A Promise Kept (29 page)

“Let me give you some of the leftovers.”

“You don’t have—”

“It’ll go to waste if you don’t take some. I think the bird was on the large size for a group of six.”

Allison followed him back to the kitchen and watched as he filled disposable plastic containers with some of everything.
And then, unexpected and unbidden, the words tumbled from her mouth.

“Tony, do you think we could put this thing back together?”

What amazed her later, though not in the moment, was that he didn’t have to ask what she meant by “this thing.” He looked at her, tears welling in his eyes—he wasn’t a man who cried easily or often but he was on the verge of doing so now—and nodded. “Yes,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “Yes, I believe we can.”

“I think that’s what God wants,” she rushed on. “But I’m not sure. It frightens me, Tony. We need to pray about it. Both of us. A lot. We need to seek wise counsel.” She turned her back to him, trying to bring her emotions into check.

“Whatever you want, Allie.”

Should she have said anything? Had this been the right time? What if she’d heard wrong? She’d heard wrong before. Her calm and contented little world could crumble around her ears if she was mistaken.

She faced Tony again. “I need to go.” She couldn’t keep the edge of panic from her voice.

After another nod, he put the containers of food into a canvas bag and held it out to her. She took it without another word and made her escape as fast as was possible.

Emma

August 3, 1933

Dear Liza,

I have sold three of my photographs to a magazine. Amazing! You believed in me when I could not believe in myself. I have learned a great deal about lighting and positioning and developing. Some days I do nothing but shoot and develop photographs. Housework and cooking seem unimportant when I am caught up in creative activity.

Photographing God’s beautiful creation has become one of my greatest joys. Try though I might, I can never quite capture completely what I see, what I want to convey, which only makes me more eager to try again and again.

I received a letter last week from Mrs. Conners, the woman I used to work for. She wrote that she saw Alexander recently and he looks ill. I know you do not want me to ask about him, but he weighs heavy on my heart. No matter what he did in the past, I continue to ask God to draw him close and to bless him. Please, if you chance to see him, tell him I am praying for him. Tell him, if I knew where to send a letter, I would write to him.

I am sending you some of the photographs I took of Mark Thomas and Harry the last time we were together. They are the two most adorable boys ever. I seldom miss living in the city. I am happy in my mountain home. But I do miss being able to see my nephews more often. They change so fast between visits.

I send my love to you and John and the boys. Tell Mother I will write to her and Father soon.

Your sister,
Emma

Allison

It took Allison two days to work up the nerve to call her most trusted friend and mentor. And when Allison said she needed to talk, Susan didn’t ask what it was about. She simply said she would come over without delay. While Allison waited, she paced the house like a caged panther in a zoo.

Should it bother her that Tony hadn’t called yesterday or today? It did. Then again, it didn’t. She wasn’t sure. Her thoughts were a complete jumble.

Earlier in the year she had written in her journal that the best way to confirm God’s will included three steps: knowing His character so as not to act against it; receiving reconfirmation; and asking for wise counsel from another Christian. Now she was trying to apply that lesson. Certainly God’s character would approve of a reconciliation between husband and wife. And despite her churning thoughts and crazy emotions, she believed God had reconfirmed His will in a number of ways. Finally, she was about to ask for counsel from Susan Lyle.

When her friend arrived, they settled on chairs at the kitchen table, cups of coffee in their hands. Bless Susan’s heart, she didn’t push for more information. She waited until Allison was ready. When she was, the words poured out of her in a rush, beginning with the day she’d heard God’s voice as she journaled right up through Thanksgiving Day when she’d asked Tony if he thought they could or should reconcile.

Allison stopped talking as suddenly as she’d begun.

Susan’s smile was warm and gentle. “That is quite the development, isn’t it?”

Not quite the wise counsel Allison had hoped for.

“Allison, we cannot trust our emotions to be our guides. Yours are all over the map right now.”

“I know. But what do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, really. Besides, you already know what God wants. Don’t you?”

Allison drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. “But what if I heard wrong again? I was so sure God promised to save my marriage and look what hap—” She stopped, stunned by the realization that swept over her. Then she started to cry. Not dainty tears but noisy, ugly sobs.

Susan got up and came to sit beside her, drawing her close until the tears were spent and she quieted again.

Finally, Allison lifted her head from Susan’s shoulder. “I will never forget the day when I was so sure God promised to save my marriage. I thought the promise meant things would get better from that moment on. But Tony walked out and his drinking got worse and worse. So bad I thought he would die. God told me to let go of him. I thought that was the end, that it was proof God hadn’t promised to save my marriage, that I must have misunderstood Him. But maybe I didn’t misunderstand. Maybe He
is
saving my marriage. Maybe He saved it by ending it first.”

Susan smiled. “What an unexpected way to keep a promise.”

Emma

1933

The envelope held a clipping from the newspaper and a letter. Emma looked at the clipping first and felt her heart skip a beat. It was the obituary of Alexander James Monroe, who’d passed away on October 1 at the age of twenty-nine. Little other information was included. Only that he’d been preceded in death by his parents and had lived his whole life in Boise City.

Sinking onto a chair, Emma unfolded the letter. She recognized Alexander’s handwriting at once, though it seemed unsteady on the page.

September 20, 1933

Emma,

I asked a friend to mail this letter after I am gone. If you are reading it, then I am dead. Should not be long now. The doctors say my liver and kidneys are failing, and I will not recover. The best I can hope for is to go quickly. I am not strong enough to write all I would like to but I will say what I can.

