Chapter 25
In early spring, I’d finished landscaping sixteen homes and was looking for fresh ideas for five more, so I took Gabriel and Jäger to the Roosevelt Warm Springs Institute for Rehabilitation to look at the work of my favorite landscape artist— my husband. He’d been volunteering there for a little over a month.
At Callaway Gardens, his work was markedly different and reminded me of how he’d described the flower beds he’d planted with his mother in his childhood. There was harmony in the shapes, heights, and textures of the flowers, but colors clashed without the usual underlying unity, creating a dramatic effect that I liked. Some flower beds seemed like quiet riots while larger ones had a polite-scream quality to them.
“Let’s see what he did here,” I whispered, spotting the entrance to the institute.
The campus was much larger than I had expected and reminded me of a traditional college where Greek-inspired buildings meet bold modern ones without justification.
I drove past administration buildings, office buildings, clinics, dorms, and a chapel, looking for spring colors and flower beds that didn’t seem to exist. The grass, trees, and green bushes were well distributed and taken care of, but that was all I could see: grass, trees, and green bushes—nothing that reflected Peter’s love of color and flowering plants.
I kept driving, and I kept looking until I was so dizzy I had to stop.
Breathe. Where’s his work?
Lifting my head and opening the windows, I saw two words on a wooden arrow that pointed to a road away from the buildings. “What’s Camp Dream?” I asked Gabriel and Jäger. Maybe that’s where he’s been planting. My hand gripped the shift lever with determination and put the truck in drive again.
I followed a silent, winding road through tall pines, past one deer, a small cabin, and two rabbits. A reassuring second sign for the camp came to view.
“Aha.” I arrived at a large lake and spotted several gorgeous flower beds right away. “Now we’re talking. Here’s his work.”
But he hadn’t done anything original. The patterns were the same he’d used at Callaway the previous spring: red tulips, yellow irises, purple hyacinth, and white asters. Pretty, but predictable, and in absolute harmony.
I drove around the lake and looked for more displays while enjoying the day’s warmth. The reflection of delicate pines neatly spaced by the water’s edge soothed my nerves. Rustic lodges and pavilions had similar flower beds, and the fishing dock had the same combination in containers of different heights. The canoe shed looked especially quaint with Peter’s window boxes and hanging baskets. Near it, red and yellow paddleboats brightened the lakeshore, waiting for a swarm of summer campers that were sure to come.
But this was no ordinary camp. Every building, bridge, and trail were beautifully designed with smooth and wide access ramps to welcome all guests. Gabriel fussed in the back, reminding me that this could have been his summer camp if he’d had Huntington’s disease.
A heaviness that wrapped around my chest like a boa constrictor hurt my heart and made breathing difficult. I imagined the struggles of the Camp Dream children and of their parents. Why had we been spared?
My lungs labored to fill up to capacity, and with the sick feeling came a deep desire to help. Was that why Peter volunteered here? Was it gratitude? And what could I do? Maybe this summer I should stop by and see what kind of work they do and what kind of help they need.
But it wasn’t time for summer camp yet, and the place was deserted. The emptiness grew and became melancholy fast. “Let’s go home, guys,” I said, using the swimming pool parking lot to turn around.
Gabriel’s fussing became stronger and louder before I could reach the road out of Camp Dream, though. I would never make it back to Pine Mountain without a feeding and a change. My eyes glanced at the clock. Eleven-twelve. “Well, let’s stop.”
We sat on a bench under a large magnolia tree, and I remembered the magnolia trees of the Warmer Damm Park in front of the Hessisches Staatstheater in Wiesbaden. My old life. Images of ballet classes, rehearsals, travels, and famous theaters danced before my eyes as Jäger chased pigeons and ducks, and as Gabriel nursed.
Would there always be a part of me that ached for that old ballet dream? Warm tears spilled from my eyes. “Come on, Jäger. Can you chase away old ballet ghosts?”
He came to me, wagging his tail. “Of course you can.” A creamy pink magnolia petal fell on Gabriel’s blanket, and a sweet and playful breeze blew it away. “See? Gone already.”
I tossed a furry magnolia bud to get his attention away from my mood and back to doing fun dog things. But he found the bud and brought it back.
A burgundy Toyota Corolla parked next to my truck, and I used a baby wipe to pat my face dry before putting Jäger on the leash.
The driver, a woman about my age or maybe a little older, got out of the car and fixed her beautiful vintage sundress. The dress was a shade lighter than her honey-red hair, which was immediately disheveled by a gentle wind gust that also ruffled leaves and showered me with magnolia petals.
She walked to the lake with her eyes closed and her face tilted up to meet the sun.
The woman looked familiar. My mouth twisted as I tried to match her to people in houses where I’d planted, people at Callaway, ballet people in LaGrange … but I couldn’t come up with anything.
She touched the water, as if drawing on the surface, and then looked over her shoulder, aware of me for the first time.
And from forty feet away, I recognized her smile.
For some reason, I’d imagined her younger. How old was that picture I’d seen?
She came our way, her steps unsure now. “Sorry, I didn’t see you here until now. Hi.”
“Hi.” Jäger got up and waited for her to approach. “Shh,” I told him firmly. He lay down with a snort, his tail tapping the green grass with force.
Repositioning Gabriel, I reached under the beige nursing cover and inserted my finger in the corner of his mouth to break his latch.
“You don’t have to stop. I nursed all my babies.” Her eyes studied Jäger.
“He’s falling asleep anyway.” I fixed my blouse before removing the cover. What was her name?
“He’s so precious. How old is he?”
“Thanks. Seven months.” Her eyes were on Jäger again. “He’s not going anywhere. You can sit if you want.”
Her chest rose and fell as she sat. “Sorry, I want to be a dog person, but I’ve had too many bad experiences.”
“He won’t hurt you, but I understand.”
She brushed her thick hair with her fingers, away from her face and into a twist that came undone as soon as she let go. There was a hint of exhaustion in her eyes, but light freckles brightened her beautiful face. “Do you have family here?”
“I don’t.” Will she freak out if I tell her that I know who she is? “My husband volunteers here. He’s the director of landscape operations at Callaway Gardens. He planted all the flowers you see around the camp.”
“That’s so nice. I love Callaway, and I love the flowers here—and there.”
“Thanks.” I should tell her.
“Do you guys live in Pine Mountain?”
“We do.”
“We do too.” She got a small bottle of water from her bag and drank half of it. “I’m sure we’ve seen each other around town before.”
“Maybe.” I chuckled, shaking my head.
“What is it?”
“You won’t believe this, but I know you.”
“You do? From church?” She cocked her head. “I’m usually good with faces, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before. I just can’t remember. Sorry.”
“No, you don’t know me. I know you from a picture. I met your mother-in-law at a church in Prague two years ago.”
“I remember that trip. She was visiting some of our missionaries.”
“She gave me a brochure.” I dug in the diaper bag. “I still use it as a page marker for a little New Testament she also gave me.” I pulled out the worn book and showed her the picture.
“You didn’t have to lose your page,” she said, seeing that I’d pulled the paper out of the Bible without opening it.
“I know where I was.” My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
“We look so young.” She held the paper with a grin. “It’s an old tract.”
“It’s a good picture.”
“Thanks.”
“What did you call it?” I pointed to the brochure.
“A tract?”
I nodded. That’s right.
“Here.” She handed the old tract to me and pulled what looked like a newer one out of her bag. “In case you’re still looking for a church home.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll check it out.” If I weren’t religiously impaired or something, I would. “I like the idea of going to church, but I never seem to do anything about it, despite my good intentions.”
“Well, maybe this time.” Her enthusiasm was endearing. “You already know me, and I bet you’ll run into other people you know. We have several Callaway employees who are members.”
“Maybe.” I would probably never go.
“Did you go to church growing up?”
“Not much.” This conversation wouldn’t go anywhere new or productive. Would it? But she seemed nice. “I grew up Catholic and was really into it as a kid but kind of grew out of it.”
“I was raised Catholic too.”
“Really?” Well, now I’m more interested. “Why did you change?”
“It’s a bit of a long story.” She gave a lopsided grin, and her cheeks turned pink. “It’s a love story.”
A ‘gone Baptist’ love story? “You’ve got my full attention.”
“Okay.” She adjusted her position, eyes twinkling, and bit her lower lip. “I’d been dating a really nice young man—we’d been together since junior high. He was the only person I’d ever dated, and it was wonderful. But as we approached the end of high school, something changed.”
She spoke fast and moved her hands with energy as she told me her story. Whatever the change was, it didn’t seem to bother her anymore.
