Heaven's Rain

Meghan stood as if frozen to the wet grass under her feet. Raindrops plinked off the metallic roof of her rental car. Her umbrella hung unopened at her side. The rain felt good, cleansing ... almost.

With a deep breath she moved one foot in front of the other, eyes never leaving her destination. When her wet canvas shoes touched the edge of the rain soaked dirt pile, she breathed deep, surprising her. She hadn't consciously held her breath.

The earthy smell assaulted her nose. Despair threatened to claim her and she felt bile rising in her throat. Hadn't countless hours and God knew how many dollars been spent so she could stand here today? Yet at this moment of reality, none of it made any difference.

She could still hear the angry footsteps above her head, feel the dust falling on her face. Her hiding place was a tiny crawl space under the porch. She felt the chill of the dirt under her body and remembered the blackness all around her. She hadn't changed. She was still that frightened, abused little girl.

“Oh, God, you have to do something. I so desperately want to be free!” She reached down and grabbed a clump of the muddy earth. “How can I forgive this evil man? How can you restore all that he has stolen?” She threw the mud with all her strength at the tombstone ahead of her.

Again, images came to her. A door opening at night. The reek of his body odor mixed with alcohol filling her nose as his hot breath was in her face.

She dropped to her knees with fists raised and beat the dirt pile. Tears of rage poured down her rain soaked face and dropped to the mud. Pain and anger exploded inside of her.

“You were supposed to protect me! Why did you hurt me? Why? Oh, Daddy, why?” She looked to the tombstone expecting it to speak somehow.

Meghan leaned back on her heels. She hugged her knees and began to rock. Her eyes remained fixed on the cold, wet stone.

William J. Pruit
b. Aug. 2, 1947
d. Oct. 3, 2005

“Heavenly Father,” Meghan began to pray. “I feel so lost right now. I need to speak out my pain to you. Do you know how devastated I felt when the one that should have protected me hurt me? I feel sick when I remember how terrified I felt when I couldn’t find a safe place. I learned to trust no one. I was violated, lied to, and disregarded. I still can’t fully trust even you. I am so angry! Why didn't you step in? Where were you?” Meghan shook her fist at the sky filled with clouds. “Answer me!” she gritted between her teeth.

Only rain poured down on her upturned face. She closed her eyes tight and pursed her lips in anger. Again Meghan waited, just as she had done for years.

A picture came to her mind. A man, gentle looking and kind was standing behind a wall. His hand was reaching over it. There were tears in his eyes and pouring down his cheeks. Beyond him, just out of reach stood a man and a child. Meghan could tell by the child's wide eyes and pale face that she was frightened. She was reaching for the hand of the kind man, but the other man was holding her back.

Without hesitation Meghan spoke out loud to the mound of dirt, “It was your sin.”

“No more.” Meghan clenched her fists and let the words settle deep in her mind. God had always been there, weeping for her. It was her father’s choices, his sin and not hers, that had kept her from protection. God hadn’t failed.

Relief filled her. Her father's wicked debt was now in God's hands; she no longer had to keep it's account.

She stood and let the cleansing rain wash over her entire body. She opened her arms and held them out in a symbol of the release she now felt. For the first time in her life she allowed herself to revel in the true and perfect love of her Heavenly Father.

The Suitcase

The auctioneer’s staccato words bounced off Elaine's ears as she fixed her gaze on the tattered and worn suitcase. Water stains blended with scratches leading to coffee marks connected to dents. Would anyone guess the depth of value that tattered item possessed?

***

Her palms sweated so profusely she almost lost her grip on the precious suitcase. Licking her dry lips, she nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“Please, God, hide this suitcase. Send your angels of protection and let this case of hope pass.”

“You hold up line! Pass, go, go!” The impatient guard waved her through customs without so much as a second glance.

***

That had been the first of many miracles covering that suitcase. It had also been the first stain. In her hurry to comply with the guard scowling at her, she had spilled her coffee down the front of the case. A wistful smile graced her face. That faded and scratched leather was all the scrapbook she had ever needed.

***

A shaking pair of hands passed a new Bible to each set of eager hands. Eyes were wet with quiet thanks as the little black books were hidden in jackets and skirts. People fled within seconds of receiving their precious gift.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw little An with Li on her hip. An’s parents had been arrested the night before and no one knew what had become of the little girl or her brother. Thank God they were all right. Genji rushed over as soon as An had her Bible and Elaine knew the children would be safe and cared for.

***

The bidding closed with the auctioneer’s, “SOold, to number 7 over there!” Elaine was not surprised that very little monetary value had been placed on the case. She scanned the crowd trying to find the new owner. Were they aware of the price in blood it had cost?

***

It was the second blow that cut her lip. Never would she give them names.

“Oh God,” her fading mind cried out, “please hold my lips. May your strength be made perfect in my weakness.”

