsuit. It wasn’t cruel or mean or even unreasonable. Richard could not have predicted the failure of the emergency brake. He had made reasonable choices given the circumstances. Could he have made different choices? Yes. But he hadn’t. He had to live with that. Attacking him wasn’t going to bring their daughter and grandchildren back. Attacking John Buchanan would teach him a lesson, maybe get him off the road. If he lost his job, maybe he wouldn’t kill someone else’s family. My lawsuit was justified. Yes. If God wanted me to talk about my anger, then I would talk about

it. How could He justify making me give up my anger? “Elizabeth?” Startled by the sound of a human voice instead of my own thoughts, I yelped, stumbling on the treill. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I think you need to slow down and start a cool down cycle.” “What?” I blinked, focusing on her face. “Why?” “You’ve been walking for over an hour. You are soaked through and need to hydrate.” “I’m fine. Really.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to insist. I’ll have to call Aimee if you won’t start a cool down now.” “Okay, okay. That’s not necessary. See…” I slowed the speed and slowed my pace. “Five minutes, then a shower and breakfast. Understood?” Miss Cindy-Lou had gone all Grinchy on me. “Understood.” The door closed as she backed out of the room. Where had the time gone? I didn’t feel bad. She was worrying for nothing. Still, as I took stock of my physical condition, I could see why she was worried. My breathing was a bit labored, and my T-shirt was soaked. I lowered the speed again bringing it to zero. Taking deep breaths in and blowing out, I stretched my arms up and over my head, arching my back. Ouch, that hurt. Okay, maybe I had over done it a bit. A long hot shower and a slow walk to the cafeteria had me in the breakfast line in about thirty minutes. Cindy-Lou gave me the evil eye as I ed the desk. I offered a weak smile, but did not it I had been working out too hard. She was just doing her job. No harm, no foul.

That changed when I walked back to my room and found Doc Aimee sitting at my table, looking out my window. Listen to how possessive I had gotten of this place. “Hi, Aimee. What are you doing here today? I thought you were off.” “I heard you might need a little one-on-one today.” “Nope. Doing just fine.” “Really? Come with me, please.” Aimee was using her stern voice, so I followed her reluctantly. She asked CindyLou to pull something up on the computer, and then she quietly dismissed her. “Come watch.” “I really don’t need …” “That wasn’t a request.” I came around the desk so I could see the monitor. She hit the play button and there I was on the screen. I had no idea how far into the work out I was, but my sweatshirt was gone and my T-shirt was damp. As I watched, I increased the speed and I was almost running. My breath was labored, yet still I ran. I heard Cindy-Lou call my name once, twice, and then finally shout before I heard her. We had our brief exchange then I did my cool down. It was obvious I was muttering to myself, but nothing could be heard distinctly. “I’ve seen …” “Wait for it, Elizabeth.” Wait for what? I started to ask, but then it happened. I stepped off the treill, reached down and picked up my sweatshirt, wrapping it around my right hand almost without thinking. Then I turned, pivoting suddenly, and put my right fist into the wall. The suddenness shocked me. I looked down at my right hand, clenching and unclenching it. No wonder it felt sore. No wonder I had trouble holding my fork at breakfast. No wonder it looked a bit puffy.

The me on film didn’t miss a beat. She turned back around and strode out the door, turning the lights off as if she hadn’t just put a fist-sized hole in the wall. “Do you doing that, Elizabeth?” “No.” I kept looking at my hand and then at the now stopped replay. “Let’s go to my office then.”

Dream 19

I was walking, not biking. I was not at the beach or at the park. I was on a beaten path winding up over a mountain. Really just a large hill, but it seemed steep and high to me. I clasped the roughly hewn walking stick tightly in my right hand and used it as I pushed upward and onward. My breath was still coming normally, but I wasn’t sure how long I could continue. My calves were already burning. I paused in my upward trek and looked around. Blue skies above my head, green grass below my feet, and a few patches of trees here and there bordered the various wood fences that zigzagged the fields. I was alone, too. Not that I had wanted company. My current plan was to get as far away as I could. I had already talked about my anger with Aimee and suffered a breakdown like I hadn’t had since the first few days in Safe Haven. Shame washed over me and settled in the pit of my stomach. It combined with the anger already there and churned. I hated that I had lost control. I hated that that part of me had surfaced and I had regressed to this seething mass of negative emotions. A small part of my brain and heart knew Aimee was right. Anger was like drinking poison and expecting it to hurt the person my anger was directed at. Crazy! Anger caused stress on my body, my emotions … “STOP IT!” I yelled. Surprised at myself, I took a deep breath and resumed my hike. I assessed my clothing as I walked. Sturdy boots, thick socks, cargo shorts, layered shirts, backpack across my shoulders and the walking staff. Definitely more of a hiking dream than a casual walk. Strenuous activity. Cardio-worthy fitness. I focused on my steps. The anger had receded from the front of my brain with the yelled words. How do you get away from yourself? The previous twenty-four hours had been traumatic. How could I explain it all to Aimee without her locking me up for good? I needed a plan. A plan to deal with this anger, without dealing with the anger. What else had she suggested? Changing physical position? Well I was moving. Looking up? Smiling? Making a gratitude list? Yeah, yeah, yeah. I kept putting one booted foot in front of the other.

I’m not sure how long she was there before I realized it, yet I continued to walk on without acknowledging her presence. It was Isabeau, the Holy Spirit, not God, not Jesus, and not Joshua. I’m sure she was following God’s directive. Was this next on His hidden agenda? At some point forgiving myself was going to come up and then Jesus would be back in the conversation. Tonight’s subject though was anger. Unless I could avoid it or direct it somewhere else. “Why not deal with it and get it over with?” I kept walking, not pausing. “What do you want from me?” “From you? Honesty. For you? Healing.” This time I did stop and turn to face her. Her nearly black hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail and she was dressed similarly to me. She even had a walking stick, though I couldn’t imagine she would ever need it. Her gaze was patient, her expression encouraging. Even that made me mad. “Honesty! John Buchanan killed my family and he should pay for his actions. And as for healing—his punishment will aid my healing.” “You are lying to yourself. Be honest, Elizabeth. See the truth.” “NO!” I resumed my climb. “Why? Why does this have to be dealt with? Why can’t I keep this? It’s justice for the person to pay who made the mistake.” “Mercy—” “That’s God’s deal, not mine. My job is not to grant mercy, but pursue justice and to keep a killer off the streets.” “John Buchanan did not kill your family.” “How can you say that? STOP!” And I ran away, up and up into a swirling mass of clouds. I was engulfed before I realized it. I could smell the rain and feel the moisture on my skin. The thick fog completely surrounded me and kept me from going forward or backward. I was essentially blind. “Isabeau?”

“I’m here.” “Where?” “Close.” “Did you do this?” “Not me, the Father.” I sank to the damp grass and hugged my knees, laying my head on them. Closing my eyes, I pictured Sean and Hannah riding off on their bikes that afternoon. The first gorgeous spring day in March. Sunshine and a pleasant seventy-five degree day. They always wore their helmets. They always rode from the house to the park and back, crossing through the one major intersection at the crosswalk. For years they had been doing this. But that day they hadn’t come back. That day the major intersection had spelled tragedy for the father and daughter. That day an eighteen-wheeler had locked his brakes trying to avoid the twosome who appeared in the road ahead of him. There hadn’t been enough time or distance. “They rode into the crosswalk. They didn’t see John Buchanan’s truck until it was too late. The police talked to witnesses. The freight company investigated John, checked his records, how long he had been driving, tested for alcohol and drugs, and found nothing. Sean and Hannah rode into the crosswalk. They made a mistake. John did not kill them.” The tears ran freely down my face, unchecked. “I just don’t believe it. Sean was always so careful. This is the man who got out of bed to check all the locks if he didn’t doing it. This is the man who had my brakes serviced at the first squeak. This is the man who followed Hannah to school for two weeks when she started driving. This is the man who had our fire extinguishers regularly serviced and did a home fire drill twice a year. How could he not see the eighteen-wheeler?” “He made a mistake.” “NO. I can’t accept that. Sean never made mistakes.” “Elizabeth …”

Childishly I placed my hands over my ears. I simply could not hear anymore right now. If John Buchanan hadn’t killed my family, then I had to process that Sean had caused his and Hannah’s deaths. I did not want to be angry at Sean. I loved him. I wanted him back. I grieved his loss. Anger and love didn’t compute in this situation. “What about when you fought over getting Hannah a cell phone?” asked the Holy Spirit. “You thought she was too young. He wanted her to have the ability to call you two anytime. You felt like it would stop her talking to her friends and result in massive texts. He wanted to help her fit in with her friends. You and Sean didn’t speak for two days. Did you stop loving him?” “Of course not.” “But you were angry.” “I was furious. I felt like he was giving into her peer pressure and being overprotective. I mean she was only in sixth grade. When was she ever going to be alone anywhere? We had agreed on eighth grade, not sixth grade.” “Did you stop loving Sean for those two days?” I raised my head from my knees and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “I see where you are going, but this is different.” “This is more tragic, but not different. You can love Sean and still be angry at him for making a mistake.” “He’s dead. What’s the point of being angry? It won’t change anything.” “Exactly. It won’t change anything, but being angry is an emotion that needs to be expressed and gotten past. What did Aimee say about burying this anger toward Sean behind the anger toward John Buchanan?” “You know I lost it with her.” “Yes. But I know you were hearing her, too. What did she say?” I thought back, battling my emotions, “Neither was healthy and it was going to hinder my healing process.”

“And?” “And slow my release from Safe Haven.” “Let’s go forward, Elizabeth.” “I’m scared.” I whispered. “It’s so overwhelming.” “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” I stood up and dusted off the seat of my shorts. The fog cleared allowing me to see my dear Teacher, the blue sky and the valley below us. “Where are we going?” In a blink we were standing in a junkyard. Sitting next to me on the ground was a full set of ceramic dishes. The ugliest dishes I had ever seen. The Holy Spirit stood on the other side of them. “Really?” I asked. “Why not? Didn’t you always want to try this?” I shrugged, feeling ambivalent more than anything, probably from exhaustion. I bent down and grabbed a plate, feeling its weight in my hand. “Now what?” “Let it fly.” And that’s what I did. I threw plates, cups, saucers, serving dishes, platters and dessert dishes until my arm was sore. The anger rose and fell, but I kept throwing at any little spark of anger. I threw the first plates picturing John Buchanan, but eventually the face became Sean’s. “This is for not paying attention.” “This is for getting yourself killed.” Crash. “This is for getting Hannah killed.” Sob. Crash. “This is for leaving me alone.” “This is for not being here to take care of me.” “You promised to grow old with me. You promised.” I leaned over, hands on knees, exhausted physically and mentally. Isabeau wrapped her arms around me

and took us back to my room. Tenderly she put me in bed, tucking the covers around me and kissing my forehead. I grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave me.” “I am not going anywhere. You rest, Elizabeth.”

Day Twenty

November 25

The day dawned clear and cold. Tired and emotionally drained, I requested to skip the group meeting and just meet with Aimee this afternoon. I didn’t want to deal with a new addition to our group today. Mabel had delivered the “request denied” without any explanation. I left my room at 9:55 and walked the halls toward the meeting room on auto pilot. I was present, yet not. Some part of me recognized that a portion of my brain was off processing the revelations from the weekend. I hadn’t heard Mabel though she had been speaking to me. And I had asked questions about her weekend at least twice. Mabel had answered my re-questions without hesitation. She had been downright gentle with me this morning, sensing my distraction. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Laughter greeted me as I entered the meeting room, and I looked for the source. A young woman, sitting next to Doc, in my chair no less, was laughing. No one else was laughing and I perceived an uncomfortable tension because of it. “Savannah, I must ask you to refrain from that kind of humor. We are not here to tease or criticize or put down one another. We are here to listen, empathize, and help each other.” The new girl watched me take the seat across from them and next to Stephen, who appeared to be the brunt of her humor. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to break the ice.” “Let me handle that, okay?” Aimee said. She opened her notebook and wrote something across the top. “Starting with Annie, why don’t we all introduce ourselves to Savannah?”

“I won’t be here that long. Daddy will have me out of here by lunch. No offense, but I don’t belong here. I’m sure it’s a great program, but it’s not for me.” Savannah was a spoiled rich child. What had brought her to Safe Haven? “Just in case Daddy lets you stay a couple days, I think we will continue with the introductions.” “Whatever.” Savannah studied her French manicure and her diamond watch with a bored air about her as the rest of us told her our names. I complied because I certainly could see that Aimee had her hands full with this one. Aimee started talking but Missy Girl couldn’t stop fidgeting with her watch, then her sandals, then her fingernails, until finally I got up and went across to stand in front of her. “Elizabeth?” Aimee questioned me. “Ignoring her isn’t working for me.” And before either could act, I grabbed her arm and pushed her sleeve up, revealing the needle marks. “Lie to us, lie to Aimee, and lie to your daddy, but stop lying to yourself. You are an addict. You have a problem. And you’ll be dead soon if you don’t get help.” “Who do you think—” “Doesn’t matter. You need to choose. Live or die. We’ve seen both in this class. One chose to die and we buried her last week. One chose to live and he went home on Friday. You need to choose.” Then I walked back to my seat and sat down. Aimee remained silent. Savannah remained silent as she slid the sleeve of her shirt down. Then Annie cleared her throat and all our gazes turned to her. “She’s right. You have to choose. Live or die. Doc will help you live, but you have to choose.” “Yes,” Stephen added, “Elizabeth and Annie are right. Only you can make that choice. No one can make it for you. Live or die. And if you will let us, we can

help.” Savannah dropped her gaze to the floor, letting her long blonde hair fall forward to cover her face. Of course I hadn’t expected a hug or a miraculous change of heart. It was enough that she had listened. Aimee resumed the session and talked about the signs of addiction and a few immediate changes to help get healing started. Of course we had heard this before, but a refresher was never a bad thing. Especially since I had had an emotional relapse. “I think we will end a little early today. See everyone in a couple days. Don’t forget I am off tomorrow.” We all rose to leave, but Aimee called me back. “Elizabeth, can you stay a moment?” I waited by the door, not sorry and not belligerent. I followed her down the hall to her office without protest. She closed the door behind me and settled down on the couch. “How are you today?” “Okay.” “Your comments to Savannah strike me as pretty interesting.” “You mean since you just told me yesterday that I had to quit lying to myself about the cause of the accident?” “Elizabeth.” “I’m angry.” “Yes.” “At Sean.” “And what are you going to do about it?” I shrugged, but looked her in the eye. “Break plates. Hit baseballs. Go for a walk. Write him a letter.”

“And John Buchanan?” I held her gaze a moment longer and then let it fall to the carpet between us. I sighed deeply, then met her gaze once more. “I’m getting there.”

Dream 20

Twenty days in Safe Haven. Each night spent dreaming about God in His Triune self. I’d been talking with Him, eating with Him, biking with Him, sharing with Him, and learning from Him. I believed the Holy Spirit—that I was supposed to love God and love people as best I could each day. I knew I needed to work through my anger at Sean and let John Buchannan off the hook for something he had been unable to prevent. I knew I needed to continue with the meds, the group therapy and individual counseling. For depression. For grief. For dealing with the tragedy of losing my husband and child. I needed a new normal, isn’t that what Dear Teacher had said? So what would tonight bring? I was walking through a pasture behind an old farm house. Spring possibly. Several cows raised their brown and white heads to peer at me with large brown eyes. The goats scattered as a group, and a lone peacock flew over the fence away from me. The sky was a light blue with a few wispy clouds here and there. The breeze carried the scent of fresh mown grass. I followed the sound of an electric saw and the ringing of a hammer around the side of an outlying building that was grey, weathered but still solid, with windows and a covered porch area. The smell of sawdust greeted me. Under the porch stood a man wearing worn blue jeans, a denim shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and goggles that hid most of his face from me. He was cutting a two by four in half. Finishing the board, he cut the power and placed the saw carefully on the sawhorse. He pulled the leather gloves from his hands and took off the goggles. I froze. Was I going or staying? I ed his face from the first night on the beach. I ed his scarred hands. I ed I had run instead of facing him, my shame and fallen-ness a stronghold in my psyche that I couldn’t get past. Bill Pullman was back. Jesus.

Was I going or staying? He pushed back the long bangs that had fallen across his face without the goggles there. “Hello, Elizabeth.” “Hello.” “Which of these boards do you like?” He pointed to two stacks of wood leaning against the wall. I looked at the lumber and then at his face, then back to the wood. Without knowing why, I walked over and ran my hand across the planks. One was a pale almost white distressed color. It reminded me of birch, cool and strong like winter in Colorado. The other was a deeper, richer brown with gold pulled through like highlights in a woman’s hair. It seemed almost warm to the touch. “Both are nice. I like this one better though.” I tapped the brown one. “Could you hand me that board then?” By the time I turned back around he was gloved and goggled again. It was easier being around him with his scarred hands covered and his all-seeing eyes shaded. He accepted the board and laid it crossways on the sawhorses. Lining up the plank with some invisible mark, he began to cut. I watched, fascinated by the sound, the smell, the movement of the blade, and his hands so sure. When he finished he handed me the two pieces. “Can you stack these over by that chair and get me another board?” “Sure.” I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t leave either. I did take and release a lot of deep breaths though, feeling the tension in my shoulders grow and then release. For the next hour or so, we worked this way, me handing him boards, him cutting, and me stacking. I tried to see if there were a pattern or standard, but each cut board seemed slightly different. When I handed him the last one, I sat down in the chair beside the stacks of various pieces of wood. They gleamed in the sunshine and I picked up the closest piece and traced the rings and swirls that ran through the wood giving it depth and beauty.

He sat down in a chair facing me. No goggles covered his eyes and no gloves covered his scarred wrists and hands. “What do you think?” “It’s lovely. What are you building?” “That depends on you.” “Me?” I tilted my head and considered his answer. “I’m not a carpenter or handy-man. Sean would only let me hold the ladder. I can’t build anything.” “I just need you to follow my directions. Can you do that?” I hesitated, biting my lip. Dropping my gaze to the piece of wood I cradled between my knees, I ired it again. It really was beautiful. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just hang out a bit longer and help Jesus. I was pretty good at following directions. My gaze dropped to his hands resting casually on his knees. How could I stay when I knew all he had done for me? And how badly I had let him down? “I can help, if you let me,” he said. His gaze met mine and I read only love there. “I’m willing to try.” He gave a slight nod and a smile curved his lips. “That’s the first step. Let’s get started then. Let me have that piece you have and find its mate.” How I knew what he meant, I’m not sure, but I found another board similar to the one I had and handed him both. “What next?” “I need a connecting piece now. Sturdy. Longer, but not too long. We’re building the foundation.” I sifted through the wood on either side of my chair, finally kneeling on the ground and pushing boards aside until I found one I had seen earlier. It was longer than the other two and twice as wide too. “Is this too big?” He took it and lay it spanning the distance between the other two boards. The two similar ones were standing on their sides, with the bigger piece connecting them like a short bench or table. “Perfect.”

So Jesus and I nailed these three boards together and they stood up on their own. We both smiled. “What is it?” I asked. “A beginning,” he said, laying his hand over mine. “A beginning.”

Day Twenty-One

November 26

What were Jesus and I building? I gazed out my window thinking about last night. I had no idea, but I was interested enough to look forward to tonight’s dream. I drew in my journal, or actually tried to draw a picture of where we had been and what we were constructing. The wood had been beautiful, even without varnish or stain. The stacks of wood really looked chaotic to me. Still Jesus had been pretty comfortable with our start. He was the carpenter, not I. Aimee was off today, so no group therapy. That was odd, but it was the holidays. Maybe she was Christmas shopping. And Mabel had given me a note from Aimee saying I had approvals for the use of a computer in the library and supervised exercise. The exercise sounded good, so I dressed and requested time on the treill. Cindy-Lou gave me a smile and was sweet. No hint of what happened last time I exercised in her manner or attitude. Maybe I had judged her too harshly. I thanked her honestly for the bottle of water and the towel. There were others in the gym this morning. I noted the new girl—Savannah— was on the rowing machine. Her tank top was a bit damp and her speed was pretty consistent. I saw Cindy-Lou go speak to her, and she nodded in response. I steered clear of her and got on the treill, setting it for a leisurely start up. My muscles protested. I had worked them pretty hard Saturday—just three days ago. Now I had to pay for my stupidity. I thought back and wondered if I would see Isabeau again. God had used her to get me to face my anger at John Buchanan and then had logically moved me from John to Sean. Now I was processing my anger at Sean for not being careful, for costing me my husband and child. Was our building project a way to grieve, a way to process my anger in a healthy fashion?

Shrugging, I increased my speed and tried to focus on the TV show that was playing. I needed a break from therapy, from my heavy thoughts, from the emotions that swirled in my gut. It was then that I noticed Savannah fiddling with the outside door. It opened to the back of the facility where on good weather days we were allowed to walk or eat at the outside tables. Today was not a good weather day and no one was outside. The exercise room had cleared out so that only Savannah and I were there. Could Cindy-Lou see what Savannah was doing? I checked the angles of the cameras and was certain she couldn’t. The cameras were on the machines, so they could check on us. “Hey? What are you doing?” I asked. She turned and glared. “Mind you own business.” The door popped open and she froze. “How far do you think you can get?” “Far enough. Just keep quiet. Five minutes is all I need.” “No way.” I stepped off the moving treads and turned off the machine. “I’m going with you.” “You? You’re like a grandma. You can’t keep up with me.” I approached her slowly, glancing at the camera casually, slinging the towel around my neck, sipping water out of my bottle. “You’re going after drugs aren’t you?” “So what? You can’t stop me. No one can stop me.” I heard a cry for help. I heard what she said—the words—but in my head I heard —“no one cares enough to stop me”. “I’m still going with you. I need a break and this seems like the only way I’m going to get one. A rum and Coke sounds pretty good.” Savannah nodded and checked outside the door. Then before I knew it, we were

slipping out the door, walking quickly along the building, around the back, climbing on to the air conditioner unit and boosting ourselves up and over the chain link fence into the parking lot. We were free! The property was secluded by the trees surrounding it on three sides. The driveway that lead back to the buildings was beautifully landscaped with hedges, flowers, and benches placed here and there. We slipped into the edge of the trees and followed just behind the tree line all the way out to the street. It seemed to take forever because we would run a few yards, stop, and listen, look to see if anyone was coming after us from Safe Haven or if anyone was driving into the facility. Then we were at the entrance and the street. “Which way?” I asked. “I need money first.” “How do you plan to get that without identification, or a check card?” She rolled her eyes at me. “I don’t need an ID. My fingerprint can get me whatever I need.” She was right. Thirty minutes later, having crossed back and forth across several streets, walked down a few blocks, ducked into a bookstore to browse, we entered her bank. Savannah went straight to the customer service side and explained that she had lost her purse, but needed to get some cash. I was amazed. The customer service rep presented the small computer device to Savannah, who pressed her right index finger to the pad and thirty seconds later, she had been identified. A withdrawal slip was given to Savannah to fill out the amount and get a signature. The customer service rep went behind the teller line and cashed the withdrawal slip. She brought back five hundred dollars in three crisp one hundred dollar bills and ten twenty dollar bills. Savannah was brisk but polite with everyone, yet I could see her agitation had grown since we had left the bookstore. Once we exited the bank, she handed me forty bucks, and stuck the rest of it in her front pocket.

“What’s this for?” I asked. “This is where we part company. Go get your rum.” She turned away to head in the opposite direction. I caught hold of her arm and stopped her. It was about ten thirty now on Tuesday morning. There were a few cars on the street and a few people out walking to the various stores in the neighborhood. It wasn’t that busy, yet I could cause a scene and get some attention if I wanted. I saw this knowledge flash through her brain as she shrugged off my hand and let loose with a choice expletive. “Back at you.” I was lost. Out of my element. Hannah had been a good kid and I hadn’t had to deal with drugs, alcohol, sex or even smoking yet with her. Of course, I had tried three of the four since her death. I really did not want an education in drug addiction. I had enough problems. “Let’s just think about this a minute.” “Think about what? You wanted out of the crazy bin and now you are out. I wanted out, too, and to feel good again.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms like she was cold. Which I was also. We weren’t prepared for the weather. “We need a plan of action. Where are you going to go after you get your drugs? Are you just going to get high in an alley, get picked up and go right back to the crazy house? Are you going home?” “You know I can’t go home. Dad is the one who put me in that place. He just wants me out of the way while he and his girlfriend hook up.” “And your mom?” Savannah rolled her eyes. “She’s found God or some such nonsense. I can’t go back there.” So where was the disconnect I asked myself? A dad who cared enough to put her where she needed help and a mom who liked God didn’t sound so bad to me. But it didn’t sound like they lived together. “Are your parents divorced?” “Yeah.” She flopped down on the bench by the City Bus sign. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

I sat next to her, but not too close. “Sorry to hear that.” She shrugged, “No biggie. Everybody’s parents are divorced.” “How long?” “Four years. I lived the first two with mom, but then she started freaking out on where I was and who I was with. Dad was more relaxed until I graduated, then he started nagging me about college and getting a job and stuff.” “Is that when you started using drugs?” Savannah put her head on her knees, curled up like a little girl lost. “It was just so much pressure. I just wanted to relax. Everything was locked up in my head, swirling around like a tornado. Apply here, apply there. Financial aid. Grants. Loans. What to major in? Where to live? Get a job. I’ve never had a job. Dad always gave me an allowance and made sure I had money for clothes and stuff, then all of sudden he wants me to pay half. Do you know how much a pair of Coach boots cost? Working at eight dollars an hour will take me forever to get my half.” “Pick cheaper boots.” Savannah rolled her eyes at me. I didn’t mention the four hundred dollars in her pocket because I really did understand. She was spoiled and had gotten dumped into reality with graduation from high school. Then one wrong decision had led to another and another until she was lost in an addiction she didn’t know how to get out of. Her parents didn’t know what to do with her. I needed her to see that something was possible. All she saw was that life was impossible. Not that I was blaming her parents at all. Who knew what was going on in a teen’s mind? She was only telling me because I was here. “Show me the boots.” “What?” I stood up and pulled her to her feet. “We need to get out of the cold. Show me the boots.” “But I need to get to Greg’s house.” “Is Greg your friend with the drugs?”

“Yeah, so?” “So you can still go see him after showing me the boots.” “What are you up to?” “Nothing,” I raised my hands and stepped back. The rumble of the city bus coming up the street caught my attention. “I just like boots, too. Maybe I could help you figure out how to get them.” She studied my face, seeking a lie, a trick of some kind. The bus pulled up beside us and the door opened. “Are you going by the mall?” I asked the woman behind the wheel. “Sure am. You two riding?” I looked at Savannah. “Are we riding?” She nodded quickly and stepped past me and up into the bus. She handed the lady a twenty dollar bill. The driver put it in the fare box and punched in two fares. A change card popped out. Savannah took it and took the first available seat for two. She studied the card in her hand. “What’s this?” she whispered. “You can use this to ride the bus all over the city until you use up all the money. You have seventeen dollars and fifty cents left.” “Okay.” Silence reigned between us on the bus ride. I wondered if she was second guessing her decision to go to the mall, but I couldn’t tell. I know sullen teenagers are a stereotype, but she was the poster child for them. Thirty minutes later we entered the mall through Belk’s. It felt strange. Suddenly it struck me that I had been inside Safe Haven for three weeks. Three weeks without a drink, without work, without doing laundry, paying bills, or any shopping. Three weeks without any responsibilities except one—to get healthy, to heal. Overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, I stumbled a bit and stopped. Savannah stopped and looked back at me.

“You okay?” “Yes … I just stepped wrong.” I forced a bright smile. “Lead me to the shoes.” She strode ahead of me purposefully. I should have known she would know exactly where to go. I followed her blonde head, focusing just on it, until she stopped. Stepping up next to her, I gazed at the object of her desire. Black kneehigh leather Coach boots with buckles crisscrossed across the ankle. She gingerly picked one up and turned the sole toward me to show me the price: $450.00! “Wow. Those are gorgeous.” I had never in my life paid more than $60.00 dollars for a pair of shoes of any kind. “Aren’t they? And I have the perfect outfit to wear with them. My black skinny jeans and my purple sweater.” “So buy them. You have the money in your pocket.” “But I need that for Greg.” “Let’s think about this. If you give the money to Greg, you’ll get high for a couple hours? And you won’t have the boots. If you buy the boots, you’ll have them now and in a couple hours you’ll still have them. You can wear them all season.” She put the boot down and stuck her hands in her pockets. “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not stupid. If I buy the boots, I can’t get high. But if I don’t get high, I’m going to get sick. I can already feel it coming on.” “But if you get through being sick, then you won’t have to get high anymore.” “You don’t understand. It’s the only time I feel good anymore.” What was I to say? I had to hit bottom before I realized I needed help. Still I had come through twenty days and that was something. “Savannah, if you’ll go back with me to Safe Haven, I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave you. I promise. Just try. Give the people at Safe Haven a chance to help you.” “I can’t. I just can’t.” Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. She took one

more look at the boots, sliding one hand down the leather, and then she walked away. Fast. I followed her. She didn’t glance back to see if I was there. I had to think of something. That’s when I saw him. Joshua. My guardian angel. He was looking over a display of footballs in the sporting goods section. Savannah was charging ahead through Belk’s. I zigzagged through the aisles of clothes and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him after me. It didn’t even occur to me that since he was an angel, I couldn’t drag him after me. “What gives, Lizzie?” “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?” “I’m keeping an eye on you.” “Well, I need more than an eye. I need a plan to get Savannah back to Safe Haven. Where’s her guardian angel?” Joshua looked around quickly then leaned in to whisper to me, “You know no one else can see me, right? You look like a crazy person. Not cool.” “Joshua!” “She’s over by the purses.” I stood up on tiptoe to see Savannah exit the building. “This is so not good!” I stopped right then and there. In the middle of Belk’s. And prayed. Which is what I should have done first. “Dear God, please send help. Please give me words to keep Savannah safe. I can’t do this without you.” Joshua disappeared. I ran for the door.

Dream 21

I sat next to Savannah’s bed holding her hand. The past twelve hours had not been fun. She was sleeping now though, and I imagined I was, too, when I saw God standing in the corner with a teenage girl about Savannah’s age. It was Mia, Savannah’s guardian angel. Mia walked to the bed and took Savannah’s hand in hers. Savannah sighed in her sleep. “I’ll be here,” Mia whispered to me. “You can go see Jesus.” I sat back, yawned, and rubbed my eyes. I smiled at God. “Thank you.” He smiled back and nodded. “We’ll stay until you get back.” In the space from one breath to the next I lifted my face to the warmth of the sun, eyes closed, stretching my arms overhead. I was stiff and tired, but it was a good tired. Not that I wasn’t in deep trouble with the Safe Haven staff, Doc Aimee, and my group for leaving with Savannah that morning. It seemed so long ago. At least days ago, but somehow—with God’s help—and the help of two guardian angels—we had both returned to Safe Haven through the front doors. One had been sullen and barely putting one foot in front of the other. One had been coaxing, pleading, and promising, bravely willing to take responsibility for her actions. “Girl, you have gone and messed up now.” Mabel had been there, hands on ample hips, shaking her head at the two of us. Then she enveloped both of us, surprising Savannah, but not me. “And I have never been so happy to see two patients in my life. Praise God.” “Praise Him, indeed,” I had whispered back and winked at Joshua. But now I was in the pasture next to the work shop and I heard the sound of a hammer and someone whistling. It made me smile. Sean had whistled when he was happy. It had always reassured me that everything was okay—that singing sound. God knew that. I was learning how like Him it was for Him to be sweet

like that. “Hello,” I called out. Jesus paused in mid-swing and his dark eyes seemed to light up, crinkling at the edges as he smiled. He put the hammer down, and waved at the seat next to him. “Hello, Elizabeth. Come have a cool drink and tell me about your day.” I scooped up the tall glass of lemonade and drank thirstily. “Thank you.” I sank into the chair. “I didn’t realize I needed that, but you did, I guess.” He shrugged and drank from his own glass, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You had a pretty busy day.” “Yeah, but you know all about that. We can work on whatever it is that we are building.” “I’d like to hear your version of the day.” Tilting my head, I peered into his face. His interest was evident as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. I was instantly awestruck and tonguetied. Jesus wanted to hear what I had to say. If Savannah knew she was this important to God, then surely … “Tell me about Savannah. Did she remind you of Hannah?” Surprised, I shook my head quickly. “No, not at all. Hannah was very much an extrovert, friendly, dark haired, shorter, and sweeter than Savannah.” “Yet you helped her.” “It was obvious she was hurting—angry and lonely.” “Would you be surprised to find out that Savannah used to be friendly, sweet, and kinder?” “I would. Too much sarcasm and self-centeredness is coming through.” “Why do you think that is?” he sipped his lemonade slowly. “I hadn’t thought about it.” But I did now. I pictured her slouched attitude in the

group meeting and her sharp sense of humor that pricked more than it bonded. And when I shoved her sleeves up and revealed her secret, she had hidden behind her hair and attitude. “It’s her defense mechanism. It’s a wall she uses to try and protect herself from hurt or attack.” “That’s right. Sound like anyone else?” Startled again, I thought about it. Had Savannah reminded me of anyone else? Most people would have assumed Hannah because of their ages, but if not that then who? I refocused on Jesus. “I’m missing something you want me to see, aren’t I?” “Smart girl.” I studied his patient attention. Willing to let me work it out. Savannah hadn’t wanted help, didn’t need help, and had wanted the drugs to make her feel good because she only felt bad. ”Me. She is acting like me.” “Bingo. So tell me how so.” I shook my head amazed. “Almost thirty years difference in ages, life experiences, yet our reaction to pain so similar. We wanted to block it, drown it, get rid of it any way we could. And we pushed people—those who wanted to help—away.” “And what does she need most?” “Besides you and counseling, you mean? Love, kindness, , truth.” “Yes. And why did she come back here with you?” “Because when I chased her, and didn’t give up trying to get her to come back to Safe Haven with me, something broke through the wall she had built inside and let her know she does want help.” Incredulous, I tried putting myself in her shoes. Broken home, world pressure, peer pressure, everyone telling her to do something and no one listening. That was it really. Jesus smiled. “But you did listen.” “Not enough. I wouldn’t have figured this out if you hadn’t questioned me,

hadn’t made me think about it.” I leaned back in the chair and stared off into the sky. Maybe having to stay an extra day as punishment for my “irresponsible behavior” wouldn’t be bad if I could help Savannah. My wandering gaze fell on the project at his feet. “What are we building?” The twinkle in his eye made me blush with excitement. This was so new, so welcome, spending time with Jesus and not feeling shamed or judged or less than. I felt accepted. And not because I answered the questions right, or helped Savannah, but simply because I came. I came to spend some time with Jesus. To build something yes, but really because I felt good being close to Him. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” I studied the pieces He had already hammered together. It looked like the beginnings of a doll house. But that didn’t make sense. Did it? “I’m not sure yet.” “That’s okay. Hand me another piece.” So we continued our building, silent except for the hammer and his humming. After a while I had to ask, “What is that song you keep humming?” “You don’t recognize it?” “No, should I?” “The guardian angels hum it. Sometimes the humans in their charge hear enough of it to recognize it and it relaxes them.” “Joshua doesn’t strike me as a hummer.” Jesus laughed. “You’re probably right.” “Are there words?” “Yes, one of the Psalms, I believe.” “You don’t know?” “Of course I know, but you need to know.”