“He wanted to be a lawyer, like his dad, and had several college options open to him. I hadn’t even applied to any colleges, and even though he’d never said it, I could tell that bothered him. During spring break, he decided he wanted to go to Notre Dame after graduation, so I considered moving to Indiana with him to be in the same area. He liked the idea but said he was hoping we could—”
She looked down, playing with her dress, and I had a pretty good idea where the story was going.
“He said he was hoping we could take our relationship to the next level by sleeping together to make sure we liked each other in that way before making moving decisions.”
“What did you do?” And if she didn’t want to go to college, what did she want to do?
“I said I needed time to think about it, but graduation came and went, and we still hadn’t done it. A couple of weeks into the summer, his parents took him to Europe for a long vacation, and he expected me to make a decision about him before his return—’mature’ or split up.”
Talk about coming on strong. Did guys still do that? That seemed so wrong. And where was the love story she’d promised? “So what did you decide?”
“I loved him and could easily picture myself as a lawyer’s wife in a pretty house and with children all around, so my mind couldn’t entertain the possibility of losing him. I was ready to take our relationship to the next level, as he’d put it, as soon as he got back home.”
Did she do it?
“But before he returned, I met Mark.” She blushed again, and her freckles almost disappeared this time. “My husband…”
“Aww.” My lips stretched, and I twisted on the bench, ready to hear more.
“People say Mr. Right won’t come knocking on your door, right?” She giggled. “Well, mine did. It was his last year at home before Bible college, and he was door knocking with his dad.”
“Door knocking?”
“Visiting people to talk about salvation through Jesus.”
“Oh, right.” I remembered all the people who’d knocked on Mom’s door over the years. Did this woman do that? She looked too normal to be knocking on doors, talking about Jesus.
“My older brother was home from college for the summer. He’d been going to a Baptist church with his girlfriend in Chapel Hill, so when they came to spend some time with us, they went to a Baptist church and filled out a visitor’s card. That’s how Mark and his father ended up on my doorstep.”
“And you fell madly in love with him as soon as you spotted him?”
“Kind of. It’s fair to say he made an impression on me.”
“How about your boyfriend? When did he get back?”
“Mark came to my house on a Saturday. I went to church with my brother that Sunday morning. Justin—my boyfriend—got back that Sunday night.”
“Did you see Mark at church?”
“He spotted me arriving with my brother and invited me to go to teen church with him. We sat together.” She blushed again. “Later, he told me he’d prayed all night that I would come.”
“What did you do next?”
“Meeting Mark was enough to put the sleeping-with-Justin plans on the back burner—even if he did break up with me. But to my surprise, Justin seemed okay when I told him I wasn’t ready.”
“So he was bluffing?”
“I guess.” Her brows drew together. “It was such a hard time for me because I was still with Justin, but Mark was in my thoughts all the time. There was something different about him, a manliness I can’t explain. He can communicate a million words with the way he positions his body. He’s sweet but assertive. He owns his territory. It’s been almost twenty years, and I still don’t understand it, but it’s one of the things I love the most about him. Anyway … I’m sorry. I kind of got off topic.”
“You said it was a love story.” I winked. “So you’re on topic.”
She nodded. “It’s definitely a love story with Mark, but that was also the beginning of my love story with the Lord. He sent Mark to my door to keep me from making a huge mistake—I would have regretted sleeping with Justin.”
I thought of my old Prague story and knew what she meant.
“And then, when I was not sure which man I should be with, God showed me the way.”
“How?” I picked up a magnolia petal that had landed on Gabriel.
“I was at the library studying water wells for a youth group service project. The research was way more complicated than I’d expected, and soon I started thinking about Mark. But I felt bad because I was Justin’s girlfriend, so I asked God to show me the way. Was it okay to switch boyfriends like that? What exactly was a Baptist? Was it something weird, like my parents had suggested?”
“And a little voice came from above?”
“The little voice had already come and had already told me what to do, but I was young, and I needed something more concrete. And as soon as I said ‘show me the way’—within a minute—a volunteer who’d been helping me find more information on low-cost water wells came up with a professional magazine and said there was a brand-new trend called Baptist drilling.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “That was the early nineties, and people still use the Baptist water well technology I read about that day. Mark said he sent a thank-you note to the missionary who came up with it.”
“Wow. That’s good.”
“But see, I could have said that was just a coincidence. I could have stayed in my comfort zone. But I didn’t. That was the first time I stepped out in faith, and I was so blessed.”
“If something like that ever happened to me, I would step out in faith, as you said.”
“It already did. You got a tract for our Pine Mountain church while touring Prague, and then you met me here.”