“We know you not alone! Tell us who you work with and we go easy.” In the midst of pain her prayer was answered as conscientiousness left her body.

***

To this day she still had no idea, other than the mercy of God, why they let her go. A sigh escaped her thinning lips as she slowly watched her possessions auctioned off. Her new home at Sunnybrook Retirement Community was far too small for so many tokens of sentiment. Still, she wondered if selling the suitcase had been a mistake.

A neatly dressed young man approached her. His step was slow but light. His gaze held hers and a twinkle lit up his slanted eyes. In his hands he carried the suitcase, reverently, gently.

He stopped with a bow in front of her. With trembling fingers he reached into his jacket and began to pull something from the inside pocket. Tears streamed down his dark face as he whispered in broken English, “My name Li. Thank you, Miss Nary.”

Tears poured down Elaine’s face as she beheld that precious babe last seen on his sister’s hip. The now grown Li placed his worn, tattered, and well loved Bible in her hands as he firmly said, “I now bring Bible to my people.”

Praise erupted from Elaine’s lips. “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you that this young man knows the worth of that suitcase he now carries.”

To Li she said as she bowed, “As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’* You bring me much honor, Li. May God and all his angels bless you as you go in peace.”

*Romans 10:15 NIV

(This story is published in Faithwriters Journey of Faith. You can buy the book of anthologies from Faithwriters or Amazon.)

A Nightmare to Remember

With a twist and a grunt the last bungee snapped into place. A glance at the rear bumper confirmed we had reached our limit. With a quick prayer for any lonesome items forgotten, I climbed into my seat beside my husband.

“Are we ready?”

“Yah!” My daughter's high pitched squeal from the backseat assured me that the excitement hit all around. Anticipation tickled the hairs on my arms as we headed out to join family for our first camping adventure!

I wouldn’t really call the downpour a “sign”, and just because that chunk of loose pavement blew out our tire 3 miles from home didn’t mean we were doomed for a lousy vacation.

Giant raindrops transformed my sainted husband into a drowned rat before he even reached the rear tire. Wails started in the backseat as wind threatened to knock over the heavy laden van.

“Are we still going camping?” Big blue doe eyes full of tears stared back at me. My daughter’s lip trembled as her baby brother howled.

“This is just a little more of our adventure, honey.” I assured her. “Nothing is keeping us from going camping.” I didn’t specify just WHEN that was going to be. Apparently broken lug nuts can’t be fixed on a Sunday night.

With a bit of wind knocked out of our sails, we nudged our broken van back home and ordered pizza. Rented movies completed our little “camp out” in the basement as we shut out the still packed, soaked van in the garage.

Less than 24 hours later with a new tire, lug nut, and considerably less cash, we headed out AGAIN on our adventure.

We named the campsite left for us “The Valley”. We named the field next to us “Mosquito Haven”.

The hot, relentless sun would have dried our wet sleeping bags in record time. It was the humidity that kept everything wrapped in its steamy blanket. In a twist of poetry, the weather man proclaimed from a near by radio that this was a record heat wave.

Oddly enough, the second downpour didn’t surprise us. The floating air mattresses could have been fun, but the torrents of rain pouring in from every seam of our brand new, three roomed tent dampened not just our spirits.

As quickly as it started, it ended, and bright, cheery sunshine mocked us from the hazy sky. Aunts helped drag water logged sleeping bags and pillows to the van while Uncles bailed water out of the tent.

I still can’t decide if my aunt’s dryer was a curse or a blessing, for without it we would have admitted defeat and returned home. Never the less, hours and many dryer loads later we returned to set up camp for the FINAL time.

The supper hour found us coated in bug spray and bravely holding on to a thread of optimism. That optimism waned as the supper hour came and went with no food in sight.

The plan had been to eat corporate meals. Unfortunately our routine didn’t match with the rest of my family’s. Fortunately I had packed spaghettios and a can opener – just in case.

An electrical outlet, plenty of extension cord, and bedtime brought a brief sigh of relief. Shutting out the army of mosquitoes with a fan cooling us off, we cuddled in our tent to read favorite bedtime stories. I really thought it was a stroke of genius…until the fan quit. Our miserable day now melted into our miserable night.

Sprawled out in our tent sauna we scratched and swatted as mosquitoes serenaded our sleeplessness. Too hot to nurse yet too miserable not to, our son dozed off by my side as my husband comforted our 3 year old daughter stuck to his side. The last look at my watch screamed 2:07 a.m. to my exhausted, dehydrated, and itching body.

As the stifling dawn woke us on the third day we raced to throw sweaty, unrolled sleeping bags, armfuls of smelly clothes, empty cans of mosquito spray, a broken fan, leaky tent, and a still warm bacon skillet into the van.

AC blowing on our faces, kids sleeping, and 9:30 a.m. smiling from the van clock, we began our journey home. Although I felt a little older, I also felt a little wiser. For although it was miserable, it was an adventure I knew we would some day treasure and I was certain we would NEVER repeat.

Happy 'Nother Year

“Exquisite”, Rex Hadley whispers as he draws his wife into his embrace. The cruel years had not diminished the softness of her. A smile lights his face as he sees the jeweled clip in her snowy white hair. The Indian merchant had kept shaking his head in refusal of their offers until Rex had whispered, “It’s our honeymoon.” After a pause, the merchant had finally winked and handed over the clip without accepting their payment.

Sadness clouds Rex’s eyes as he is drawn back to the present and releases his wife from his embrace. Delicate arms hang at Evie’s side as her haunted blue eyes stare into Rex’s clear ones searching for some clue to unlock her confusion. Faintly she remembers the scent of his aftershave, but can’t place why. A kind of security wraps around her every time he is near. That strong sense of love seems the only thing her memory is able to grasp.

“Come, let’s go sit. The fire will warm us.” As Evie settles into what used to be her favorite spot, Rex picks up something from beside the loveseat.

“Here’s the book. Just like old days, eh, old gal?”

“Book?” Evie’s faltering word doesn’t stop Rex.

“Our New Year’s book. I always marveled at your talent for putting pictures and clippings together. Becka’s followed in your footsteps, you know.”

“New Year? Becka?”

“Becka’s our daughter, Evie. She’s so much like you.” Rex gently sets the book in Evie’s lap and opens the first page. “It’s an old book this year.”

Time seems locked for a moment as past and present stare each other in the face. Evie’s eyes are drawn to the woman in the yellowed photograph. Joy, hope, and expectation shine from those eyes, drawing Evie into another place that is faintly remembered.

Rex points to the young bride, “Remember the first word out of my mouth when I saw you?”

“Ex-qui-site.” Evie’s halting word brings tears to Rex’s eyes. There it was. As if nothing had ever tarnished her ability to recall. Moments like this had been mentioned, but he hadn’t dared to hope. Evie places her wrinkled hand on his, blue eyes shining. “More.”

Memories fill their minds as each picture carries them away into a world lost to them just moments ago. Souls once again in union, bound by a lifetime of joys and sorrows shared. Each knowing this moment was a treasure too valuable to price.

As Evie turns the last page, the curtain begins to close once again. She lifts her head and Rex catches the familiar look of confusion. Tears blur his vision of the last picture.

Smiling back at him from a New Year’s past are Evie and himself. He could almost hear her words from that night, “Oh bother with tradition, Rex. Don’t bore me with everyone else’s words. Let’s make up our own phrase, something special just for us.”

Gently Rex closes the book and takes it from Evie’s lap. He tucks the book back into its place and stands reaching out his hand to his beloved, lost wife. As his embrace encloses her with warmth and acceptance he whispers that remembered phrase, “Happy ‘Nother Year, Evie, my darling, Happy ‘Nother Year.”

The Awakening

It all started in Solomon Yoder’s boat. The day was hot and we were restless. Fishing was a waste of time and our “running around” time, or rumspringa had begun. We had yet to leave our Amish community and taste the outside world.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. How often do three Amish boys show up at an Englisher’s beach? Of course people would be curious. Observing unnoticed had been a foolish notion. Meeting her was inevitable.

“Are you young men enjoying your rumspringa?” The angel before us brought warmth with her smile. Her gentle nature challenged our concept of Englisher girls. Gentle laughter tickled our ears as we sat with mouths open and void of speech.

“My name is Jill. I know Anna Esau. Her family sells baskets outside my Dad’s shop. I’m sorry if I offended you. I figured you were her age and starting your “running around” time, too.”

Thus began one of the most important relationships of my life. Her Dad’s ice-cream and talks of Jesus quickly filled my rumspringa time. Love and respect for God and those around her exuded from Jill and it gave her intense beauty. I was on the brink of falling in love when IT happened.

Her hands clenched the beach sand, “Jakob, I still don’t understand how you can believe in salvation as a gift of grace yet have to live a good life to get it. How is it prideful to accept a gift God is offering? Isn’t it prideful not to?” Jill’s eyes were moist with conviction and compassion.

Words were spinning so fast in my mind that minutes passed before I realized I hadn’t spoken any of them. Hadn’t I been asking myself that same question for days? Was it possible to avoid pride in assurance because the salvation was all from God? Unless, of course, being sure made me prideful in the assurance I possessed.

Tears born of conflict and emotion filled my eyes as I continued to gaze at Jill in silence.

“Jakob, no one could ever accuse you of being prideful. Accept his gift of assurance and be confident in his desire to use you for the good of others.”

That’s when it happened, the awakening. Never had my path been so clear.