He paused a moment seeming to consider, then said, “I have an assignment for you. Tomorrow I want you to read the Psalms. When you find the right one, you will know.”

Day Twenty-Two

November 27

“This is so hard,” I confessed to Annie, Stephen and Doc Aimee. “Facing the reality of Sean’s mistake. Facing the reality that his error in judgment cost him and Hannah their lives. I simply did not want to see it. I don’t want to see it now. But it is the truth. A truth that I have been denying for months. A truth that made me unconsciously put my fist through a wall without knowing it.” They listened as I poured my heart out. I did feel safe here, yet I did not know where the gush of words and emotions had come from. But I also knew it was connected to the Psalms I had been reading this morning. Awkwardly reading. Thumbing through the well-worn pages to Psalms, I realized I hadn’t spent any time in my Bible this past year. Still, as I had read the Psalms and listened to David’s imioned words, I had sensed peace at the edge of my consciousness. The surety that maybe I was on the right track. I wanted to go back to it. Doc Aimee wanted me to work some more here though. “Tell us how you plan to deal with the reality of Sean’s very human mistake? Physically and emotionally?” “I’m going to try exercising regularly just for overall health, but for stress relief I’ve found throwing plates to be therapeutic. Of course that could get costly. And for my emotional stability, besides the counseling, I’ve started reading my Bible again.” Annie gave a soft “Alleluia” and patted my arm. Stephen kept listening. Church, God and the Bible had gotten even more complicated because of his parents’ stand against his treatment here at Safe Haven.

Doc Aimee wanted more. Always more. “What are you dealing with while throwing plates?” I looked at each of them. They waited for me to say it. We had all been thinking it since I got to the part where they rode into the intersection without checking left. Taking a deep breath I leaned forward studying my hands. “My anger.” Three sighs were heard. “I am beyond angry at Sean. I am so mad it makes me shake sometimes and I have to release it. Hitting baseballs works too, but I miss too many for it to be useful. Not my teacher’s fault. Throwing the plates may be a bit expensive, but the release, the sound, and the million trillion pieces make me feel lighter.” “Where did you come up with this? Throwing plates?” “A special friend introduced me to it. Do you have a professional opinion?” “I have prescribed a couple rounds at the batting cages to work off anger, and to promote exercise—release of endorphins—and hopefully sleeping better. Let me know how the plate smashing works.” “I will.” “But I want to dig a bit deeper. I know you are angry with Sean, but besides throwing plates, what do you have to do to get past that anger?” Could I say it? Could I say it without breaking down or getting angry? I breathed in deeply and let it out very slowly. Then I said it for each one in the room to hear. “I have to forgive him.” Doc Aimee nodded, smiling as she wrote on her ever-present note pad. “Yes, you do.” Annie piped in, “Forgiveness is next to godliness.” “You don’t know how right you are, Annie,” I said.

***

I returned to my room before ing the others at lunch. It was a dreary rainy day, yet it reminded me of Christmas shopping and I wished I could go. But then I’m not even sure if I had any money to shop with, or a home to go back to when I got out of here. My parents had been saddled with so much to look after and wade through at my house in my absence. Shame and guilt were trying to creep up on me and throw a damper on my mood. It felt like a big wet blanket, but I threw it off with vehemence. “Thank you God for parents who love and care for me almost as much as you.” Gathering my notebook, Bible, and a jacket, because the cafeteria was always cold, I headed to lunch. I found my group in the far corner by the back windows. It gave a semblance of privacy. I dropped my things off at the table and went to get some hot food. Annie and Stephen had been ed by a newcomer. They were chatting and I found myself interested in the new guy’s story. Returning to the table, I nodded a greeting to him. “Hello. Welcome to Safe Haven.” “Hello.” Stephen made introductions. “Elizabeth, this is Michael. This is his fifth day.” “So, I guess Annie and Stephen have given you the skinny on everyone?” I offered my hand across the table. He nodded. His gaze pierced me through as he studied me, and I felt almost naked. His eyes were a bright clear blue, his complexion a ruddy tan. Then he captured my hand in a brief strong handshake. His hand was large, calloused, a workman’s hand. “What brings you to Safe Haven?” I asked casually as I stabbed my scrambled eggs. Michael lifted his other hand. Or I should say he showed me the empty place where his left hand should have been. His gaze studied my reaction.

“I didn’t know they did physical therapy here.” He shook his head. “They don’t.” I looked from Annie, who looked away, to Stephen who made slashing motions with his hand. “So how did you lose your hand? Work accident?” “I don’t like to talk about it.” “Oooo..kay. If you have any questions about things around here feel free to ask and we will try to help you if we can.” He put down his fork and wiped his mouth deliberately with his napkin. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I didn’t know this was your table. I was trying to get as far away as possible from anyone. I won’t make this mistake again. I’ll eat in my room.” Abruptly he stood up, knocking his chair over and against the back wall. He tossed his napkin down on the table and strode away without a backwards glance. The people at the closest tables had fallen silent and they, too, watched him leave. I watched him until he left the cafeteria. He was tall. Taller than I had expected, with a smooth straight stride that had carried him quickly across the room. Strong. Powerful. Yet handicapped now. Missing a hand. Not his right hand though. Surely there was a lot that could be adapted to one hand. Still … a small smile crossed my lips and I covered my mouth with my napkin, turning back toward Annie and Stephen. “What, girl?” Annie asked. “What could you be smiling about? That is one angry man.” I shook my head looking down at my plate, trying not to let a giggle through. It wasn’t appropriate at all. “Elizabeth?” Stephen asked leaning towards me. My shoulders started shaking as the laugh climbed up from my belly. The tears swelled in my eyes as I tried to brush them back. “It really isn’t that funny, and I shouldn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help thinking that he should be able to do

most things with one hand, right?” “Yes. Of course.” Annie and Stephen agreed. “Except tie his shoes. And I got this picture in my head of him trying to tie his shoes, and I couldn’t stop the giggles because he had been so rude and I didn’t want to feel sorry for him.” “You’re right,” Stephen said solemnly. “It’s not that funny.” “I know. But anyway, let’s hope he gets put in someone else’s group. We’ve got enough challenges with Savannah.” “How is Savannah today?” Stephen asked. “Better. The meds have started to kick in and she seems less agitated. Hopefully she will re the group in a couple days.” “And what about you? How much trouble did you get into?” Annie asked, waving her fork. A forty-something woman should never roll her eyes, but I did. “Lots of ‘What if something happened?’ ‘What if she hadn’t come back?’ And I should have just gone for help. But the way I see it, they would have caught her and brought her back and she would still be trying to get out again. Now they have a chance of getting through to her. There is no way I would go back to nineteen again.” Stephen smiled. “I was nineteen when I met my wife. We were so young. And stupid. Full of impossible dreams about being in a band. It was great. I’d go back in a heartbeat and do it all again.” It was the first time I had heard Stephen speak about his ex-wife without choking up. “What kind of band?” Stephen shook his head, his smile turning to a grin. “Rock-n-roll. It was all we listened to, all we played, all we sang. She had a sweet, sweet voice. Better than Stevie Nicks even.” “So what happened to the dream?” I whispered softly.

“We grew up. She got her teaching degree. I got my real estate license. We got married. Bought a house.” He stopped. Annie and I looked at each other, but we waited for Stephen to finish his thought. Stephen reached across the table and took both our hands. The tears filled his eyes now. Dear Lord, I had never seen a man cry as much as this man. But I believed it was the only reason he was still sane and with us. “And then slowly the world started closing in on me. Once home, I wouldn’t go out to dinner, or movies, or to visit friends. I still managed to go to work, but then Julie started asking questions and suggested counseling. I wouldn’t go even when she threatened to leave. Then she left and I had no reason to pretend anymore. I just stayed home.” Then somehow he smiled again. “And now here I am in a cafeteria eating lunch with two beautiful crazy women.” Now Annie and I were crying, and smiling, through the tears too. “Thanks, Stephen. You really know how to compliment a woman.” Mabel walked up to the table then. I’m sure one of the attendants had spotted me and called her on the intercom. “You three okay? Do I need to call Doc Aimee?” And for no particular reason we all started laughing. So Mabel pulled up a chair.

Dream 22

I stood in an open field on a bright winter day. Straight ahead was the shed where Jesus and I had been working last night, but it was very quiet. Then I heard hammering and I knew he was there. Working on building something for me. Somehow the boards were taking the shape of a small house or a room. For months I have felt shattered, broken into shards that cut and wounded me. Like the Scarecrow with his stuffing scattered everywhere by the Wicked Witch’s henchmen. Dorothy, Tin Man, and the Lion had searched for his legs, arms and body and put the Scarecrow back together again. My friends and family tried to put me back together again also, but the pieces rebelled and refused the pain of ing again. Reality was agony. Sometimes even breathing hurt. Yet here I stood, twenty-two days into a rehab program, trying to put the pieces back together, yet knowing I would never be the same again. Walking across the dry brittle grass, I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of the jean jacket I wore. It was chilly today and I wondered at the change in temperature. God could set the thermostat wherever He wanted, so why colder? I rounded the corner of the building and found Jesus working steadily on a small length of wood which He had shaped with a jigsaw into waves or curves as if to use for trim. “Hello.” “Hello, Elizabeth.” “What are we working on tonight? It reminds me of waves.” He handed the piece to me and I sat in the ladder-back chair opposite him. “Waves? I was going for curls, like on small girls, but I guess waves will do. Especially since you like the beach so much. It’s the trim for the roof of your house.” “So we are building me a play house?”

“We’re building you a safe house.” I ran my hand over the curves of the wood, thinking. He waited. “Like a panic room?” “No and yes. Once we finish you can come here whenever you want. Not just because you feel frightened or scared. We can meet here when you pray, or when you just want to be near and share your day.” “So, will it be real?” “As real as I am.” He reached out His hand then, wanting my hand. I placed mine in His. “Do I feel real to you?” I nodded. Closing my fingers around the warmth of His strong calloused hand. Oh so real. Was I truly crazy? Living in the world by day and living in the heavens by night? But I knew it wouldn’t last. “But I won’t see you like this when I leave Safe Haven, will I?” “No,” he shook his head. “But you won’t need me like this then. If we build this house with the right foundation of faith.” “You have a shot at setting this in my heart, but my mind, I’m not so sure. I believe in my heart what I see and hear and touch in my dreams. And I am better, healing …” Jesus nodded, his gaze holding mine. “You’ve heard the story of the cracked pots? ‘But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-suring power is from God and not from us.’ That’s in Second Corinthians 4:7, if you want to look it up. I use cracked pots for my purposes and I care for them. I am putting you back together again, but I’m hoping that all you have learned and experienced will leak out to all those who encounter you.” Now He had my attention. Jesus had a plan. For my life. Now, of course, I had read that particular verse from Jeremiah 29 just like every other church-going person. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” How could I believe that when my family, my future with them, was gone? Yet the possibility of God still having a plan for me sparked alive.

“Why, Elizabeth? Why didn’t you think I meant you?” “Who am I? Just a middle-aged wife, mom, employee, friend, daughter, trying to do the best I can just like a million others. There is nothing significant or special about me. Except now I am broken from the loss of my husband and daughter. I guess that moves the odds of my being special and needing you extra in my favor.” I sounded bitter. I was bitter. I may have been getting better, but I had a long way to go. The anger and the pain surged unexpectedly. I pulled my hand back, trying not to see his look of concern. “It’s a bit chilly tonight. I think I’ll go back to my room now.” I handed him back the trim and walked away. Quickly. My breathing coming faster, my vision blurry with tears. Until I walked straight into His arms. God. He held me close and whispered soothing words. I didn’t understand, but the gibberish coming from my mouth made little sense either. I was awash in pain. I didn’t want to be special because of the loss of Sean and Hannah, yet this experience was making me closer to God. I was in turmoil. “I don’t know how to do this,” I wept on God’s shoulder. “I’m only human.” He wiped my tears away with his fingers and sat me on a picnic table bench that appeared. The sun had broken through and I felt warmer. “You are how I made you. Body, spirit, mind. You are special to me just as you are. You, Elizabeth, you. Not because of what you lost or how you succeed or fail. You’ve been reading the Psalms looking for the one the angels sing. Psalm 139. Go read it, believe it and share it.” And I was back in bed. My Bible across my chest. I looked at the clock. Fourthirty in the morning. Which Psalm had God said?

Day Twenty-Three

November 28

“What did you want to share, Elizabeth?” I looked around the group. Savannah had reed us, though it was obvious she was still recovering. And much to my dismay, Michael had been added to our group. His anger was palpable. He sat sullen and quiet. Refusing even to answer Doc Aimee’s simple questions. I breathed out a quick prayer and opened to the bookmarked page. “‘You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.’” I read slowly, clearly. “‘You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.’ That’s the first three verses of Psalm 139. And I thought it would help all of us to know that God knows us. The whole Psalm is an affirmation that he knows us each individually. I just..I just..” I stammered to a stop as I met the hostile gaze across from me “What Elizabeth? What does it mean to you?” I had to look away from Michael and look toward Doc Aimee to focus again. Her encouragement was so obvious; it put me back at ease. “It means God cares about me. He knows me. He loves me. Right here where I am. And I find that comforting.” “That’s bull,” Michael breathed out low, but audible. “Michael, if you have something constructive to say …” Doc said. “Then baloney, nonsense, hogwash, a bunch of malarkey.” “You are certainly entitled to your opinion,” I responded, lifting my chin a bit.

“Opinion? It’s the truth. There is no God and He certainly doesn’t think about you, or care about you. You’re accepting a fantasy in order to deal with life. You’re an alcoholic. There is no Guardian Angel watching over you.” Silence. The only words he had spoken in forty-five minutes and they were directed at challenging my newly rebuilt faith. I felt a hand on my shoulder and had no doubt it was Joshua standing watch over me. Others would ask me the same thing when I returned to the real world. Some would be those with weak faith looking for hope and some would be those with no faith looking for validation of God’s absence. What to say? “I have been where you are. You think you have the corner on anger and righteous indignation? I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that God has never left me, and He never left Hannah or Sean. I didn’t see it for months and months, but I do now.” “You’re lying to yourself. I’m done.” Michael slammed out of the room with all of us watching silently. “Whew,” Aimee said, “I guess you have to give your title of Drama Queen to Michael, Elizabeth. Okay, with you?” How she always managed to dissolve the tension amazed me. “Drama Queen? Me?” I shrugged, “Sure, I’ll hand it over, but let’s don’t tell him for a couple weeks, okay?” Everyone laughed then, even Savannah. “Yes, your point is valid. We have all been where he is for one reason or another. I am not, nor do I expect any of you, his group, to belittle his pain. It’s real. It has to be dealt with. So, I will end this session and go check on him. Individual appointments this afternoon. And check your schedules for classes.” Doc gathered her notebook and left pretty quickly. I was headed toward the door when Stephen caught my arm. “Where did you say those verses were?” “Psalm 139.”

“I don’t have a Bible with me. Do you think you can get Mabel or Cindy to copy the pages?” “Copy it for me too,” Annie said, rolling up next to Stephen. “No problem.” I looked behind Annie at Savannah. “What about you, baby girl?” Savannah shrugged. “Sure, can’t hurt, I guess.” “No, it can’t hurt at all. I’ll get the copies made and bring them with me to lunch. See you all in an hour.” We each went our separate ways to check in with our nurses or take advantage of gym time or go to a class. I rounded the corner to see Cindy-Lou at the desk. We hadn’t spoken a lot since she had called Doc Aimee in last Sunday after I punched the wall, but I knew I owed her an apology or a thank you. Maybe both. “Hi Cindy, how are you today?” She nodded and smiled. “Hanging in there, Elizabeth. How about you?” “Doing better every day, with a few backwards steps now and then. Overall good.” “Good. What can I help you with?” “Two things. First, thank you for calling Doc.” She smiled again. “No problem.” “And second, I need three copies made of these two pages. Can you do that for me?” Cindy stood and reached for my Bible. “What is it?” “Psalm 139, please.” She took my Bible and carried it back into the room behind her desk where the copier and files were kept. In only a minute or so she was back with the copies, walking and reading as she came toward me.

She blinked and looked up at me. “This is pretty cool. Can I make a copy for me? I think my boyfriend should read this.” “Sure.” Again I felt the presence of Joshua with me. A light hand on my shoulder giving . When Michael attacked, I had understood his presence, but now I was perplexed. Was it simply an act of encouragement? I must to ask better questions. Cindy handed me the pages and my Bible. “This was just what I needed. My boyfriend believes in God, but doesn’t think He sees us as individuals. I think this will help make my point.” I felt the hand nudge me forward. What? “Is this an on-going discussion between you and your boyfriend?” “If you mean every Sunday morning when I call to wake him up to go to church with me, and he says God doesn’t care if he goes or not because God has more important things to deal with, then yes.” So was Joshua suggesting I offer encouragement to Cindy? I looked down at the pages and thought a quick prayer that went something like God don’t let me mess this up. “I think maybe you should give him these pages and simply tell him that God cares where he is every moment of every day. Then pray for him to hear God calling him to church.” Cindy sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t think he will come.” “But he isn’t now, right?” “Right,” she said slowly, reluctantly agreeing. “So pray for him to hear God. That’s an alarm clock he can’t turn off or tune out if God really wants him there!” “I’ll try it and see what happens.” “Good. I’ll see you later.” I walked to my room and sat down at my table. Pulling the cord, I lifted the blinds. The November sun shone brightly. The

temperatures were cool but not cold. I thought about the warm touches and reassurances I had felt this morning. Could it have been Isabeau? The Holy Spirit? “What are you up to my young guardian angel and my Dear Teacher?” I turned back to the Psalms, trying to hum the tune Jesus had been humming the other night. I think the 139th Psalm was too long, but there were others that I thought were possible candidates. He had said the guardian angels sing it and surely they need to when they are with their charges. I flipped back to Psalm Ninety-One and read through it again. The verses that struck me the most were verses nine through twelve and I read them aloud. “If you say, The Lord is my refuge, and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.” Did I believe these words? Harm had overtaken me and tragedy had come into my life. Could I defend these verses to someone else? Or did these verses only apply to Jesus? When the devil had tempted Jesus in the wilderness? Yet God had saved me from myself. I sat in deep thought a long while. Psalm 139 had filled me with peace. Psalm Ninety-One filled me with questions. I needed wisdom from someone more knowledgeable. I needed the Blessed Spirit’s assistance.

Dream 23

I was not on the bicycle path or in the meadow near the shed, nor at the beach. I was in the middle of a forest. The trees were tall and beautiful and so many that they almost blocked the sun. Full leaf-filled, thick-trunked hardwoods of various types. I stood in an open circle of sunshine, and as I looked around I saw trails marked in three different directions. What was going on? A movement caught my eye, and I watched as a large white dog bounded toward me, grinning and tail wagging. It was the largest dog I had ever seen. He ran right up to me and sat, lifting his paw to shake. He was almost completely white with a beautiful thick coat of fur and a beautiful plumed tail. I offered my hand and shook his paw. “Aren’t you the most beautiful dog? And smart too?” His bark startled me just a bit, but it was just a sharp one syllable as if he agreed with me. I let him sniff my hand before bending down to rub his head and ears, which produced a low moan of appreciation. My hand caught his collar, and I slipped it around to see his name tag. “Angel,” I read. He barked once more as if to say I’d gotten it right. Then he licked my face and turned away, walking off a few paces before looking back. “Do you want me to follow you?” His tail wagged and he came back, walking around me he nudged me from behind on my behind. “Okay then, let’s go.” The day was gorgeous. Warm, but not too warm. The trees were filled with birds

chirping, and squirrels scurrying from limb to limb. I saw a variety of creatures as I walked. My dog companion loped ahead along the path and then would wait for me to catch up before moving along again. We kept a steady pace. My thoughts were peaceful though I was curious about our destination. I was in a God dream and content. After a while though I grew tired, and a bit thirsty, and I realized I was sweating. This had become an unplanned workout. I spotted a fallen log up ahead and sat down once I reached it. Immediately my dear guide was back at my side. He barked once, sharply, as if he were used to being obeyed. “I just need a few minutes rest. Okay?” He seemed to pause a minute staring at me intently, head tilted, and then he gently took my shirt between his teeth and pulled. “You are one determined herding animal, aren’t you? But I’m tired, Angel. Let’s rest just a minute.” I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. It really was beautiful. I had always loved trees and the life that lived within them. At home I kept a bird feeder for the birds, enjoying their presence and their songs. They were probably gone now. I would have to start over recruiting a new batch of birds. Shaking off a surge of melancholy, I looked around for anything pointing to a destination, but I saw nothing that indicated an end to my journey. Where was I? I ed too late my Girl Scout training. When lost, hug a tree. But I hadn’t been lost, just in an unfamiliar dream. Dreams that had been guided by God. Where was He? “Hello God! Are you here? Or Jesus, are you nearby? Or Teacher maybe? Joshua? You have to be close because you are my guardian angel. But why would I need a guardian angel if I was with God?” I peered into the woods around me looking for any sign of my night time companions. I didn’t call for help because I felt certain they would be here directly or I would awake in bed. Angel nudged me again. Then I heard whistling. Faint, but definitely whistling. I telling one of the Trinity that Sean’s whistling always made me smile–as I was now—-because it made me think that the world was alright. So, who was headed toward me?

My canine companion began pushing more intently. “Hey! Cut that out. Let’s wait here and see who is coming.” Looking back, it never occurred to me to be fearful or frightened. Still, as he strode into view, nonchalant, calm and unhurried, whistling a tune I ed Sean whistling, I felt a distinct chill come into the area. Angel moved in front of me and sat down, his coat bristling from neck to tail, and a low growl of warning issued from his throat. “Hey?” I rubbed his neck. “That’s not very friendly.” “No, it’s not very friendly at all,” the stranger said. “And he is a very large dog.” His voice was deep, rich, and seemed familiar somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “I’m sorry about that. We were expecting someone else. Who are you?” “A friend, Elizabeth.” “Sent by God?” He smiled. “Where are you headed?” I shrugged, my hand still on Angel’s neck in case I needed to catch hold of his collar. “Not sure. It appears as if I am to follow Angel here somewhere, but I’m not sure where.” “You’re headed toward the park, as am I; we can keep each other company.” “Sure.” I stood then and grasped hold of Angel’s collar. “I think Angel and I should go first, since he seems a bit uneasy with you.” He waved me ahead, and Angel and I turned back on the path again, yet now Angel stayed right beside me. After a moment I looked back over my shoulder. “You know my name, but I didn’t catch yours?” “Luke.”

“Do you know why God isn’t here?” “Yes.” “Quite mysterious aren’t you?” As I looked back he sipped out of a water bottle. And my mouth was suddenly drier than ever. I think I licked my lips. He reached behind his back and pulled out another water bottle. “You look thirsty. Would you like a drink?” Luke handed the bottle to me, his dark gaze bright in the shadows of the forest. The chill that had been tracking with him seemed to envelope me. Angel sat at my feet between us still, that low rumbling growl there as a constant warning. Yet I failed to listen. I lifted the bottle and poured the sweet fresh cool water into my mouth and began sputtering almost immediately. I choked and coughed, trying to catch my breath. It wasn’t water. “Problem Elizabeth? Did it go down the wrong way?” “This is … is rum!” “Yes, yes it is. Isn’t that what you wanted? I thought it was your favorite.” I tossed the water bottle into the forest. I leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees, trying to steady my breathing. The rum in my mouth just sat there. The sweet strong taste of it sinking into the taste buds. I spit as much as I could out, yet it remained. He stepped closer, but Angel kept him from reaching out to touch me. He grimaced at the dog, but when his eyes met mine they were all charm and smiles again. “Don’t you how much you enjoyed that first glass of the day? When you woke up and Sean wasn’t there? But, oh, your dear friend Captain Morgan was. And then at lunch, when the others were talking about their kids, their families, their vacation plans, and you would sneak off to the ladies room and have a wee nip to take the edge off the pain? Here,” he offered another bottle.

Seeming to produce it from thin air. “Just another sip for old times’ sake. It won’t hurt anything. You’re only dreaming.” “No,” I whispered. My mind seeing clearly all the images he was pouring into my brain as surely as he was trying to pour that liquor down my throat. I latched onto Angel’s collar. “Get us out of here, Angel.” Angel pulled me around and began to trot down the path dragging me with him. Unfortunately Luke was keeping pace. “Where do you think you are going anyway?” he asked. “This is simply a dream. Do you really think you are special enough for God to visit? Do you think you are worthy of Jesus to waste his time with? Do you really think the Holy Spirit lives in you? An alcoholic? A pathetic excuse for a mom and wife and woman? Do you?” The words flowed off his tongue and entered my brain without a fight at all. What was I thinking? I wasn’t! Angel kept moving us forward. I could see a clearing up ahead. Yet Luke’s words flowed around me, haunting me, dragging me back, weighing me down, and my steps grew slower despite the tugging of Angel. What was happening to me? What had he said? Something about the Holy Spirit living in me? I opened my mouth and cried out with all my might, though it came out as only a small weak cry. I watched as Luke flung his hands up before his face. “Isabeau! Teacher, I need you!” And Isabeau appeared on the path between Luke, and me and Angel. “Go quickly, sweet girl.” Angel and I ran. I was running alongside Angel now, seeing the clearing getting closer. Yet, it was obvious that the sky was darkening and I heard rolls of thunder in the distance. I looked back and saw no one behind us. Stunned, I stopped. Where had they gone? At my thought a bright flash of lightening lit the dark sky. Thunder rolled on its heels within seconds. The storm was almost on top of Angel and me. I ran again. We emerged into the clearing and in the valley ahead was a cabin with smoke

coming from the chimney. I ran faster, yet something felt wrong. Where was God? Where was Jesus? Where had the Spirit gone? Why did I still feel threatened? I breathed hard. Tasting the rum still in my mouth. I looked back into the woods and there he stood, waving the water bottle at me in salute before taking a long drink and laughing menacingly. I stumbled to a stop. Had he hurt Isabeau? But he raised the bottle toward me and I could hear him as clearly as if he were standing right next me. “Just one little drink, Elizabeth. A toast to your dead family.” Sean. Hannah. Grief surged. I took a step toward him. It was crazy. Like I couldn’t control my feet. And then another. And another. Isabeau appeared next to me and reached for my hand. “Run!” We ran toward the cabin as the lightning and thunder clashed above us. I could hear the rain coming, feel it in the air. Then it was there, pouring over us, cold and heavy. A shiver ran through my body at the remembrance of Luke’s smile. The door opened as we hit the porch and closed quickly behind us. The Lord God Almighty offered us towels. I took the towel and began rubbing at my wet head and face. “What just happened?” “In a minute. There are dry clothes in the bathroom down the hall.” I turned to Isabeau, who was remarkably dry. “What just happened? What is going on? Why do I feel like you just saved my life?” “Go change. We’ll be here.” I looked between them both and realized I would get nowhere until I was dry. Turning away, I retreated to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me feeling patronized in some way. It was really ridiculous. They could make me dry, change my clothes, whatever they wanted. This was a dream. I sat on the toilet lid and removed my shoes and socks. A dream? I rolled the thought over in my mind. That is what Luke had said. When had I stopped thinking that this was a dream and began believing it was real? What was real?

Confused and starting to feel angry, I went back to the main room. God sat in a comfy arm chair by the fireplace. “What happened tonight?” God looked me over. “Child, why didn’t you change clothes?” “Because none of this is real. I am not wet. I am in my bed in a thirty day rehab facility for depression and alcohol. I will wake up shortly and go about my day.” Of course you really don’t want to tell God he isn’t real. I woke up in bed all right. Soaking wet. In the clothes I’d been in in my dream. With no shoes or socks. Cold and alone. He had proven His point.

Day Twenty-Four

November 29

“Girl?” Mabel called softly. “Elizabeth? What have you been up to?” I rubbed my eyes struggling to wake up. Feeling tired, cold, and wet, I tried to think back to the night just past. It surged through me in a split second. Luke. Isabeau. God … the storm. What had happened? I sat up. “Mabel?” A low growl had me focusing quickly. At the foot of my bed lay Angel and he was on high alert, watching Mabel. “Angel! Stop that. Mabel is a friend.” Angel laid his head down, but continued watching us. “Didn’t Doc tell you not to leave the facility?” Mabel took my wrist in her hand and started checking all my vital signs. She checked my eyes, ears, and throat and then started pulling off my wet clothes. “Didn’t she warn you she could extend your stay? And I have to tell her. I thought you were doing better.” I grabbed hold of her hands. “Listen, Mabel. I did not leave. I have not been drinking. Do you see any signs of drugs or alcohol?” “Well…not now … but …” “No buts. The storm last night …” I paused thinking what was real, what was here, what was with God … I wasn’t about to question God’s reality again. “Yes, what about the storm?” Somehow Mabel and I got me stripped down and into the shower. I used to be shy, but Mabel had hustled and bustled me into changing clothes so many times that I didn’t even think about it anymore. The warm water poured over me and I ed the cold rain from last night. “I heard the thunder and saw the lightening. I used to be scared of it. Hannah

was. My daughter. I …” I grasped for a reasonable story to defend myself. How could I explain being wet and having the dog? “I was outside and the rain was so cold. I was scared and Angel was there, too. Then I was back in bed and Angel was still with me. He helped me.” “How do you know his name?” I wrapped the soft white towel around my body and then wrapped my wet hair. I padded into the room and ran my hand around Angel’s neck, showing his collar and tag. “See, it has his name and address here. I wonder if someone is hurt there or he ran away.” Mabel reached toward the tag, but Angel issued a low growl. “Well, he sure only likes you. Can you write the address down and let me call the owners or the police to check it out?” I scribbled the information down on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to Mabel. “You believe me, don’t you? About what happened? I did not sneak out and drink or anything.” Mabel eyed me thoughtfully. And studied Angel too, who decided to wag his tail in a finally friendly gesture. “It’s a wild story, but I believe you. Get dressed and let’s see what we can figure out about your friend here.” As soon as Mabel left, I got dressed and got on my knees in front of my chair, with my Bible on the seat. Angel jumped down from the bed and lay beside me. I didn’t know where to start to apologize. The wonders I had seen during the last twenty-three nights, the time with God, with Holy Spirit and with Jesus, the miracles I witnessed, the glimpses of my husband and child in heaven, all demanded belief and still I had questioned Him after the briefest of time and a maliciously placed thought from Luke. How did I apologize and beg forgiveness from my Creator? The one who had come to rescue me not just with salvation, but had taken the time, energy, and focus to show up here and now and try to rescue me from me. How could I have been so messed up? Yet, I knew I had been, and last night had proved I could be again. How could I hope to survive in the world without my nightly visits from God? How could I do anything apart from Him?

“Apart from Him? You can do nothing apart from me … what verse is that Angel boy?” I flipped the pages of my Bible wishing for a computer. “Is it in John? The part about the vine? Is that fourteen or fifteen?” Angel barked. “Okay then.” I began reading in the Book of John chapter fourteen and continued into John chapter fifteen until I found the verse I was thinking of: If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. “John fifteen, verse five. That’s it right there. Without God I can do nothing.” “Dearest sweet God, I am so sorry that I doubted you, that I let that monster sway me for even one moment. Is that why you allowed it? To show me that I am still vulnerable, still a weakling in the faith department? I know I need You. I know that without You, I will fail. And what I really want is to please You, to see your smile. But can You use me? I know it is only if I stay in You that I can be of any use. Show me. Lead me. Forgive me. I am Yours. Amen.”

* * *

Hours later I sat with Doc Aimee in her office, an ever watchful Angel at my feet. “This is highly unusual,” Doc said while she scribbled notes in my file. “Yet Mabel tells me that the house was empty. The owner died six months ago. The neighbors thought the dog was with his children.” I reached down and rubbed Angel’s ears. “The police are trying to locate them and let them know we found the dog. I can keep him here until they come, right? It would be a shame to put him in a shelter.” As if on cue Angel wagged his tail and cocked his head as if asking to stay. “Like I said this is highly unusual. I’ll give the police twenty-four hours to find the owners.”

“Thank you, Doc.” I rubbed Angel’s ears again and he moaned in pleasure. “I told you she was one of the good guys.” “So tell me why you were awake last night?” I wanted to get Doc’s advice. I needed to hear it again. Though we had talked in group about what to do when we each went back to our lives and tried to resume it. Last night had really shaken my confidence. “Do you really believe that I can leave this place and not drink? Not get depressed all over again?” She stopped writing and looked at me, assessing me. “Yes, I believe you can. But it won’t be easy at all. In fact it will be really hard. The hardest thing most of you will ever do will be to go back to your lives and NOT resume those old patterns of behavior.” “I thought burying my family was the hardest thing, but learning to live without them is much harder.” “And that is still where you are … learning to live a productive purposeful life without your husband and child, and now without the crutch of alcohol.” “It seems so weird looking back. Why did I fight so hard against getting help, going to the grief counseling? Why did I do those things that, under normal circumstances, I would never have done?” “Elizabeth, you have the answer already. Nothing was normal. You were in pain and wanted the pain to stop. You were reacting to the grief and the pain and not thinking with any clarity at all. You were so far gone, so lost, you had to hit bottom before anyone had a shot at getting you in here. And yet it was you who checked yourself in.” I shook my head. I knew what she meant, but I ed who had saved me that night. God had sat across from me at the table and He had gotten me to call 911. What had he shown me that had made me want to live? That I still couldn’t , but it had worked. “How do I handle going to dinner with family or friends and watching them drink?”