True. A lump formed in my throat. That couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.
“Step out in faith.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“Let me ask you this—if you were to die today, right now, are you one hundred percent sure that you would go to heaven?”
Here it comes. “I think so. Who can ever know for sure, right?”
“The Bible says you can know for sure … I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”
“Ana.”
“I’m Jacqueline.”
“Isn’t your mother-in-law Jackie?”
“Yes, we are both Jacqueline, and my poor husband has yet to hear the end of it.”
“I bet.” She giggled, and her eyes shone bright—brighter than I’d ever seen anyone’s eyes shine. There was definitely something special about this woman.
“Ana, you can know for sure. You do know God loves you and that you cannot save yourself, right?”
“I know the Romans Road. It’s at the end of the green Bible.” I pointed to the diaper bag.
“Then you know that Jesus already paid for your sins. All you need to do is accept it. Stop spinning wheels trying to pay a bill that’s already been paid. When someone you trust offers you a beautiful gift, you should just take it. Say thank you and take it. Will you do that today, Ana?”
“Not today, but I’m working on it.” That was the conversation I didn’t want to have. I had too many unanswered questions. Best to get her talking about herself. “So why do you come here? Do you have family here?”
“My little girl has cerebral palsy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I wasn’t sure what that was, but I remembered noticing something about her posture in the old tract. Ask her, she will understand. “See what I mean, though? Why can’t you live without suffering after all the years you’ve dedicated to God?” And why did He give me a big dream without giving me enough talent? Shoo, ghost. Shoo.
“God made many promises, but He never promised a struggle-free life. Quite the contrary. Jesus told His disciples that people had to turn from their selfish ways to follow Him. ‘Take up your cross daily’ is what He said.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“The point? Go home to heaven one day? Fix that anxious feeling we’re born with and that no amount of drugs, alcohol, vacations, or fancy cars can ever fix? Adopt a definition of happiness that can bring fulfillment?”
“Seems like you have to give up a lot, and what you get in return is sort of abstract.” Might as well say it or she won’t be able to help me. “And cerebral palsy.” No, I shouldn’t have said it. “Sorry.”
“I hear you.”
Her gentle smile was genuine. I inhaled the creamy sweetness of the magnolias above us and resisted the urge to talk.
“You have to know that behind God’s every no there is a bigger yes. You have to trust in His choices for your life, knowing that He sees the big picture and you don’t.” A sudden breeze played with her hair, and she brushed a strand away from her face. “And sometimes God just wants us to be willing to give up something. The moment we give it up, it comes right back to us, like Abraham and little Isaac.”
What was the story of Abraham and Isaac?
“But listen, I can sit here and tell you these things all day long. Until you feel that tug at your heart, it will be just words. ‘I decided to follow Christ because I’ve reached a logical conclusion,’ said no man ever.”
“Why can’t religion be a logical decision? It should be.”
“Because God didn’t want it to be. It says so in the Bible. With human reasoning comes pride. God hates pride, so he set out to destroy the ‘wisdom of the wise’ and the ‘understanding of the prudent’ with the simple doctrine of the cross.”
“He made it impossible for people to believe is what He did.” I shook my head.
“People believe every day.” Jacqueline shrugged. “New people come to faith every day.”
“Weird people…” I raised my eyebrows. “Not you, of course.” She smiled.
“I still wish I could understand God.”
“You can, by inviting Jesus into your life and becoming a student of the Bible. You’ll learn fast that He’s not the God we want Him to be or that we think He should be. He is who He is.” Her bright eyes came alive, and her hands fluttered to the rhythm of her words. “His behavior is consistent, and His desires for us are clear. You will understand Him if you try.”
“But to get to that point, I need to deal with hard questions like suffering and misery and poverty. Why does He allow it?” I shook my head. “It’s too hard. It’s impossible to understand.” Oh, how I want to have her faith.
“Hard, yes. Impossible, no. Here’s something that might help you. Do you remember why so many Jews rejected Jesus?”
“No.” I didn’t remember because I never really understood that either.
“They rejected Him because they’d expected the promised Messiah to be a conquering king, like David. They wanted a Jesus that would free them from Roman oppression, not die on a cross.”
“Why didn’t He defeat the Romans for them?”
“Because that was not His mission. He came ‘to seek and to save that which was lost’—to offer people an eternal solution for their sin problem.”
Where was she going with this?
