Where Faith Belongs, page 11
Perceiving a movement beside him, he looked up to see Amie sitting a foot away.
He slid onto the bench. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty.”
He stood. “I’ve been away too long. I have to go check on Grandpop.”
“They’re moving him to a room.”
August blinked. “He’s—what did they say?”
“Aunt Pris told me. I thought you knew . . .”
He shook his head. “What did they decide it was?”
“He had a stroke. But they’re hopeful his recovery will be good since he was able to get to the hospital so quick. They’re giving him medicine and performed some sort of procedure that’s supposed to break up the clot.”
For the first time since that morning, August took a full, deep breath. “He—he’s going to be all right?”
Amie gave him a small smile. “They seem to think so. Aunt Pris is insistent he will be absolutely fine.”
August smirked. If anyone could will his grandfather better, it’d be Aunt Pris.
He slid to his knees again, hiding his face in his hands. Thank you, God. I mean it. Thank you so much.
The tears came again, this time born of relief. When they turned to quiet, shaking sobs, Amie knelt beside him and put an arm around his back.
“It’s okay, August,” she whispered. “He’s going to be okay.”
He nodded, lifted his head, and sniffed hard. “I’ve never heard better news.” Not even when Grandpop had forgiven his debt. He hadn’t realized how much his grandfather meant to him until he’d nearly lost him. How many other relationships in his life had he taken for granted? “I’m going to see him if I can.”
“I’m going to stay here for a minute if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I’ll catch up with you later. Did Josie have the baby yet?”
Amie broke into a grin. “A boy. Eight pounds, two ounces. No name yet.”
His nephew. August’s chest swelled. “Does Tripp know about Grandpop?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Josie only had the baby an hour ago.”
“I’ll catch up with him after I check on Grandpop.”
Amie nodded and reached her hand out to him. He squeezed her fingers, soft and warm and comforting.
“Thank you, Ame. For everything.”
“I’ll always be here for you, August. Whatever happens.”
He released her hand and turned to walk down the short aisle of the chapel. Her words left him with an empty feeling instead of one of promise. Had she meant she’d always support him, even if they weren’t together?
He pushed open the chapel door, forcing such thoughts from his mind. Right now, he needed to focus on doing everything in his power to get Grandpop better.
16
The chapel door closed behind me and I soaked in the quiet, still thinking of August’s quaking body beneath my arm, how he’d knelt as if in prayer, utterly boy-like and broken.
I blinked back my own tears just thinking about it. Thankfully, I’d been able to give him good news. I stared ahead at the empty altar.
God, are you there?
I wanted to thank the Creator of the universe for sparing August’s grandfather, for giving me a new nephew, for allowing me breath and life and art and beauty and family. Why then, did I feel so distant from Him? So unsure of His existence?
Though I tried to shake the thoughts from my mind, this place inspired them. Quiet, peaceful, with spring flowers blooming right outside the glass wall of windows.
For someone who considered herself so in touch with nature and humanity and her own moral compass, shouldn’t I also be in touch with the spiritual things in this world? Shouldn’t I be certain of my faith, of what drove my very purpose? Instead, I’d always leaned on what felt right. Watching my family, I realized faith was sometimes hard. Did I really need more challenges in my life? Another reason to feel like a failure, unable to cling to an invisible God when the going got tough?
I thought of Luke saying I needed to be true to myself. Why, in this place where death and life coexisted so effortlessly, did that sound a bit hollow? I wanted to be more than true to myself, I wanted to be sure of my beliefs, to throw myself behind them with the passion they deserved.
God, show me who you are.
It was a simple prayer, but it was all I had.
I sat in silence, breathing deep, enjoying the quiet when I heard the chapel door open again. A heavyset woman with skin that matched the dark hair she wore in braids walked past me.
“Am I bothering you, honey?”
I shook my head and stood. “Actually, I was just leaving.”
“Oh, please don’t. Two or more are stronger in the Spirit.”
I smiled, something about her warm brown gaze and friendly smile causing me to sit back down in the bench.
“Someone you love here?” She lowered herself to the end of a pew across from me, one row up.
“My sister just had a baby.” I was about to tell her my boyfriend’s grandfather had a stroke, but found myself caught on how to define August, so I clamped my mouth shut.
“Well, that is a happy state of affairs, now, isn’t it?” Her brow drew downward. “Is the baby healthy?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good, child. Good. Nothing wrong with taking some time to thank the Lord for the blessings He brings us.”
I swallowed. “My boss . . . he was kind of like a grandfather to me growing up, he’s here too. He had a stroke.” Why was I telling this lady these things? Did I need to give her a reason why I was in the chapel? It was a free country, after all. I could be here if I liked.
She tsked. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do they think he’ll be okay?”
I nodded. “He seems to have a hopeful prognosis.”
“Praise God for that.” She was quiet for a moment.
“How about you?” I asked. “Is someone . . .”
“My husband. Started having seizures again. He’s a diabetic. Thinks he can pop pills alongside his donuts and call it even. Stupid man.” She sighed, shook her head. “But I love that stupid man. Love him more than life itself.”
I bit my lip. Mom would offer to pray with this lady on the spot. But I was not Mom. “I hope he’s okay.”
“I hope so, too.”
We were quiet again. “I should go, but I hate to leave you alone . . .”
“Oh, sugar, the Lord’s my company. Besides, I have some sisters coming to offer me their encouragement. I’d be lost without my church family. You got a church family, darlin’?”
I cleared my throat. I went to church often because that’s what the Martins did. Wake up on Sunday morning to head down the road to the historic white church on the green.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. The worship music was okay, but more often than not I tuned out the sermons. Any attachment I had to church was more over fond childhood memories with people I knew forever than anything to do with faith. But did I consider them my family?
The woman must have taken my hesitation as a no. “Church family’s important. Real important.” She dug in her bag and withdrew a card, reaching across the aisle to give it to me. “You come to my church. Be a part of our family.”
I glanced at the card.
Abundant Life Church.
Where Faith and Life Meet.
Located in a town about twenty minutes south of Camden.
I smiled at her. “Thank you. I might just do that.”
“You better, sweet girl. We all need a church family.”
“I’ll say a prayer for your husband.”
“Thanks, sugar. His name is Joe. And my name’s Kyra. And what’s the name of your grandfather?”
I didn’t correct her. “Ed.”
“I’ll be praying for Ed. And I look forward to seeing you Sunday.”
I waved goodbye, unwilling to commit to such a venture quite yet.
Forty-five minutes later, I was gazing over the tiny, red features of my little nephew in my sister’s arms. His nose regal, like his father’s. “He’s absolutely perfect.”
Tripp grinned. “We’re pretty attached.”
“No name yet?”
He exchanged glances with Josie, whose hair lay pulled back and lumpy, likely from the toils of labor. I thought about August’s comment regarding children, tried to picture myself in the throes of labor. Ick.
“What do you say? Will your mom throw a fit if we tell Amie before her?” Tripp asked.
Josie swatted a hand through the air. “Amie was the first person to meet Amos. It’s only fitting she be the first one to hear our name for this little guy.”
My heart swelled. Josie and I had as much in common as the day does with the night. We got on one another’s nerves. Yet, beneath it all—sometimes, really deep beneath it all—we held a special bond. Our hardships and arguments had made our peaceful moments all the more precious.
“We’re naming him Edward, after my grandfather,” Tripp said.
“But we’re going to call him Eddie.”
“Oh, I love it! Little Eddie.” I allowed the name to roll off my tongue, savoring it as much as I savored the sight of my new nephew, all swaddled up to his mother, a tuft of dark hair poking out from his blankets. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Wait until his big brother meets him. Did Lizzie bring Amos over yet?”
Josie stifled a yawn. “They’re on their way. Actually, I better feed this little guy before they get here.”
I gave an awkward hug to my sister, scared to hurt her with my embrace. She offered me a brilliant smile. “I’m glad you saw him first, Ame.”
I blinked back tears. “I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too.”
“I think I’ll go dig up something to eat.” Tripp kissed Josie on the top of the head, then did the same with little Eddie. I bid goodbye one more time and then walked out of the room with Tripp, closing the door softly behind us.
We started down the hall. “Seriously, Tripp, I didn’t want to say anything in front of Josie because I know how touchy she can be, but he looks just like you.”
He grinned. “I know.”
I laughed.
“How’d things go at the office today?”
My thoughts stalled. “Um . . . we had a lot going on.” News about the Trivino project could wait, but Tripp should know about his grandfather now that little Eddie had safely arrived, shouldn’t he? August wanted to handle it all on his own, but it wasn’t right. He needed his brother.
I cleared my throat. “Your grandfather actually had an incident today, Tripp. He’s here in the hospital.”
Tripp stopped walking, his eyes growing wide. “What? What happened? Is he okay?”
“He had a stroke. They think he’ll have a good recovery. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”
He strode fast down the hallway, jabbing the elevator button with his thumb. “Where is he? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
I scurried to his side. “You were having a baby. Josie needed you—all of you. There’s nothing you could have done. August has been doing nothing but waiting for hours.”
“What floor?”
“I—I don’t know.”
The elevator door slid open and we stepped inside the empty space. Tripp pushed a button for the first floor.
“I’m so sorry, Tripp.”
He leaned one hand against the wall, jaw tight, eyes closed.
I reached out a hand to his muscled arm. “He’s going to be okay.”
He placed his hand on the back of mine and nodded. “Thanks.”
How many times had Tripp comforted me after Dad died? We both knew firsthand that things didn’t always end okay. Weird to be on the giving end of comfort, but also . . . right.
He straightened, releasing my hand as the doors opened. I watched him stride down the hall, and as I followed, I realized that whatever romantic feelings I’d held for Tripp in the past had finally and truly slid into their rightful place as sisterly affection.
I released a long breath, an insatiable need to find August and make sure he was doing okay surging within me. I’d given comfort to Tripp, and now, more than anything, I wanted to make sure I could give the same to his younger brother.