“Do you want a drink, Elizabeth?” “No ma’am! Are you crazy?” Images from last night flew past my mind’s eye. I saw Luke swigging from the water bottle filled with rum. I saw him offering it to me. I tasted the rum on my tongue. “No,” I said again. “I don’t want a drink. Ever. Again.” “So we will set up a schedule just like we set up for Richard, a weekly group session and monthly visits with a new counselor outside of here. You will get the same structure.” I thought about last night. “But is that really enough?” Doc Aimee set her pen and notepad aside. “As a trained psychologist, I believe in the methods I use and prescribe, but I can only do so much. You have to choose, and within yourself you have to find the strength to live each day. To live through the healing process. As a person of faith I believe that has to come from God. That is how I choose to live—with Christ’s strength. God is essential. He is the foundation upon which I have built my life.” “If you feel so strongly about your faith, why do you practice in a non-Christian environment?” “What better way to reach those who don’t know they need God to live through their tragedy and for the rest of their lives?” she said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.” “So where are you on this faith journey?” Where was I? I shook my head as I ed last night. “Weak. Very weak. Which is why I asked if you thought I would be okay when I left here? The world … the world is full of temptations.” Doc Aimee gave me a slight smile and went around to her desk. She pulled out a book from her top left drawer. I could see it was a well-used Bible. “Would you mind if I read you something from the Bible?” she asked. Curious about her take on my situation, I shook my head. “Not at all.”

She flipped through, thumbing confidently, as she searched for the scripture she wanted. She cleared her throat and looked me in the eye. “This is one of my particular favorites. Listen to what Paul wrote about being weak. ‘Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’” “Where is that?” I asked. “Can you write down for me?” Doc Aimee tore a page from her notebook and scribbled it down. “It’s Second Corinthians, verses 7 thru 10. For years I had to look it up because I knew the verse, but couldn’t where it was. What do these verses say to you?” I accepted the slip of paper and thought a moment. “I shouldn’t fear when I am weak, I should call on God and trust in Him to help me. I need to write this verse down and keep it with me all the time.”

Dream 24

I picked up the clock on my night stand and stared at the time. One thirty-eight a.m. I had been in bed for hours with no sign of sleep. This was weird, given that I was sure one of the pills I took nightly was a sleeping pill of some kind. What was I going to do if I couldn’t get back to the park, or the wood shed, or the beach? What I really meant, but was trying not to think about, was what if I couldn’t get back to God? Tossing restlessly, I tried to get comfortable. I stretched out, but kicked Angel in the side. He raised his head and he let out a low woof in objection. “I’m sorry, boy.” The moonlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds making patterns across the floor and onto my bed. It was too quiet really. Most nights I could hear the night attendants making their rounds, checking doors, checking patients. There was always some sound of computers or vents or something creating a low humming sound throughout most the night. I listened intently. Nothing. Could it be that I was already asleep? Shoving the sheet aside, I swung my feet to the floor and into my ladybug slippers. They usually made me smile, but tonight I was focused on getting to God. I walked cautiously, quietly, to the door and peered through the glass pane at eye level. The hall appeared deserted. There was no night lighting on, yet it was illuminated by the light that seemed to be coming from the walls. I turned the handle and opened the door, but no one stuck their head over the counter at the nurses’ desk and asked what I was doing awake. The door closed behind me. I closed my eyes. “Am I asleep? If I’m asleep, please bring me to you, Lord. I’m so sorry about last night. I need to see you. I want to see you.” I wasn’t sure what I expected to see when I opened my eyes, but it wasn’t Luke sitting on the counter at the nurses’ station.

“Hello again, Elizabeth. So glad to see you.” I reached behind me, fumbling for the door knob, and fled back into my room. There was no lock, but the door opened inward. With strength I never knew I had, I shoved my dresser in front of the door and sat down in front of it. Angel jumped from the bed and sat beside me. I began to pray. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name. I need you. I need you now. Protect me sweet Jesus. Help me dear Teacher. Be with me in this temptation and deliver me from this evil.” And then He was there. Jesus. Sitting on the floor right in front of me. He was dressed in his carpenter gear and smelled of sawdust and sunshine. I felt better just looking in his dear face. “Have you come to save me?” “I already did. But I will do it over and over. As often as you need until you understand that you are mine.” “I am yours?” I asked. He nodded and held out a scarred and weathered hand. “Want to go work on our project?” I placed my hand in his, but I shook my head. “I need to go apologize to God first. Can we go there?” “Of course,” he said. We stood on the porch of the cabin from the night before. I turned in a slow circle and looked out across the valley to the forest beyond. The sky was bluer than blue with huge white clouds dotting across the horizon. So beautiful, yet so deadly last night. I shivered ing the cold rain and Luke’s laughter. I squared my shoulders and stepped forward, knocking on the door, like a visitor, not family. I had broken faith with God and did not deserve the familiarity of just walking inside. “Come in, Elizabeth,” He called from within. I still held Jesus’ hand, but giving mine a quick squeeze, he disappeared.

Entering the cabin, I saw God and Isabeau sitting in the chairs around the kitchen table in a bay window alcove. They both regarded me with quiet calm looks, assessing but not showing anything. Isabeau waved her hand at a chair. “Come us, child.” “Thank you,” I stammered. I looked back and forth between them. His kind eyes, her gentle smile, their strength and presence, how could I have ever doubted, yet I had. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’m just sorry. I know you are who you say you are. You are God. You are Holy Spirit. I don’t know why I am having this experience, but I don’t have to. All I need to know is that you are God, and I am yours.” “And since you are mine …?” God asked. My thoughts ran in circles, back and forth. “Ahh … then that means I can call on you for strength against temptation, for help when I’m tired, or for protection from evil and for anything and you will respond.” “Yes. And when you leave Safe Haven?” “I have to be aware of the evil—the Lukes—that are in the world. Even in my everyday world.” “Yes.” My eyes filled with tears. I had been so scared last night, but even more scared today thinking I could not get back to Him, to Isabeau. “Forgive me?” I whispered. He held open his arms, “Of course, dear child.” I flew into his outstretched arms, kneeling at his feet. I buried my face against his chest, wrapping my arms around Him, holding tight. I felt Isabeau smooth my hair and felt their love pour over me. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I can’t do this without you three? I am weak. So much weaker than Paul.” I wiped my eyes and sat back, looking at both of them. “Are we really okay?”

“I will never leave you, Elizabeth, never. Believe me?” “YES!” I stood up, raising my arms in the air, hearing His teasing. “As if you can’t tell? As if you can’t see straight to my heart! Yes, yes, yes.” “Now tell me what you think happened last night.” I sat back down in my chair. A cup of hot tea, identical to theirs, appeared at my right hand. “Thank you.” “What do I think happened?” I repeated. “I think you, God, allowed Luke—an evil being of some sort—to tempt me with rum. I think you wanted to show me that I needed to be aware that evil lurks everywhere on this earth. And to remind me that my first reaction has to be to call on you.” He looked to Isabeau and smiled. “I told you she was smart.” “I didn’t doubt you, Abba.” Still I shook my head. “But I didn’t feel threatened. I felt safe. I didn’t know he was evil until I was already in trouble.” “Which is why you can’t simply trust your feelings. Your grief made you want the drink, but you know that doesn’t work. You must depend on what you know is truth.” “The truth. How do I know what is the truth?” Then I was sitting on a stool across from Jesus. In his hands was a slim piece of wood that he was sanding. “I, Elizabeth, I am the truth. Look up John chapter fourteen, verse six. ‘“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

Day Twenty-Five

November 30

I pondered Jesus’ words most of the next day. It was a good thing that John was my favorite gospel because I had spent a lot of time there the past several days. Over breakfast, during group, through lunch, even while walking on the treill. The only time I hadn’t been thinking about truth was when I said goodbye to Angel. The young couple was so happy to get him back. Still, I had buried my face in his neck and felt him press into me, too. I whispered thank you. He sighed deeply, and then had gone with the couple. My heart had clenched in my chest as he watched me through the back window of the SUV type vehicle. Now I was back to my study of Jesus’ words. What did these words really mean? If He was truth, then I test everything against Him? If Jesus says it is okay, then it is okay, right? And how did I do that? I had been a good Bible study girl for years. Attending this conference, that simulcast, or this women’s small group. Though there were definitely some ah ha moments over those years, for the most part I left still wondering how to apply all this to the world I inhabited, my slice of God’s Kingdom. Even the revelation that all I wanted was Jesus, left me asking how did I go about getting Him? I guess somewhere I got lost, got bogged down, got too busy to look for Him anymore. I flipped through my Bible in the quiet room. This wasn’t a busy place. Most of us at Safe Haven had had enough quiet time. Left to our own thoughts we became destructive. How would I live alone? The ghosts had to be silenced and only rum had done it—for a while. A yellow sticky note drifted to the ground beside my feet. As I had fanned the

pages looking for inspiration, it had been loosened from its spot. I read it once, then again. “..an insatiable desire for Jesus …” “I wanted an unquenchable desire for Jesus. I wanted so much of Him that my pores leaked Him or I would drown from it.” “What did you say?” Startled I looked up and there was one hand guy. What was his name? Mitch, Matt … no … maybe Michael. “Sorry, Michael, is it? I didn’t know anyone else was here.” “You were mumbling pretty loud for the quiet room.” “Sorry. I will try to be quieter. It was just one of those eureka moments, you know?” Michael rolled his eyes. “This is the quiet room. I come in here for quiet, not eureka moments.” My feathers were ruffled now. “Okay. I got it.” I gathered my Bible, notebook, pen, and backpack and stood up. “Where are you going?” he asked. I huffed. “You wanted me gone. I’m leaving.” “I didn’t say that. I just asked you to be quiet.” “What if I can’t? What if I mumble again?” I felt thirteen and definitely sounded thirteen. In fact I sounded just like Hannah. When had I regressed to such a point of immaturity? He looked decidedly uncomfortable, yet it was the most approachable he had been since the incident at the table and in group. “Well?” “Just try, okay? I won’t bother you and you won’t bother me.” I felt a nudge against my shoulder. A nudge backward. Holy Spirit? I sat down.

Ignoring my companion, I settled back into the book of John where I had been reading Jesus’ words. His way. His truth. His life. I had not been living that way. Not that I had been a bad person, just not a very good Christian. The meetings with the off-campus counselor would help me continue healing and dealing with my new normal. The grief group would help, too. I was sure AA meetings were in my future. I needed to ask. Apologizing to Theresa through the letters I had written had helped bring us to a place for renewing our friendship. She seemed willing to try. But I knew in my heart, what I needed most, what would make the biggest difference in my life, was following hard after Jesus. Not like He was running or anything. I had been slowly rereading the Gospels. He wasn’t calling me to drop everything and take off for Africa. Truly there wasn’t anything to drop, except maybe the house. Mom and Dad had made sure I still had my house. My car was paid for. I had no debts. The insurance money was gone except for the lump sum dad had insisted I put in my IRA. Praise God for that, yet I had blown quite a bit after paying off all the funeral expenses and bills. The trucking company had sent a letter, signed delivery receipt requested. They were offering a new settlement. What to do? Lord? I knew now that the driver had not been negligent. Sean and Hannah had not paid attention. Still, why was a truck that size driving through our community? What to do indeed? I whispered silent prayers as the tears slowly ran down my cheeks. Prayers from my childhood. Repetition of them soothing me and allowing me to focus my thoughts on Jesus. Wanting Him to capture my thoughts and turn them into His. A gentle hand rubbed my shoulder and I blinked my eyes to see past the tears. Michael knelt beside the chair, a look of concern or consternation on his face. “Sorry,” I started to whisper. “No, no, it’s okay. I wanted … I wanted to see if there was anything I could do.” The tears seemed lodged in my throat as I tried not to embarrass myself or him any further. “Some water?” I croaked out. He bounded up and away. Thankful to have a mission. It reminded me just a tiny

bit of Sean. Finding a tissue in my pocket, I managed to wipe away most of the tears and blow my nose by the time Michael returned. “Thank you,” I whispered accepting the bottle of water. “Anything else I can do? Do you want me to find one of your group? Or Mabel?” Downing a long swallow of the water, I watched him nervously stand before me. I shook my head. “No. I’ll be okay. Thanks. And sorry for disrupting you again.” He sat down across from me and then reached over to his chair and picked up a book. “You really didn’t disrupt me. My mind was already wandering. I’m used to being active and this is killing me—having nothing to do. Not like I could do anything.” I tried not to stare at his empty pinned up sleeve. “I’m sure there are some things you could still do …” my voice trailed off, nothing coming to mind. He waved the book. “Hence this reading for Dr. Whitt.” “Who?” “My physical rehab guy. Of course, I know Dr. Conrad is who suggested it to him. It’s a conspiracy to make me believe that my life isn’t over because I lost my hand.” Suddenly I felt the nudge again, but pushing me forward this time. What did Isabeau want? She was hinting at something. But what? Nothing anyone had said had helped me at all. What I’d needed most was someone to listen. Which was why counseling helped and groups helped. But Michael hadn’t gotten to that realization yet. Lord, give me words, I whispered prayerfully in my mind and heart. “But that’s how it feels, doesn’t it?” “Yes! I’m a carpenter. Without two hands, I’m useless. Not to mention playing second base in the baseball league, sailing my sailboat or even tying my shoes! Ever tried to tie your shoes one-handed? And don’t tell me about those Velcro

tennis shoes. I’m not eighty! I’m thirty-four and my life is over.” “What baseball league do you play on?” Sean had played with a team sponsored by his workplace at our local park. I had gone to most of the games and knew most of the leagues. “The Chiefs.” “The champions two years ago?” His face lit up. “And this year too! You have someone who plays?” “My husband did. For the Pelicans. You beat them out for the championship two years ago. He was so mad, but by the time we got to the party at Angelo’s he was back in good spirits. That was Sean.” I smiled ing his joyful spirit. He was never upset for long. It just hadn’t been in him. “Why didn’t he play this year? We had a great time.” Shocked at the question, I looked at him in surprise. Then it dawned on me. He didn’t know. But why would he know? And I was going to meet people who didn’t know. How was I going to handle this? “My husband and daughter were killed in an accident last spring.” There I said it. And my eyes didn’t fill with tears. But the sorrow rose up inside to grip my heart. To my surprise though, Michael’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s why you’re here?” he asked. “Man, how can you listen to me complain? I lost a hand. You lost your family. I’m really sorry.” “I appreciate the sympathy, but don’t downplay your loss. I thought my life was over, too. Just like you. But I’m getting better. I’m healing. You will too if you want to. The group wants to help. Doc Aimee wants to help. The physical therapist wants to help. But none of them can make you do the work needed to get well. It’s up to you.” “And you’re telling me … how long you been here?” “This is day twenty-five.”

“You’re telling me after twenty-five days, you are healing from that? From the deaths of your husband and daughter?” “I had to choose to live. I had to accept help from everyone here … and from God. Twenty-six days ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you my husband and daughter died last spring without a drink in my hand and a bottle beside me.” “I don’t believe in God, but maybe the rest could work. Maybe …

Dream 25

“He doesn’t believe in you! I went blank, completely blank. How do I talk to other people about you? I’ve never actually done that. I mean people at work knew I was Christian, and used to come to me to request prayer, and I felt useful that way. But I never asked about their own faith, their own beliefs, or if they had a church family that was praying for them too. “How could I have been in church all my life, for forty-six years, and never spoken to anyone about you?” I paced back and forth in front of God on our original beach bench. The day was gorgeous. Clean bright sunshine, a cool fresh breeze off the Gulf, and warm sand beneath my bare feet. As I paced, I threw my hands in the air. “How do you put up with me? Why do you put up with me?” God chuckled, but then he turned serious. “You know the answer to that one.” I plopped down beside him. “You love me. You really love me. You see me, accept me just like I am, and want me to come home to you. You are simply too wonderful for words.” “That sounds like a good place to start.” “What do you mean? To start what?” “Telling someone else about me.” I looked into his dear face. “Really? That sounds too easy. Don’t I need to give them some theology, some rules, quote scripture or something?” “What helped you, Elizabeth? What brought you back to me?” “You mean this month? You mean besides your insistence on being in my dreams every night?”

God waited while I thought back. Where had been the turning point for me? What had triggered my change of heart? My turning back to God? I ed. It had been a hard day followed by a hard night. It was the night He had said would be His last visit unless something changed. “My definition of trust was someone who would put my needs before their own. You put me first. By my own definition I could trust you. I could trust you on the front of the tandem bike, in charge of me and my life. That was hard. Very hard.” “But you made the choice to trust me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “So, I love you and can be trusted with your life?” “Yes.” I nodded. Simple. Peaceful. “And how do you know that?” “You mean, besides my nightly visits with the three of you?” “Yes. Let’s say when you leave here, you don’t these dreams, but you what you learned.” My heart stopped in my chest and then did a double time. “Whhhat? I won’t You? That can’t happen. I understand if you’re too busy to come back, but let me keep my memories.” God took my hand. “Elizabeth, do not fret. If you start talking about seeing God every night, most people will run. What can you say that won’t make people think you are crazy? How do you know I love you and put you first?” I took a deep breath, calming myself. “You sent Jesus. You sent Your Son to pay for my sins. And not just mine, but the sins of everyone. The Bible says that— and this will be rough—“that while we were still sinners, You sent your innocent beloved Son, to die on a cross for all of us.” “And what does that mean?” My smile was huge and I wrapped my arms around Him—because I could—and hugged him in gratitude. “It means I get to be your child. I get to go to heaven when I die and spend eternity with you. Just like Sean and Hannah are doing now. It means I get to see your face, and Jesus’ face, and the Spirit’s face. It means I’m never alone. It means I have help any moment of any day and every

moment of every day. It means I can find joy in the morning, though the night was sad. It means I have access to your mercy and your grace, because I’m going to mess up. It means You want what is best for me, even when I can’t see or understand what you are doing. It means I can have an abundant life while still here on earth.” “How are you so sure? Where did you get your confidence?” I tapped the place over my heart. “I know it here, and I read it here.” I placed my hand on my Bible. “The Bible? You believe it? Hasn’t it been re-written and translated so much that no one knows what it means? Look at all the different Christian faiths? If no one can agree, how can it be right?” “Endurance. What other piece of literature has endured this long? Nothing. And there are many remnants of scriptures and even whole books of the Bible, in various languages, that we have from the first and second century after Christ that we can examine and study. The Bible was and is God-inspired. You inspired it! You breathed it into life. You inspired the writers and it has endured despite the conflicts it has caused, despite those who sought to get rid of it, despite the changing world, and despite us.” “You sound pretty convinced.” I opened my mouth, and then closed it. I nodded. Decisive. “Yes, I am. I may not have all the facts, but I could get them. I have read enough though, and that, combined with my faith, tells me the Bible is true.” God smiled and leaned back stretching his arms along the back of the bench. “And that, Elizabeth, is how it is done.” I sat down. “But lots of people will say they aren’t interested or will even want to argue.” “There is no need to argue or get angry or badger anyone. Tell your story. Show your heart. I gave everyone a choice. They get to choose. I just want you to give them something to think about.” I thought about that for several minutes in peaceful silence with God. Then, just

as I decided I could do that, I awoke in my bed. How did He do that?

Day Twenty-Six

December 1

Today Stephen was leaving with his parents. A breakthrough had occurred. He was going home with his parents for a while. There he would continue weekly one-on-one counseling with a new counselor, plus weekly group sessions, rounded out by his daily meds. The last few days Stephen had been going outside for longer and longer times by himself without any panic attacks. Despite the cold, we had ed him once Doc Aimee had allowed us. He had walked the entire fenced grounds yesterday. Our clapping and whistles and congratulations caused him to blush, but he had been grinning ear to ear. So this morning at breakfast we were telling him good-bye. Annie and I. We offered a silent prayer and raised our coffee in a salute to Dorothy. Then heads bowed, we prayed—all three—for Richard to keep doing well and find the joy to live well. I opened my mouth to tell Stephen so long, but Annie beat me to it. “Stephen, I was sure you were truly crazy because I had never heard of anyone being scared to go outside—unless there was a hurricane. But then I ed that I am scared to walk, so you didn’t seem that crazy after all.” She paused a minute, her face scrunched up as if in deep thought. I truly expected her to change the subject to something like dessert tonight, but she surprised me. She patted his hand in a friendly way. “Have a good life. Let your folks take care of you until you’re good and well. Don’t forget where you’ve been and how far you have come. You are strong.” “Thank you, Annie. That means a lot to me. I thought I was crazy, too. I know I am better now. Maybe you could get better, too?”

The question was implied, but Annie ignored it and wheeled herself around the table from him and began to eat her oatmeal. Stephen and I looked at each other. Then we just hugged. He had been the Tin Man in our group—so full of heart. I was thankful God had brought him into my time here. “God be with you and bless you always, Stephen. Thank you for who you are.” “Thank you, Elizabeth, for reminding me that God is near. I’ll never forget any of our group.” Doc Aimee patted him on the shoulder. “Your parents are here. Ready to go?” He nodded and with a hesitant wave he was gone. Just a few minutes later Savannah ed us in our back corner. “I just told Stephen bye. His parents looked happy to see him. I hope he does okay.” I pulled out the chair next to me and motioned for Savannah to us. “We all do.” Savannah sat, slouching low in her chair. “Does this mean we will be getting a new person in our group?” I took another bite of cheese grits, nodding. “Probably. You came after Dorothy, and Michael came after Richard.” “So when do you leave, Elizabeth? Am I going to be left here alone with a bunch of new crazy people?” Savannah, ever the teenager, with her ‘how does this mess up my life’ pouty face, played with Stephen’s coffee cup. “I leave in four days. Thursday. But Annie should leave before me. When do you leave, Annie?” Annie put down her spoon and wiped her lips with her napkin. Her mouth was twitching like it wanted to say something, but something else was stopping her. “Leave? I don’t leave. Until the good Lord takes me to heaven.” And Annie turned her wheelchair and rolled across the dining room as if the devil was chasing her, or something worse.

“What’s her problem?” Savannah asked. I shook my head and pushed back from the table. “I truly don’t know. She told Stephen she was scared to walk. That’s the most I’ve ever heard her say about why she is here. I mean she gets a little forgetful and absent-minded sometimes, but overall she seems healthy. I really don’t know.” “Well, the rest of us have to talk about our problems. Why doesn’t she?” “You know, that’s a good question. Maybe I’ll ask at group this morning.” Savannah pushed back from the table and stood. She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe she goes crazy if people ask.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “There is too much drama in that pretty head of yours.”

** ** **

But two hours later I did ask. I asked Annie, not Doc Aimee. Savannah’s eyes got as big as saucers. Doc looked up from her notes. “Elizabeth, today we are starting with Michael— “It’s okay, Aimee.” Annie interrupted quietly, but firmly. “I’ll answer.” I had never heard that tone of authority or that lilt of education in her voice before. I watched as Doc did the strangest thing. She turned off her recorder and laid down her pen, charts and files. Whatever Annie said was off-off the record. “I was recruited by a Federal agency the year I turned twenty-two. I was just about to start my last semester of college, but things changed. I was a bright attractive African-American woman and they wanted me to work for them. To serve my country. And I did. Very well. For a long time. I was good at my job. I was a year or two from my thirty year mark, and mandatory retirement, when an old enemy found me.

“I was dropped off the side of a building. Broke my back and a few other things. I was rescued fairly quickly I’m told—I was mercifully unconscious—and airlifted to a government facility where five months later my caregivers asked me to take my first step. And I did. With the help of parallel bars and a lot of upper body strength. “There was no way I was going back to work. I knew that. But I wanted to walk. It was the best shot I had at a fairly normal retirement. I had seen the world and now I wanted a different adventure. But it was not to be. That evening of the day of my first step, after the midnight rounds, when everything was still and quiet, I fell asleep grateful for God’s blessings. I woke suddenly and there he was. My old enemy. He told me if I ever walked again, every one of my family would die. He dropped pictures of them on my bed and slipped out of the room. “I stared at those pictures a long time. I knew he was serious. I knew he meant what he said. And here I am, not walking, twelve years later.” Her voice faded away. The silence deepened. Was this possibly true? The woman who ate banana pudding like she would never get another bite? Surely this was pure fiction, or was it? Annie nodded her head as if agreeing with herself, then looked up. “Gotcha!” Michael laughed and slapped his knee with his one hand. “Good one, Annie!” Then Savannah started giggling. “You … a spy … I love it!” And Doc Aimee followed suit chuckling and shaking her head. “Annie, you got us all. That was great.” I laughed lightly too, but my gaze was locked on Annie. Her face was mimicking mirth, but the way her hands clasped the arms of the wheelchair told a different story. It almost looked as if she wanted to push up and stand. Could she? I wasn’t sure I would ever know the truth. Dorothy had lived in a fantasy world to escape the pain of reality. Annie could be doing something similar by making up elaborate reasons for not walking. Still I knew there was a mystery there. I just hoped that one day Annie would be able to be free of the fear that held her here at Safe Haven.

In reality the government had to do something with crazy retired spies, didn’t they? Or did they never get old enough to retire? “Okay everyone, now that Annie has thoroughly entertained us. Let’s get down to business. Michael how is the physical therapy going? Doc wanted Michael to talk today. She had started with some soft careful questions, but the more prodding they became, the pricklier Michael became. “I wasn’t lying to the doctors and I’m not lying to you. The hand hurt. They told me about phantom pain or something, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real to me. It was very real to me.” “And how is the pain now?” Doc Aimee asked. “Better. Comes and goes. It’s been four months. The doctors say it’s healed well.” “And your physical therapy? Building your strength in your arm? How is that going?” Michael shrugged. “He says I’m strong enough. Of course, being a carpenter I used my hands, arms, shoulders, and back all the time. They were already strong. Still, no matter how strong I am, I can’t do anything with one hand.” “While you’ve been here, have you talked about getting the prosthetic hand?” “Yes, but I don’t see the point. It’s not real. It’s not my hand.” “And you’re angry?” Michael straightened in is chair. “Of course I’m angry. That’s why I’m in here, right? For some anger management?” “Can you tell us how you came to be here?” “It’s no secret.” Michael said. “I got in a couple fights, wrecked a car, that kind of thing.” Doc flipped back in her notes. I hated when she did that to me. “Three fights that

you were arrested for. And the wrecked car was yours and on purpose. What was that about?” “It was my car. So what?”

Dream 26

“We are all so broken. And we hurt each other so much. We are selfish and selfcentered, and our lack of comion is only topped by our insistence on not accepting help. How has the human race survived? Why haven’t you ended this madness? I’m not sure if I’m capable any longer of existing, of living, out there anymore. If a strong woman like Annie can be kept in a wheelchair, what hope have I?” I stopped my pacing back and forth before God. I wanted to know He had it under control. I wanted to hear His reassurance that I would survive out in the crazy world. I wanted to hide in His arms and never leave. I sank next to Him on the park bench and pressed in close. “Help me please.” God wrapped an arm around me and hugged me close. He kissed the top of my head, as if I were a beloved child, which I knew now I definitely was. “I think we need to go for a bike ride.” Joshua, my guardian angel, rolled the tandem bike over from a stand of trees. I hugged him hard, and then ruffled his crazy head of sandy curls. “Hi, you. How have you been?” “Busy, Lizzie. You need to stay out of trouble. I need a vacay. How about a little warm beach somewhere when you get out of this place?” “I don’t think that’s going to happen. But I’ll try to stay out of trouble.” God handed me my helmet and got on the front of the bike. “Josh you can take a break. I got her for now.” “Thanks Boss. See you later, Lizzie.” I waved to Joshua and climbed behind God on the tandem bike. The park was full today with people out riding, picnicking, throwing Frisbees and footballs. Their laughter made me smile. But what did this have to do with me surviving in the world? What did this have to do with God not calling us all home and ending

this craziness? “What do you see, Elizabeth?” God asked. “People having fun. Families together. Smiling faces.” “Now look again.” I blinked and the scene had somehow shifted. It was the same, yet different. The same people, but they had changed. I could see each person, but now a glow, a light seemed to encom them or illuminate them. Though not entirely. As we rode past, I saw women, men, and children of all ages with the glow, yet each also had a few patches of darkness. Kind of like smudges on clean clothes. Still, overall, they were bright lights. “I see glowing people … all kinds of people …” “Good. Now look ahead.” I looked past God’s shoulder and saw a twilight gloom ahead. We left the park and rode into what looked like an inner city area. We pedaled past rundown buildings, boarded up store fronts, and more people just hanging out on the cracked sidewalks, in the street, leaning against rusted cars, sitting in old lawn chairs on worn out porches. These people weren’t glowing. They were a mixture of dark and light. I could see through the dark fog to the person because of the few patches of light breaking through. “Why are they so dark?” We rode past a church where it looked like volunteers were ing out food and water. The mixture here was different, with glowing people and darker people on both sides of the table. I searched their faces. “What am I seeing?” “Their hearts.” I looked harder as we continued to ride, through neighborhoods, hospitals, and through foreign countries. We rode through cities, slums, and everything in between. We rode past human traffickers and drug dealers, church picnics and worship services … in Brazil, South Africa, India, England, Greece, Japan and places I didn’t even recognize. People of all ages, ethnicities, and beliefs. Yet I

saw each one. Each one as if he or she were the only one. So many places filled with darkened people and yet so many light-filled people among them. We slowed to a stop in an African village. We watched a young Caucasian woman filled with light teaching a group of children to sing a song in English. They mimicked her as best they could. Their dark faces glowed with the inner light also. Yet as we watched, a truck filled with men approached. They stopped beside the sheltered area where the young woman and children were. Their darkness covered almost all of them. It was dark and heavy and stank of evil. I covered my nose and mouth as I watched. The young woman stood between the men and the children. She spoke firmly and loudly. The men laughed and the children shrank together into a small huddled group behind the young woman. One of the men stepped forward and I heard her declare, “In the name of Jesus, I ask you to leave.” Then the children started whispering the name of Jesus, over and over. It started very low, then became a chant. This was a word they knew. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” they repeated. In one of the men I saw a small light bloom. He reached forward and tapped his comrade on the arm and motioned him to get back in the truck. Reluctantly he obeyed, throwing out threats as he got back in the vehicle. The one in whom I had seen the light bloom, stared back at the woman and children, a question on his face. “This is why I haven’t ended it yet. There are still too many that haven’t come to me. My Son died for all. I want as many as I can get to come home.”

Day Twenty-Seven

December 2

It was cold and dreary outside—much like me today. The dream from last night still haunted me. The young woman standing up to those men and saying “In the name of Jesus … leave”, kept repeating in my mind’s eye. I saw the spark light up in the one thug as if breathed into being by the name Jesus. There was hope now that he could be saved. God wasn’t ready to give up on the lost that populated the world. He wasn’t even close. What He needed were more foot soldiers to go into the world and spread the light to others. He needed some to hold the line, to fill the gap where the darkness tried to gain a place to take a stand in the land of light. The images of the dark and light in each person showed me so much of the struggle that we all face daily. We have to choose the Light instead of the dark. To choose Life instead of death. To choose Love, to choose Jesus. How do we defeat this unseen, yet oh so real enemy? How did I fit in? Where did I need to take my stand with Jesus? That was the question now. In four days I would be released into the world. A world that needed the light that I had seen the past twenty-six days and nights. How did I share that without being thought crazy and being permanently assigned a bed in the loony bin? So I stared out Doc Aimee’s window and tried to brainstorm some options. First, ask God what he wanted me to do. I knew he wanted me to Love Him and love others. What did that look like in my world? In my life? Whom could I offer to share my light with? A light that could lead them to Jesus … the Light of the world.

Light and salt. Isn’t that what the Bible talked about? I needed to look that one up. You don’t cover a light; it is there to provide hope, guidance, warmth, and clarity. “How can I do that, Lord?” I whispered. “What was that, Elizabeth?” Doc had come in so quietly I hadn’t heard her. I turned to face her. Inside her office it was warm and bright, like Aimee. “I was asking God how I could point others to Jesus. How can I be light to those that are lost? That sounds pretty holy-roly doesn’t it? As if I could help anyone! “I mean look at me. Look at where I am. Look at what I’ve done. How could I even believe that God could or would use me?” Doc scribbled some notes, and then waved me over to sit down on the couch across from her. “So first, why don’t you think God would or could use you?” I sighed and slumped back into the couch. Why did I keep slipping back into that negative talk? “I know. You’re right. He’s right. God can use anybody; they just have to be willing to follow Him.” “And are you? Willing to follow?” “Yes. But I don’t know what to do.” “Sometimes you just have to try some different things. Definitely start with prayer. Ask for clear direction. And then do something. If what you pick doesn’t work, try something else. What are you considering trying?” “I’m not sure. I know there is a need. And I want to help. But then I wonder if I’m strong enough? If I couldn’t help myself, how can I help someone else?” Aimee smiled. “We all need help sometimes, don’t you think? If I asked you to show the new intake patient around today, couldn’t you help get them settled?” “Why yes …”

“And if they asked about being here? Couldn’t you share your experience, your thoughts about what helped and what didn’t?” “Sure, I mean I guess …” “How much strength would that require of you?” “Just a little.” “So if God asked you to make a scared new patient more comfortable, you could?” “I would certainly try.” “And how strong is God? Couldn’t He through Christ give you what you need?” I blinked. Yes. God was strong. “And if God has called you, then don’t you think He already knows what He’s getting? Doesn’t He know you, Elizabeth?” I nodded. “Yes, He does. Very much so.” “So what is He calling you to do?” I thought back over what we had seen last night, and previous nights. Feeding people from the tandem bicycle basket. Helping others fix their bikes. Seeing the light in one person spark the light in another. Isabeau nudging me to stay and talk to Michael, to follow Savannah, to share Psalm 139 with the group and even Cindy. Teaching me to rely on Him all the time because I never knew where the darkness was coming from. So many truths, lessons, and what did it mean for when I left here in a few day? “I think He wants me to share my light.” “Share your light? Interesting. Tell me about that.” I looked away, chewing my bottom lip, trying to find words. “I want to help people find Jesus. I want to help them get to Him. Help them spend time with Him. Help them get to know Him and love Him so much that they realize that

He is all they need.” “So what does sharing your light look like in your world?” I smiled at her use of the question I asked myself just minutes before. “You are leaving here soon. Have you started making plans? We’ve talked about it in group just a bit, and in the last couple of one-on-one sessions. How are you “mentally” “physically” “emotionally” about leaving us?” “When you put it like that it sounds so overwhelming. Physically, I feel stronger and rested. Mentally, I’m ready to get back to a regular daily life, begin a new normal. Do ordinary things like grocery shop, take a walk, clean my house and even go see a movie with friends. Emotionally, sometimes I want to stay. I feel safe here, protected from the world and from myself. I’m afraid of making the wrong decisions.” “Listen to how honest you are being with me and with yourself. The woman who came here told me she was fine and had everything handled. She wanted out of here.” “I wish I could have told her it would be okay.” “You still can, Elizabeth. Tell her now. Tell her when she gets scared or feels weak or just needs to hear it.” I got up and went to the wall mirror across the room. I looked at the woman in that looking glass. I was starting to re-appear again in her eyes, her smile and in the clean hair that fell around her face. I had lost me, but I was finding more of her each day. “It’s going to be okay.”