“See that’s the same reason why many people reject Jesus today. They still want a Jesus that will defeat the Romans—our modern-day Romans: poverty, violence, sickness, joblessness, cerebral palsy. And when it doesn’t happen, they think He’s not real or not good and give up on faith.”
My heart tightened in my chest. That was me. I expected Him to defeat the Romans. I held Gabriel closer and breathed in his soft baby skin.
“Jesus hasn’t changed and never will—that’s a promise. He’s still interested in eternal solutions for mankind’s problems.”
“But He cured cerebral palsy when He was on Earth.”
“He might defeat a Roman or two on occasion—He suffers with our suffering, but when He died on the cross, there were more people who needed healing. He didn’t delay shedding His blood to do more healing. Dying for us and providing us with an eternal solution to our problems was His mission.”
I had to digest all that.
“Trust His love and His sacrifice today, Ana.”
“Not yet, but I do appreciate all that you’re saying. I’m getting it.”
She nodded and pressed her lips together.
I picked up a magnolia leaf from the bench and let its softness touch my nose as I inhaled its delicate scent.
Jacqueline took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Can I borrow your Bible?”
When I handed her the Bible, she opened it to 2 Corinthians, and for a moment I thought she would go to my chapter twelve. Instead, she went to chapter six.
“Good. It’s underlined. I’d forgotten how neat these scavenger hunt New Testaments are.”
“That’s funny. That’s what I call it too.”
She shrugged with a grin before reading. “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” She kept the book on her lap, her finger marking the page. “Don’t wait, Ana. This is the time. Once you die, it’s too late, and none of us were promised tomorrow.”
“Listen, I like you. There’s something about you that I envy even. But my heart’s not ready for all this.”
Jacqueline shrugged with her eyes closed and a deep breath. “Okay.” She got a pen out of her bag. “Do you mind if I write on the margin?” She pointed to the passage she’d read.
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t want to push you into believing. That’s just not how it’s done. But I want to make sure you can get a hold of me if you want to talk about it again one day soon.” She wrote a local number in girly handwriting and moved the new tract from the front of the worn out New Testament to a page closer to the back. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
I nodded, looking at what she’d marked. Hebrews.
“It’s a good book,” she said, getting up.
Jäger, who’d been napping, stood and stretched before looking at me. I lifted my finger, and he stayed.
“Keep reading, Ana, and let God speak to your heart—before it’s too late. Don’t fight this.”
“You really think I would go to hell if I died today?”
“Jesus said He’s the only way to heaven.” She tightened her lips. “To believe there is a different way is to believe Jesus was wrong when He made that statement. And I think it’s fair to say He knows the way to His hometown. Don’t you think?”
“But I’m a good person. Certainly I wouldn’t go to hell.”
“The Bible says otherwise. If you don’t want to believe that, you may as well find another book to carry around in your diaper bag.”
That’s heavy. That can’t be right.
“You don’t get to pick and choose which biblical truths suit you and which don’t,” she said. “He is who He is, remember? Not who you think He ought to be. The Bible says there’s none good: all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. Mother Teresa, the Pope, me, my husband, yours, you—everybody. That’s the truth.”
Hell? Really?
“Can we pray together before I go?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hands reached for mine, and I held them, noticing her fresh manicure.
“Dear gracious Father, please be with Ana and work on her heart as she searches for You. May she find You in time, so she can enjoy eternity with You, raise her baby for You, and be used for Your great works. We need more people for Your love to shine through, dear God. In the precious name of our Lord Jesus, we pray. Amen.”
“Thank you for telling me all these things, and for praying with me.” “You’re welcome.” She squeezed my hands before letting go. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you later.”
I got Gabriel in his car seat and helped Jäger to the passenger area. Was my watch right? Twelve forty? I’d better get home.
An older woman with short blonde hair and Dora scrubs parked two spaces from us and hopped out of her little car faster than I could get in the truck.
“Beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she said, walking to the passenger door of her car.
“It is.” I watched her remove her Crocs and reach in the car for a simple pair of tennis shoes. “It really is.”
I was about to wish her a good day, but she spoke first.
“The young man who planted all the flowers is a patient here—early stages of Huntington’s disease.”
I leaned against the truck. It can’t be.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
My eyes riveted on the bench where I’d been talking to Jacqueline, the seat now dotted with magnolia petals.
Wearing one shoe, she hopped my way and helped me get in the truck. “Do you want me to call someone?”
I looked at the diaper bag. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.” But would I?