17
August stared at the grandfather clock as it chimed eleven times in the empty house. He didn’t move, simply gazed out into the dim room, inhaling the scent of his grandfather still clinging to the stuffed armchair August sat in—leather and books and Old Spice. Across the room stood a bookcase with all Grandpop’s favorites—The Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Odyssey, Jurassic Park, and a smattering of other books by Ray Bradbury, Charles Dickens and George Orwell. He even had some Calvin and Hobbes thrown in there.
August’s gaze fell to the end table where Grandpop’s well-worn Bible lay. He closed his eyes, picturing his grandfather in this very chair, feet propped up, Bible in hand. It seemed Grandpop spent as much time in this chair reading the Holy Book as he had simply closing his eyes with it on his lap. August suspected he fell asleep often like that, but he also knew his grandfather prayed in that position as well.
August raked a hand through his hair. He’d gone to visit his grandfather earlier in the day. Four days in the hospital had brought little improvement. Though Grandpop could speak, it was through slurred words. August had fed him dinner that evening and the process had been humbling, for both of them. Mashed potatoes falling out of his mouth, and chicken pureed so his grandfather could get it down.
Grandpop had shaken his head in frustration, refusing to eat, which in turn produced frustration in August. “Come on, Pops. You have to eat to get your strength back.”
His grandfather had waved a hand through the air. “Leave,” he’d said without the full “l” sound at the beginning.
And August had.
Was this his grandfather’s life now? He’d been so strong, so quick-witted. Would he be reduced to being pushed around in a wheelchair, struggling to feed himself or accomplish any of life’s everyday tasks? And what about the business? How would they survive without his dynamic personality running the show?
Still, the doctors said it would simply take time. He thought of Amie, the extra hours she’d put in at the office, how she’d even brought over a lasagna her mother had made. They’d sat on Grandpop’s back porch and eaten it together, sitting beside each other until the stars came out.
He swallowed, the memory of her nearness both comforting and disconcerting. He’d loved Amie before Grandpop’s stroke, but this past week had glued her into his heart. What would he have done without her?
Sighing, he picked up Grandpop’s Bible, flipping through the pages. Though the last time he’d read scripture on his own was in elementary school, the worn pages called to him now.
God, help me.
He’d never prayed more in his life than he had this last week. And although Grandpop was still ill, a strange knowing that God was with them filled his spirit, starting the moment he’d been in the hospital chapel and Amie had told him his grandfather would recover.
He continued flipping through the pages, stopping at a place in the middle where Grandpop had underlined a few verses.
Show me your ways, Lord.
Teach me your paths.
August allowed his head to fall against the back of the chair. Strange, but this was becoming the desire of his own heart. Why, when he’d grown up in the church, when he’d always been familiar with the teachings of God, did he not care until now, when so much seemed to be up in the air?
He continued reading, his thoughts stalling as he read the next couple of lines.
Do not remember the sins of my youth
And my rebellious ways;
He closed his eyes. It was almost as if this psalm were written with him in mind. He glanced at the heading. A psalm of David. Right. The rock-slinging shepherd boy who’d stolen someone else’s wife and had her husband killed.
David might be able to give August a run for his money in the sin department. And yet, David ran after God, and God saw his heart, didn’t he?
According to your love remember me,
For you, Lord, are good.
August slid to his knees, turning to face the chair and lean into it, burying his face in the pillow.
I’m sorry, God. I treated my grandfather like dirt when all he did was love me. And I’ve done the same to you, too, haven’t I? Forgive me. If it’s possible, don’t remember my sins, either. Give me a new life. Help me live for you. Show me your ways.
When he lifted his head sometime later, he breathed deep. A knowing that something had changed deep inside of him left a light feeling in his chest. Akin to how he’d felt when Grandpop released him from his debts, but this time, the feeling burrowed far into his soul.
August stood, pacing the living room, alive with excitement, already seeking to prove himself to God so He didn’t regret forgiving him.
August would start by being more patient with his grandfather. By continuing to visit him every day, to take care of him however he could. Maybe he’d bring him his Bible and read it to him, pray with him. He’d read Jesus’s words. How many times had he ignored them during sermons? Now, he could hardly wait to dive into the words. Pops would like that, wouldn’t he?
August scooped up the Bible, eager to experience more. This book held wisdom. How had he not seen its power before?
Show me your ways, Lord, he whispered, closing his eyes and flipping forward, putting his finger on a random page. For a brief moment, the act felt a bit like gambling. To throwing a pair of dice and anticipating the result.
But this wasn’t the same at all. Didn’t the pastor at church even say that every bit of God’s Word was useful? August wasn’t gambling, he was trusting.
He opened his eyes and read. He was in the book of Proverbs. He followed his finger, which had landed squarely over verse twenty-two.
He who finds a wife finds what is good
And receives favor from the Lord.
He let out a short exhalation of breath. Was this what he thought it was? Was God telling him to find a wife? He leaned back, thinking of Amie, how he already had been on the road to pursuing her.