Dream 27

“It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay …” I was repeating that line in my sleep, tossing and turning in my bed. I missed Angel. He had brought me such comfort, though I had never been a dog person before. Then I was in the field beside the shed where Jesus had been building something for me. I nearly ran, excited to see his progress and talk to Him about being a light for others-pointing the way to Him. I rounded the hedge of fig trees expecting to see him but he wasn’t there. Neither was the project we had been building, the boards we had been nailing together and painting with some finish. I pushed open the door to the shed, but it was completely empty, too. Nothing remained to show we had ever set here on this porch and talked and worked. Yet, the scent of wood remained. And a bit of paint. Then I felt something nuzzle my hand and I looked down to see Angel. “Angel boy! What are you doing here?” I dropped to one knee and hugged his neck. He pressed back into me, such sweetness. “Do you know where Jesus is?” “Woof” he barked and backed away, looking deep into my eyes. “You want me to follow you?” Of course I had a flashback to several nights ago and Luke. “Dear Lord, bless and protect us wherever we go. Guide us on your path. Amen.” Then I heard it. The humming, the whistling, the sound of Jesus happy and content. I smiled so wide and felt the love well up in me. Angel heard it too and turned and ran toward the sound. I followed quickly around the other side of the shed towards the tree line. Perplexed, I watch Angel run around the base of this wide oak tree. He yipped and barked, his tail wagging frantically.

“Where is He, boy?” I asked as I looked all around. Then I looked up. Along the side of the tree trunk, steps had been nailed and a rope hung down. Through the tree branches full of leaves I caught glimpses of wood, a wall, maybe a door. “Hello up there?” I called out feeling a bit foolish. “Come on up, Elizabeth. I’ve been waiting for you.” Joy surged through me. I climbed the tree ladder as quickly as I could and pulled on the rope. A trap door swung up and open and I climbed into a room. I scooted in and let the trap door close. Looking around I saw a small table for two with two chairs, and a hammock. There were two windows, one on each side of a door. “Jesus?” “Out here.” His voice floated in from the window. I opened the door and there was a porch surrounded by a waist high railing and two rocking chairs. Jesus sat in one and waved me to the other. “What do you think?” I gazed around in wonder. Jesus had built me a tree house. It was something I had always wanted when I was a little girl. Instead I had gotten a playhouse. Nice and pretty and very safely on the ground. It had been good, but I had wanted the adventure of being up, off the ground and in the trees. The view was beautiful, seeing out over the farm and into the valley beyond. A slight breeze rustled through the leaves and I felt it caress my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered to an all-seeing, all-hearing God. I turned to Jesus. “Thank you very much.” “Surprised?” “Totally! I never guessed this was what we were making. I gave up on a tree house once when I was about twelve, and then again when Hannah turned eight and asked for a manicure and pedicure for Christmas. I knew my girl just wasn’t going to climb trees. This is a real treat.” But my smile dimmed as a dark thought crossed my mind. Will I get to come back?

Jesus reached out his hand to me and I placed mine in his willingly. “Nearly four weeks ago you ran from me. In the last few days, you have called on me repeatedly. How you have grown! From infant to child to adolescent to young adult. You don’t need this tree house to have an adventure. You have me!” I laughed out loud! He was so right. All the adventure I could ever want was in this one person, this one triune God, rocking next to me. “You’re right, as usual. Still, this tree house is pretty cool.” I rubbed my hand down the arms on the rocking chairs, feeling the cool smooth wood. I noticed the railing on the porch was the waves I had seen him carve nights ago. For me. So much for me. “What can I do for you? I mean I want to help others find you. I want to spark the light in others. Like I saw last night with God. Can I do that?” Jesus smiled a huge smile. “Yes, you can. But we have to finish one more task before you’re ready to go help others.” “What’s that Lord? You know I will do anything you ask.” He turned to me then and took both my hands in His. His deep dark eyes were so full of strength and love. I marveled at the gift I had been given, to see His precious face. “I need you to forgive.” Surprised, I answered. “But I have forgiven. Or at least I have been working on it. Forgiving Sean for making the mistake, forgiving John Buchannan for his part in the accident, and forgiven you for allowing it. I’ve asked for forgiveness too, though everyone is not as receptive as I would like. I understand I hurt some people. But I’m trying. I promise.” “What about you, Elizabeth? Have you forgiven yourself?” “Me?” “Yes. You. I want you to forgive yourself for not being the perfect grieving widow. I want you to forgive yourself for losing it, for falling apart.” I started crying. Any time Doc headed that direction, I had managed to avoid it.

The tears ran down my face and fell onto our clasped hands. I pressed my face against them because he wouldn’t let mine go. “Let it out. Let it all out. I’ve got you.” So I cried. I cried because I couldn’t stop them from going on the ride. I cried because I hadn’t gone with them. I couldn’t stop what I was doing to ride with them. I cried because I couldn’t be the strong widow living a perfectly sad quiet life. I cried because I couldn’t stop the pain. All I had been able to do was hurt. I fell apart like a ceramic vase shattered on a brick floor—pieces everywhere and no idea how to get them back together again. Then I couldn’t live any longer either. I was a failure at life and a failure at death. As my tears finally slowed, I slipped from my chair, to my knees and put my head on His knees. “I made so many mistakes, did so many flat-out rebellious things. Still when I prayed you came…and you saved me.” “Yes I did. And looking back now, what would you tell yourself? Today I had looked in the wall mirror hanging in Doc’s office to tell my past self that ‘It would be okay’ and had felt a small measure of belief and peace. Now looking up into Jesus’ eyes I could see the woman I had been twenty-eight days ago. Then I could see just me. I was no longer that woman. I still had a ways to go, but I was better, stronger, and had my feet planted on the foundation of God, Jesus, and the Spirit’s love. “I would tell her, ‘It’s going to be okay. God’s got your back.’”

Day Twenty-Eight

December 3

I woke up thinking about last night and an idea I had had before falling asleep. But I needed to start small and needed to start right now. I sat at the table by the window and tipped up the picture I hadn’t been able to look at before. Sean and Hannah smiled at me from the sidewalk in front of our house, perched on their bikes. The picture was from the year before. And it was so them. So father and daughter. The smile on their faces nearly identical. I had zoomed the shot to see their joy in this regular outing. It was a bittersweet moment now. I set it next to the other pictures and took a deep breath. I was healing. Showering and dressing quickly, I called my mom and asked if she would bring me a few things from the house. A couple hours later as we sat in group, I handed out the photo albums mom had brought. “After the accident I spent hours going through these books, ing, reliving, and grieving. But one day I came home and put them all away. The pain was so great I simply couldn’t bear to see them anymore. I gathered every picture and everything that reminded me of them and put it away in a closet. I’m so glad I didn’t throw them away. “Today I want to share my family with my new family.” Annie and Savannah poured over the wedding album, while Doc flipped through Hannah’s baby pictures, and Michael went through the Sean’s baseball league years. I flipped through the most recent album. Hannah’s teen years, and first date, first dance, Sean’s first interrogation of a boy wanting to date Hannah, Sean teaching Hannah to drive, Sean and Hannah texting each other while watching a movie, Christmas morning in our pajamas and surrounded by too much stuff. So many memories of us. “I can’t believe how blessed I was. God gifted me with such a precious child and

such a wonderful husband.” Michael closed his album. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I just don’t see how you can still believe in a good God, when he took your family. You say He gave them to you, but what I see is He took them away.” And here it was, my chance to talk God with Michael. I took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. “One of the things I had to come to grips with when I got to Safe Haven, was that God didn’t take my family away. And the truck driver didn’t take my family away. Sean made a mistake. He didn’t look both ways.” “But God … a real all powerful God … could have stopped it!” “Yes. I had to accept that, too. That God could have stopped it, but instead, allowed Sean to make the mistake and end his life and Hannah’s life also. I don’t know why. But I don’t have to because I know something else. He loves Sean and Hannah even more than I do.” “How can you sit there and say God loves them? They are dead.” “But God doesn’t see death like we do. They ended their life here, but now they are with Him. And I may want them here with me, for purely selfish reasons, but He has given me something better.” “You’re kidding me? You have already hooked up with someone else?” “Michael, listen to me. I have the Trinity. I have Father God, Savior Jesus, and the Blessed Spirit. With them I can continue this life, and be blessed doing it, until He decides it’s time for me to them in heaven.” Michael shook his head, bowed over his hands. Then he glanced up and around our small circle. No one else had said anything. “Do the rest of you believe this stuff?” Annie cleared her throat and spoke in that same authoritative tone from the other day. “God exists. I’ve seen things I can’t explain except for the reality of God.” “Well …” Savannah began, looking nervous, “I’m not sure what I believe, but Elizabeth told me I had a guardian angel, and that made me feel better. Or it could be the meds they give me. Either way, I’m better since I got here. And I

can’t believe I said that.” Mental note to talk to Savannah more about Jesus. “Doc? What do you think?” Michael asked. “I, too, have seen things I can’t explain except by God. But even if I hadn’t seen those signs, I would believe. I feel Him here,” Doc Aimee tapped her chest over her heart. Michael sat back and folded his arms. “I just can’t get there. I hear you, but it is hard to believe.” I opened my mouth, and then closed it. A distinct nudge under my jaw had closed it. What? Michael continued, “You told me the other day that this place had helped you. The group sessions, the one-on-one meetings, the various activities and the medicines. I’m willing to give it try. I may even look into a prosthetic. But this God stuff is tough to swallow.” Okay. I tentatively moved my jaw. “I understand. If you want to talk more, just come find me. In the meantime though, I will pray for you.”

Dream 28

I awoke in a dark dimly-lit room in the middle of a four poster bed. I rolled to the side causing a layer of dust to shift. I sneezed once, then twice. Putting my bare feet on the cool wood floor, I looked down to see I was wearing a long flannel gown. What was going on? Then I heard a long low moan, and a rattling of chains. “Dear God in heaven, please rescue me from whatever is going on.” Then I heard laughter, and Joshua walked in, looking like his normal guardian angel sixteen year old self. “Hey, Lizzie, it’s just me. God let me set the stage and tease you just a bit. No need to panic. But kudos on going straight to prayer!” “Set the stage? Where are we?” I went to the shuttered windows and pushed them open. “Snow!” The scene was a flurry of activity. It was a tiny village street covered in snow and people walking up and down all bundled up in long coats and hats and scarves. There was a church, a butcher, a stable, and other small shops running down the street across from me. Down my side of the street were houses. Joshua ed me in the window, putting his hand out to catch a falling snowflake. “Cool!” “Way cool,” I agreed. “So what’s going on?” I asked raising my face to the soft flurries. “You will be visited the next three nights by one of the Trinity. The Blessed Spirit tonight. Father tomorrow night. And Jesus the last night.” “We’re doing A Christmas Carol?” I asked puzzled, turning to look at him. “I’ll let the Spirit explain. But Lizzie, when you get home, know I will be

watching over you for the rest of your life.” He hugged me hard, then turned and left the room quickly. Had there been tears in his eyes? “Elizabeth?” I turned to see Isabeau standing by a door across the room. I crossed quickly to her, smiling, reaching my hands out to take hers. “Blessed Spirit, what are we doing tonight?” She leaned forward and touched her forehead to mine. I felt a surge of love and warmth rush through me. I hadn’t realized how chilled I’d gotten standing in the window. When I looked down my gown was gone and instead I was clothed in sturdy walking boots, jeans, a shirt, sweater, scarf and hooded coat. “We decided that these last three nights needed to be lessons you could take with you.” “Because I won’t see you any longer.” “That’s right.” She opened the door into a beautiful English garden. Though a light layer of snow covered everything, it was still lovely. A canvas awning covered the deck area. From there you stepped into a large rectangle garden that was as wide as the house and about thirty feet deep. A white picket fence enclosed the garden. Beyond the gate at the back was a tall green hedgerow. Like a wall standing guard to protect, it ran the width of the garden. “Let me explain,” she began, walking across the snow toward the back gate. “You need practice in listening to me, following my guidance, hearing me despite what noise the world produces.” “Okay. How can I practice that?” She pushed through the gate and pointed ahead. It took me a moment, but I finally recognized the tall green hedge. “A maze? We’re doing a maze tonight?”

She clapped her hands together and nodded. “Isn’t it fabulous?” I looked from her to it and back. “Remarkable. No one would ever believe me if I even tried to tell them about this. So what do I have to do?” “You have to get from here to the middle of the maze to win the prize.” “So I just have to follow you, right?” I asked. “Yes, you have to listen to me.” “And what’s the prize?” I heard a deep woof. “Angel? Angel is the prize? How can that be?” Isabeau nodded. “He has developed a deep fondness for you. And I think you have become attached to him.” “Are you saying I get to keep him? But doesn’t he belong to that family?” “Abba has worked something out, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You have to get to the middle of the maze first.” I turned to look at the eight foot green wall ahead of me. Then I heard what she said. “Me? I thought you were going with me?” “I am. I’m going in here.” Isabeau tapped my head and my heart. “That’s how we will talk when you are in the world. That’s how I talk to all my children. It takes practice though and I want you to know what to do before you get back in the world.” Suddenly doubt overwhelmed me. Could I do this? I wanted to. I wanted to be God’s hands and feet in the world, and I knew Isabeau wanted to help me. I had to try. Angel barked again as if to agree. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “How do I do this?” “Start walking and listen for me. I may be a nudge or a feeling or a whispered word that directs you on the correct path. Do not turn to the right or left unless I guide you to. Here, you’ll need this.” I looked at the book Isabeau had placed in my hands -- a beautiful slim leather-

bound Bible. My name was engraved on the front. “Are you ready?” she asked, while rearranging my scarf and fishing my gloves from my pockets. “Can we pray?” I asked, nervous but excited too. Her smile was like the sun. “Of course, dear child.” “What do I pray for? Wisdom? Clarity? Discernment?” “Open your heart and pray. I will interpret for you.” “Like a translator?” “Yes.” I closed my eyes and bowed my head after taking her hands in mine. “Father God, I pray for you to help me to hear the Holy Spirit, and for me to recognize her voice in the chaos that is the world. Teach me so that I might teach others. Amen.” “Amen, amen.” I strode confidently through the entrance of the maze and began my quest to find Angel. The first path was straight and about four feet wide. The snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked. At the end of the first path, I had the choice already of turning left or right. “What had Isabeau said?” I stood quiet for a moment. I heard the rustle of the wind, a few birds, and nothing else. “Blessed Spirit, which way do I go?” I was tempted to look behind me to see if she would point one way or another, but I resisted. I lifted the Bible in my hand and wondered where even to start. I knew the Spirit could guide me through scripture. I opened it and began flipping through it to Proverbs. I needed wisdom and that seemed a good place to start. I began to read, hoping to hear a word, a direction from the Blessed Spirit. “Wait,” I whispered. I reread the last line. “Then you will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path.” This was Proverbs 2 verse nine.

Simple. Straight forward. Right. Every good path. I went right. This path was short and took a sharp left. Looking ahead was a long walkway, but I soon came across an intersection where a path jumped off to the right and the left as well as continuing straight ahead. I hesitated but I continued straight. Surely I wasn’t supposed to take all rights. Then I came to one path that sprang off to the right. Maybe I was supposed to take all rights. I turned right and right again and was at a dead end. Realizing my mistake, I backtracked out quickly. I couldn’t assume. I needed to ask every time. When I got back to the intersection on the long walkway, two old women sat in rocking chairs knitting scarves. One was knitting a multi-colored green scarf and the other was knitting a beautiful rose colored one. “Do you know which way I should go?” I asked. The two put down their projects and looked up and down the path, then leaned together and whispered to one another. Looking up at me, they shook their heads “No.” “But maybe you could help us.” The one with the green scarf said. “We need to measure these scarves to see if they are long enough. Do you mind trying them on?” I took a deep breath and let it out. I wanted to find Angel. “Are you okay, dear? This won’t take a minute.” “Sure, I can help you.” I took off my own scarf and let it drop to the ground. I accepted the green scarf from the one woman and wrapped it around my neck. It barely made it. “Oh dear. Still too short. I must keep working.” Then I tried on the rose one and it was just right. I smoothed a hand down the soft yarn and smiled. “This one is good.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you, young woman for giving us a hand.” The old woman took her scarf back and draped it over the arm of the rocking chair. Gathering her strength, she pushed up and stood before me. “I believe I need to stretch my legs a bit. Care to me? I offered my arm, smiling. “Which way should we go?” I woke up in my bed.

Day Twenty-Nine

December 4

“No!” I beat the bed with my hands. I was always bad at puzzles. Except with the edge pieces. Mazes were a type of puzzle. But the point had been to listen for the Holy Spirit. I had felt a nudge and found the Proverb scripture, but got lost when I went without asking. It had looked right, but it hadn’t been correct. The two old ladies had been a hoot though, reminding me of my grandmother and her sister. They had often been together after grandpa had died. Stopping to help them had seemed like an interruption, but had not been at all. People were always important. I thought over the issue of listening to the Spirit. I knew I needed to practice. I needed to pray today and do some research. But first I had an exit physical exam to complete and then an exit interview with Safe Haven’s director. Yet in between those chores, I found my way to the book of John again, specifically to John chapter sixteen, verse thirteen: “When He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth …” I read aloud. “So Isabeau will guide me … “And she speaks the truth.” I liked that. She spoke the truth, not partial truth or some truth or just plain lies or anything except the truth. “…for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.” So Isabeau would speak according to Father God. She would be my helper, my comforter, and my guide. I had to open my heart and my mind to her guidance. She lived in me and was always with me. She was with me right now and could help me learn to listen to her all the time.

“Amazing!” I said aloud. “Do you always talk to yourself?” I looked up and there was Michael. “You know-until you-I would have said no, but you’ve caught me doing it twice. So maybe this is new or maybe I always have and never knew it.” We were seated in the waiting area by the offices. “Are you here to see Doc Aimee?” I asked. “Yes, did I get the time wrong?” “No, I’m here to see the director for my exit interview. I am doing some research while I wait.” I lifted my Bible and notebook. Okay, Blessed Spirit, here I am with him, so what do you want me to say to him? “You are really into that Bible stuff, aren’t you?” “It’s pretty amazing. Thought any about what we talked about yesterday?” I felt approval at my question. “I talked to the physical therapist about the steps to try a prosthetic.” “That’s good. I never asked what kind of carpenter you were.” Natural question, thank you, lead me dear Spirit. “I was a cabinetmaker.” His smile was sad. “You liked it?” “Yeah, I did. Loved it. I’ve always made things. I had Tinkertoys growing up, Lincoln Logs, Legos and then I got creative and started making my own things.” He looked down at his empty sleeve. “My dad helped me, encouraged me.” I could see the sadness roll over him and wanted to help. How can I help him? Give me the right words, please. “Jesus was a carpenter. He learned from his dad.” Michael’s gaze met mine. He slowly nodded. “What kind of things did he

build?”

Dream 29

I was in the maze. The sun was bright and high in the sky, though there was still snow on the ground. It was cold enough to keep the snow despite the sun. Behind me were the two old ladies, still knitting their scarves. They looked up at me and waved. I waved back, and then turned to check out the path ahead. Rose had pointed the way and I had felt a rightness in her answer. God stood at the fork in the path ahead. Not a right or left choice, but still a choice. Then I heard Angel bark, bark, bark … as if to say come and get me. “I’m coming boy!” I walked up to God. I was sad and expectant. Sad that our time was almost over and yet expectant of what wonderful things he would do in my life yet to be. “Are you here to help me?” “Do you want me to?” “Yes!” If I had learned anything in the past four weeks, it was to get God’s help. I held out my hand. “Will you walk with me?” He took my hand. “Always.” We turned to face the choice in front of us. I looked back and forth and saw nothing different about either one. “Blessed Spirit, please direct me along the path you would have me travel. I trust you to speak to my mind and my heart. Amen.” “Amen.” The nudge was there. Slight, but there. So we went left, God and I. “So how did I do with Michael today?” He laughed out loud. “Quite entertaining. I think your soft persistence won out. He listened. I am very proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone for me.”

I couldn’t help smiling as I thought about our conversation that afternoon. Who knew where the words came from? Oh yeah … the Blessed Spirit … so I was learning something. “So will he come to Jesus, come to you?” “Not your concern. You did what I asked. You shared. You gave him something to think about and the rest is him and me.” I stopped, drawing my gaze from the hedges lining our path and stared up at God. “What? You mean I don’t get to know if he turns to you. If what I said helped?” “Why do you need to know?” “I … I just would like to know if … I succeeded. If what I said worked or if I need to try something else … with other people.” “Elizabeth, who spoke this afternoon? You or the Spirit?” I slapped my own forehead. “I prayed, the Spirit spoke. So I don’t need to practice what I said, right?” “Why?” God asked. “Because the Spirit will give me what I need to say.” “And is everyone you encounter going to be just like Michael?” “Of course not. We are each unique, because you like variety. I just need to keep practicing listening to you three. And when you nudge, then I will speak.” “Good, girl.” I looked back down the path in front of us. Tugging on God’s hand, I led us down the path until I felt a soft breeze across my cheek, blowing my hair just a bit. There you are, I thought to myself, which way do we go? Here. Here? There was no break in the hedge at all. Yet the whisper in my heart was clearly saying to turn right into these hedges. Which seemed like cheating

somehow. “How do I know if the voice or nudge or conviction is from the Spirit?” “Is there peace in it? Does it follow scripture? Do you sense any darkness?” “Then we are supposed to go through this hedge.” I stepped up to it and stuck my arm through to see how thick and if there was a place to push through, and an opening appeared. “Sometimes the way may be blocked, or appear that way, but if you trust me and step out in faith, I can remove the obstacle or give you what you need to get through.” “Of course!” I laughed. We stepped through the opening and looked right and left. “Angel!” To the right was a short walk into what looked like a curved turn. But to our left —down a long ways—was a raised dais and on it was Angel. He stood and barked hello, his plumed tail waving madly. I took one, two, three steps and stopped. God was next to me. Angel was ahead. But I felt uneasy inside. I hadn’t listened before turning straight toward Angel. Yet it seemed so clear. Yet it felt wrong. “Elizabeth?” “This isn’t the right way.” And again I woke up in bed. He loves doing that to me.

Day Thirty

December 5

November had disappeared into December. Christmas was less than three weeks away. I had always loved Christmas. All of it. The hustle and bustle, the decorating, the shopping for gifts for the people I loved, the wrapping, the parties with friends, the music, and the time with family. Was it ever perfect? No, absolutely not. But the good outweighed the bad by so so much. I had already decided I wasn’t doing Christmas this year. Now I wanted to celebrate the baby born and the man he would become and the Savior He was to me. With that in mind, I had asked my mom to buy as many manger scene ornaments as she could find. Bless her heart, she loved to shop, and was generous to everyone. She had dropped off a variety of about thirty nativity scene ornaments. Small. Simple. Each a reminder of how Jesus had entered this world. So this morning I wrapped and labeled, with the guidance from the Blessed Spirit. I was getting to like this idea that she lived inside of me. It was like having your best friend with you all the time. I didn’t have to explain my thoughts because she already knew me so well. So we wrapped and labeled together. I put them all in my back pack, put on Dorothy’s red shoes, and my elf hat, and off I went to share my light with others. I had received word that I was cleared to leave today, but Doc Aimee had reminded me that for leaving the premises to go with Savannah, I had to stay until tomorrow morning. I was planning to slip out early. Yet I selfishly wanted my 30th night with God. I still had group and my last one-on-one with Doc Aimee, but the rest of the day was free. Paperwork maybe.

Mabel and Cindy were my first stop. I hugged them both tight, kissing Mabel on the cheek. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for being a child of God.” I found their presents in my bag and both were pleased. “Girl, I been collecting nativity scenes for the last ten years. They just make me smile.” “And this is my first one,” said Cindy. “Thank you.” I felt the warmth of love spread through me as I traveled through the day. I gave nativity scenes to the two cafeteria ladies, the secretary for all the staff, and chatted with them about Jesus. Then it was time for group. I loved these people. Damaged, hurting, and struggling to find their way in this world. I felt I should be holding a sign that read “Jesus–this way” but knew the gifts were a gift from my heart and God would use it as he wanted. Doc Aimee, Savannah and Annie were understandably appreciative. I was most surprised by the extra hug from Savannah, and again I made a mental note to do a Jesus belief check on her. Maybe I could answer a question or share something I had learned. Michael, our dear anger management case, accepted his gift with quiet, solemn thought. “Thank you.” Savannah had the floor today. Her drug counseling and growing coping skills were helping her become more confident. She had spoken to both her parents in recent days. She wasn’t sure living with either of them would work, but both had agreed to a few family counseling sessions before Savannah was released. “I’m just not sure if they understand how much freedom I got at dad’s, and how strict it was at mom’s house, and how I really don’t know what I want to do with my life.” Doc Aimee agreed. “It’s a process learning to be a family when there is divorce. But we’ll work on it together.”

“I know. It’s just when I think of moving back, my insides just lock up and I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Big fat tears filled her eyes. She looked at me, holding the nativity scene I had just given her. “Can’t I stay with you?” “Savannah, that’s not …” Doc Aimee began, but I raised my hand to stop her. I stared at Savannah’s sad face, felt her pain, knew her story, and I wanted to help. Wanted to give her safe place to live, grow and figure out her life, and guide her to Jesus. But I heard the NO clearly. As soon as she asked the question, and I wanted to say yes, I heard no … not now. “It’s just not a good idea. I have to get back in the world and get stable myself. But you can call me anytime. I mean any time, night or day, and I will listen. Okay?” She nodded, but didn’t speak. I hugged all of them when group was over, even Michael, and got Savannah’s parents phone numbers from her. I gave her my numbers too. Then I dried my eyes and continued my day. Doc Aimee surprised me with a lunch invitation to her office to do our last one-on-one. “Will I ever see you again?” I asked as I signed all the paperwork for me to leave. I had a packet of paperwork about my new group meetings, AA meetings, and a new counselor. I hated the idea of not seeing Aimee again. “Not probable, but God does what He wants, so definitely possible. You still have the bike helmet right?” “Yes. I do.” “I ride every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. I do long rides on Saturdays. We might see each other.” I hadn’t ridden since Sean & Hannah’s accident. I had only ridden with God on the tandem bike. Yet, I knew now that the Blessed Spirit was with me and she could navigate for me. “We just might.” I stood and held out my hands for hers. “Thank you so very much for using your

gifts to help people. Thank you for helping me.” “I am proud of you. Take care of yourself, just as you’ve learned, and you will be great.”

Dream 30

“It makes no sense to go the opposite way.” I stood on the path. Alone. Angel lay on the dais ahead of me, watching and waiting. God and Isabeau sat with him. I felt their love pour over me. Whether I succeeded or failed, they loved me. And they had taught me so much. Still I felt the Spirit inside me nudging me to go the other way. So with one long look at them, I turned and strode the other way. If it was wrong, at least I would have been wrong honestly. Yet the further I walked the lighter my step. I followed the curve of the hedge into almost a circle. Up ahead I heard people. People crying and weeping. I hurried forward and rounding the bend I came upon a group of women kneeling at the foot of the cross. On that cross was my Jesus. Our Jesus. This was wrong. This was very wrong. “No! No! No, please stop!” I ran forward and tried to reach him, but two guards held me back. A woman wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close to her side, and then we knelt. “It will be okay,” she whispered. “How?” I asked. “How can this be okay?” “He will send us a Helper, one like Him.” “The Holy Spirit?” “Yes. Do you know this Spirit?” I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt and stared up at my Jesus on that cross. For me. For all. I had run from Him that first night. Unable to face His gift to me because of my shame and my pride and my unforgiveness. Yet as I looked at Him now, a peace descended upon me. A peace like I had never known before. I accepted his gift. I accepted his sacrifice. I accepted his love. I accepted the role I had played in putting Him there. I accepted my Savior.

“Yes,” I whispered, my gaze locked on Jesus. For years I had walked the Christian life and never known that a part of me had stood apart. Now I was fully His. “I was lost, but now I’m found. Amazing Grace.” I bowed with the women there and thanked my Savior for calling me to Him. Thanked Him for my life. Thanked Him for blessing me so greatly with the last thirty nights. I didn’t want to forget this love that bloomed so deep in my heart. This love that was rooted and grounded in His love and sacrifice for me. I don’t know how long we knelt there. I raised my head and they were gone, and Jesus was gone, and the path lay ahead of me. I got up and began walking, faster and faster until I was running. And I am not a runner. I rounded the next curve and there they were. All three standing with Angel beside them. I ran until I reached the steps up to the dais, and stopped, huffing and puffing. “We did it!” All three began clapping for me. For me. Such joy welled up in me. “We are so proud of you, Elizabeth. Accept your prize.” I’d like to say a host of angels began to sing praises or we all burst into Amazing Grace, but what really happened is a group hug. The best group hug ever. The joy in me was overwhelming. Rich, deep, full and powerful. I laughed with the joy of their love for me. “I love you all so much!” Isabeau cupped my cheek. God stroked my hair. Jesus grinned widely. “We love you so much!” Then they disappeared, leaving me and Angel to find our way out. Happily I had learned a thing or two about listening to the Spirit and we got out in record time. And there they were, on the patio, having a tea party. It was a joyous occasion. God let me stay until I started falling asleep. I hugged each of

them long and hard. So so happy. So so sad. Yet I knew I had to go back to the world and spread His light and love. As I lay in bed, more asleep than awake, scribbling these last moments with God down, I thought of the love they had shone me over and over again. It would be with me always. The lessons I had learned were rooted deep, but would need daily practice to keep them strong. The light in me was living, breathing, growing, and fed with my love for them and my love for others. I would share that light wherever the Blessed Spirit led. Now and always, I prayed, as I drifted to sleep. Now and always let me shine for Jesus.

Day Thirty-One

December 6

“Angel?” Angel sat by my mom’s feet outside Safe Haven’s front doors. My dad took my suitcase and backpack and loaded it in the back of their car, while I knelt down and hugged Angel. “How?” I asked. “I thought they found his family.” My mom handed me an envelope. “This family drove up right behind us. They asked if we were picking you up and gave us the dog and the envelope. They said you would understand. Do you know this dog?” “Yes, he was out in that bad storm a couple weeks ago and somehow ended up here and in my room.” I opened the envelope and pulled out the small note. “Angel doesn’t belong to us anymore. An old friend of ours, Isabeau, said he wanted to be with you. She’s never steered us wrong. Be blessed.” “How strange.” I handed the note to mom and hugged Angel again. He licked my face and then nuzzled in close. “I didn’t think you liked dogs.” I pulled back and looked in Angel’s face. There was something familiar, something knowing in his look. I felt as if we needed each other somehow. “I like this one. Can I keep him?” Angel barked and looked up at mom. Mom shook her head, but smiled. “Sure, I have been praying for your guardian angel to watch over you. This must be him.” A flash of sandy blond curls and shy smile ran through my mind but was gone

before I could latch on it. “Come on Angel boy, let’s go home.”

Epilogue

I don’t any of the dreams from my thirty nights in Safe Haven, but fortunately I wrote them all down in my journal. Some nights when I read them before I go to sleep, I’m almost there again. Amazingly, I never doubted the truth of what I had written. One day I know I will be with God, Jesus, and Isabeau again. One day I will embrace Sean and Hannah and we will be together always. Until that day, I continue to do as I promised. I share Jesus’s love for me, and share his light with others. It’s been a couple years since I left Safe Haven. I’m still in the home I had with Sean and Hannah, but it is much different. Savannah lives with me now, while going to college to become a teacher. She teaches the kindergarten Sunday school class at our church, having taken to Jesus like a duck to water. Michael got a prosthetic hand and started his own small carpentry company. He has two apprentices now. They built me a tree house just this past summer. Doc Aimee and I bicycle together most Saturdays. Annie remains at Safe Haven, but works for them helping new people get settled. I think she has found some peace at last. Angel is still with me, though occasionally he disappears for a day or two. I trust that Isabeau has him safely in hand. As for Joshua, my guardian angel, he sometimes slips up and I catch a glimpse of him. It’s our own game of hide-n-seek. Because you see, I see angels everywhere now. It’s wonderful and crazy. Don’t try to figure it out. But when God says His angels watch over you and are with you, He means it. I still have hard days sometimes, but I continue to heal because of what I learned those thirty days and nights. We all need help. We all need God. Don’t do life alone. I chose God. I chose Jesus.

I chose the Blessed Spirit. You can too.

The End

Heartfelt Thanks

Where do I start this amazing list of gratitude for those who have given me love, encouragement, and lots of time? I love you all so very very much! Mom & Dad, thanks for your love and throughout my life. And thanks for paying for that first writer’s conference eons ago. Alan, my darling husband, thanks for being so good at taking care of me. You encourage me daily and love me deeply. You are a gift to me from Father God. Erin Elizabeth, my daughter, thanks for being the blessing you are in so many ways. Being your mama has been a joy and an adventure. You inspire me with your love of teaching and ion for life. Tammy, thanks for being my best friend and writing partner for 26 years. We’ve read a lot of books, and talked a lot of Jesus, over many a breakfast or dinner. Thank you for your faithfulness. Debra, thank you for being the editor extraordinaire you are. You saw the heart of the story and edited around it. I couldn’t have done this book without your love of words and love for me. Diane, thank you very much indeed. Last, to my Sweet Jesus, thank you for never giving up on me no matter my excuses, my mistakes, or my lack of faith. I learned so much about You, and , and about me while writing this book. Thank you for being more than enough!

About the Book

Elizabeth doesn’t think she needs to be in a 30 day rehab facility. Just because she has a drink or two, has five dead house plants, and showed up to work on Sunday instead of Monday, doesn’t mean she has a problem. But after taking twenty-seven sleeping pills and calling 911, the decision isn’t hers anymore. In daily group therapy in Safe Haven, Elizabeth learns to deal with the tragic loss that has shattered her world. Helped and encouraged by a variety of troubled souls like herself, Elizabeth sees how their shared lives lightens their pain. In her dreams at night, Elizabeth encounters God, Jesus, and the Blessed Spirit. Just not as she has ever imagined them to be. Each of the Trinity seeks to help Elizabeth on her road to recovery. Each helps her face reality, battle her anger, learn to forgive and trust again during their nightly adventures at the beach, or riding the tandem bike, or while building a tree house. Could talking with her group during the day, and talking with God each night, really help Elizabeth get her life back on track?

About the Author

Deborah C. Cruce is a lifelong reader and writer. Her desire is to use her love of words, and her Master’s in Theology from Spring Hill College in Mobile, Alabama, to write fiction that encourages women and makes God smile. Deborah lives in Alabama with her wonderful husband Alan, her beautiful daughter Erin, and with Molly, a 13 year old dachshund who runs the house. Deborah enjoys dinner out with her husband, coffee on her back porch, and a good Bible study discussion.