With aching heart I took Jill’s hands. My rumspringa had begun with her here at the beach, and now it was ending with her here at the beach.

“I do accept his gift of assurance. Today he has made my future so clear.” I caught the shine of hope in her eyes knowing she wanted that future to include her. I almost faltered.

“I respect my family. I cherish my Amish heritage. I know this love is placed here by God. I must bring this truth to the ones I love.”

“Jill, I have never been tempted to leave my plain life until now. If I knew God chose you for me, I would give in to the temptation, but I know he has not.”

Trembling fingers stilled any more words on my lips.

“I trust you, Jakob. I know you hear God’s voice. I want you to know that you will always be treasured in my heart and I will always be your friend.”

The ache of loss mixed with the excitement of discovery churned inside me as I returned to my Amish home. God was good. God was faithful, and his purposes would be accomplished.

******
Birds twittered and horses clopped as the summer breeze cooled. An old man and his aged bride sat cuddled on their squeaky swing. A smile on their lips and peace in their heart spoke of years of sharing.

The sound of an engine alerted the couple as it intruded into the soft sounds of nature. A familiar blue Buick parked in front of the porch and an Englisher emerged, aged with a few more wrinkles but love and respect exuding from her.

Jakob smiled as he and Esther welcomed Jill. The trio talked into the night sharing memories and tidbits of life.

Yes, God had been good. God had been faithful, and his purposes had been accomplished.

Portrait of Life

“In Jesus’ name, amen.” Rose closed her prayer time as usual, but sensed this was no usual time. An urge so strong it almost made her shake came over her. She knew she had to paint.

Grabbing a clean smock and a diet soda, she rushed to her studio at the back of her tiny house. Sunlight poured in through the windows on three walls. Pungent smells of old paint and canvas greeted her as she rummaged through her paints finding just what she needed.

With paintbrush in her mouth and fresh paint on her pallet she fixed her gaze on the blank canvas.

“O.K., Lord, what do you have for me?” She creased her brow and grabbed her paintbrush. Experienced hands mixed a couple of colors until they looked just right. A deep breath filled her chest as the familiar feeling of anticipation and fear washed over her. She placed the first stroke of color on the canvas. Another stroke quickly added to the last and before long she settled into a comforting rhythm.

Her mind wandered as she created. Images of her childhood filled her memory. Happy moments of hiding between fresh laundered sheets hanging on the clothesline, dressing her baby dolls and giving them a bath on Saturday nights. She could almost smell the sweet cinnamon rolls baking every Sunday morning.

Her mind drifted to other parts of her childhood and a shadow crossed over her face. Thoughts of sadness and confusion came back to her as she remembered the baby brother that never came home from the hospital. It was years before she understood what, “stillborn” meant.

Deft fingers continued to fly across the canvas. Colors blended and forms took shape.

With a flinch her mind drifted to a memory hidden deep inside. Years of defenses put in place to protect her slowly started to peel away. Terror and pain flashed back as she remembered the raging flames. Angry yellow and red fingers were all around her, sucking her very breath from her. Screams void of time or space filled her head. She briefly recalled the strong arms of the fireman wrapping around her just before blackness overcame her.

Out of habit her hand went to her face touching the uneven ridges of flesh stretched across her jaw. Her hand drifted down over the same ridges on her neck. Hidden bitterness welled up inside her at the thought of this ghastly reward for hours of surgery and months of pain.

She returned her hand to the pallet and blended a new set of colors. With determination she continued to paint, recalling memories with every stroke.

“Peter.” The name came so easily to her lips, breaking the silence. Tears blurred her vision as she remembered their first kiss and her startled reaction when his hand reached her scar. Why had she never been able to accept his words of love and affirmation? Why couldn’t she believe him when he told her that he didn’t see those hideous scars anymore?

He had wanted children, but the thought of having her own child touching her face and recoiling in disgust was too much for her. She had returned the ring and sold her beautiful dress at the local consignment shop.

With a sigh, Rose paused and stood back to look at her painting. She gazed into the deep purples, light lavenders, yellows, and deep dark red. All these colors blended together in breathtaking beauty to create this delicate flower.

Then realization washed over her and she was struck with awe.

She had pleaded with God to remove her scars. Time and time again she had wept for healing. Today’s prayers had been no different. Only this time God had placed the desire within her to paint. He had placed the colors and lines in her mind to show her what he saw.

An orchid, the floral symbol for beauty.

She saw how each memory of her life was represented in that flower. Happy memories reflected in the light yellows and lavenders. Dark purples mirrored her sadness. The deep red veins running down into the middle of the flower showed the intrusion of the fire and the marks left behind. All these colors blended in perfect harmony to create a whole.

She caressed her scars knowing healing had come at last. Even with the scars, she was now whole and complete. Peace settled into her soul as she saw her true beauty for the first time.