I am sorry for hurting you. More sorry than words can express. I was cruel to you and I had no reason to be. You loved me and cared for me, even at my worst. The hurt I caused cannot be undone, but I hope you will forgive me. Liza—when she told me how to reach you, though I could tell she did not want to do so—told me you forgave me long ago.

You may not believe this, Emma, but I am a changed man. But like the thief on the cross, it is too late for me to prove I am different to anyone. The blood of Christ has made me so. All those times someone tried to share that truth with me, and I would not listen. How I regret it now.

I know you prayed for me while we were married, and I suspect you kept on praying for me even after we were divorced. I want you to know your prayers bore fruit. Jesus saved me from my sins, and heaven will be my home, undeserving though I am.

Alexander James Monroe

A tear dropped from Emma’s cheek onto the letter, blurring the ink of his signature. Her heart ached, but mostly her tears were tears of joy. God had answered her prayers for Alexander, and whatever the future held for her, she would remember His faithfulness to her. She would remember the grace He had poured out on Alexander.

For all of the promises of God were yes and amen in Christ Jesus her Lord.

It was a truth Emma knew would carry her through the rest of her life. No matter how many or how few years that might be.

Allison

Tony and Allison Kavanagh were remarried on Valentine’s Day, in a brief but intimate ceremony, surrounded by close friends and loved ones. Allison wore Aunt Emma’s wedding dress. “It deserves a happy ending,” she’d told Meredith, not caring if it sounded idiotic. And since the dress fit Allison as if it were made for her, that seemed to confirm her decision.

When counseling with the pastor before the wedding, she and Tony decided they didn’t want to repeat individual vows to each other. They wanted to speak the same words at the same time. They would use words from a favorite psalm, one that had taken on new meaning in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

When the time came in the ceremony, they turned, looked into each other’s eyes, took hold of each other’s hands, and said, “This is the Lord’s doing. It is marvelous in our eyes. This is the day which the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. For His lovingkindness is everlasting.”

And He keeps His promises in unexpected ways
.

“Amen.”

A Note to Readers

Dear Friends:

A Promise Kept
is a special story to me because I have walked a similar path to the one Allison walked. I wrote this book, in part, as my thanks to God for holding me close in the valleys and for answering prayers in unexpected ways.

While I am not Allison and she is not me, I was married to an active alcoholic, Jerry, who was in and out of rehab, who was prayed for countless times by friends, elders, and pastors, and whom I loved with all of my heart. Because of our particular journey, I learned what it means to be refined and to thank God in all circumstances. I would not be the woman I am or the believer I am were it not for the circumstances of my life, including my marriage. But because I was convinced God had promised to save my marriage several years earlier, I believed Jerry would get better.

Only, things didn’t happen the way I’d envisioned. He got worse. After a year of separation when I hoped and prayed for reconciliation, God told me to let go and I found myself divorced. I was devastated. I sank into a period of deep mourning over the death of my marriage. It lasted for many months. Sometimes I thought the sorrow would be with me forever. Like Allison, I knew that God doesn’t lie, which had to mean He hadn’t promised to save my marriage. I’d misunderstood. Unlike Allison, I drew closer to the Lord and leaned into Him for support and comfort.

I suppose Jerry and I had an unusual relationship as exes. We still cared for each other. We sat together in church most Sundays. We went to see movies each Christmas since he had no family nearby. Occasionally, we took bike rides together. I saw him changing over the years and was glad for him. But I was content with my life and thought it would continue on as it was.

And then, almost five years after the divorce was final, I was at my desk, writing in my journal, and I felt God say that it would bring Him pleasure if Jerry and I were together. My first response was not to answer, “Yes, Lord.” It was more along the lines of, “No way! God wouldn’t ask that of me.”

Every time I saw Jerry after that, I would feel a nudge to tell him about it, but I was afraid. I’d been wrong before when I believed God promised to save my marriage. What if I was wrong again? How could I take the chance?

Five or six weeks later, after a lovely evening bike ride along the Boise River (during which I’d felt those same nudges multiple times), Jerry was preparing to leave my house and I blurted out, “Do you think we could put this thing back together?”

We hadn’t been talking about anything personal. Certainly not about marriage. There is no reason why he should have known what “this thing” even was. But he did know. He teared up and nodded. But I was already back-pedaling in fear of taking a misstep. I told him I would have to talk to my friends at our annual retreat (I was leaving for it soon after this). We would have to attend counseling. We would have to pray. We would have to move slowly. Maybe we shouldn’t even think about it.

The women I gather with each summer in Northern Idaho are a very special group of friends. For over a decade now, we have prayed together and laughed together and loved on one another
and wept copious tears when the hardships of life have hit one of us. I trust them with my deepest secrets and they trust me. Above everything, these women love the Lord and know His Word. They are godly women whose wise counsel I can depend on.

I was certain that when I told them what was going on (I waited until I was with them face-to-face), at least one of them would say, “Are you nuts?” But no one did. Instead, there were words of praise, and I felt the Spirit calm my fears in an instant.

And then it hit me. I hadn’t heard wrong. God had promised to save my marriage. He was saving it through the rubble of divorce. Divorce had looked like a permanent failure to me, but God had used it for good in both of our lives.

Jerry and I were remarried two months later.

God answered my prayers for my marriage, not in the ways I expected or even wanted, certainly not in the timing I wanted, but in the ways and timing He chose. God can and does work miracles. He can instantly cure an illness or an addiction. But more often than not, Jesus invites us to be yoked with Him as we walk through the fire together. He matures us in the refining process so that we might become more like Him.

Psalm 118 has become a very special psalm to me. The pastor read it at our wedding. It represents in many ways the trials Jerry and I have walked through and the faithfulness of God in it all. I consider verses 23–24 and 29 to be the theme of our marriage today: