A Test of Faith (23 page)

My daughter hates me
.

Images flooded Anne’s mind, snapshots of their family through the years accompanied a by vivid, crystal-clear soundtrack. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but it was long enough. For as she watched the replay in her mind, she could no longer deny the truth.

She’d done something no mother should ever do. Something
her
mother had never done. Wouldn’t have done.
Couldn’t
have done.

She’d let her daughter down.

Not intentionally. Never intentionally. But that didn’t make it any better. Intentional or not, the end result was the same. Time after time, she hadn’t been the kind of mother—no, the kind of
person
—she needed to be. As though they’d lodged in some dark corner of her mind, waiting for this moment, Faith’s complaints against her came rushing back, and Anne considered them, one by one.

“
You never want to spend time with me anymore. All you want to do is sit like a lump and watch TV. Or sleep. That’s what matters most to you
.”

For once, Anne didn’t try to defend herself. She took in the words, absorbed them, and acknowledged the facts. Faith was right. And Anne was…

Guilty.

“
You want me to be like you, not like me
.”

Guilty.

“
You want to choose my friends instead of trusting me to do it
.”

Guilty.

“
You tell me I have to go to church, but half the time you don’t go anymore
.”

Guilty.

“
You never listen to me. You don’t care what I think. You want to tell me what you think is right
.”

Guilty on all charges, and more besides. Anne leaned her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and pressed her knuckles to her stinging eyes.
God … God, forgive me
.

She slipped from the chair, going to her knees beside it. And there, in the kitchen, where she and Faith as a toddler had so often laughed and delighted in each other’s company … there, where Faith as a budding preteen had perched on the counter to share her day … there, where her angry almost-stranger daughter and she so often waged war…

There, in the quiet of the room, Anne laid her heart out before her Lord.

“Jesus, all these years. All this time, I thought I was serving You. Living for You. And now … now I see I was living for me. I’m so sorry. For the anger. The jealousy. The resentment—even toward the woman You sent to bring my baby to Your side!—God, forgive me.”

She opened her hands, holding them out in front of her. “Help me, Lord. Release me from the prison of self, and let me walk in Your freedom, Your grace. Help me change, Father. Help me let go of what I want and look to You, to live for what You want. Let me be the kind of mother Faith deserves. She’s such a precious, tender girl. And I’ve been so wrong—”

Emotion stole the words from her, trapping them in her tight throat. But she prayed on, in her heart, begging God to touch her, to show her how to love others as He loved her—unconditionally.

And most of all, she prayed it wasn’t too late.

Faith had settled at her desk in her room, her Bible out in front of her, when she heard a light knock on the door. She leaned back in the chair. “Come in.”

The door opened, and her mother peeked around it. “May I come in?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Mom made her way to Faith’s bed and sat down. She folded her hands in her lap, and Faith had the distinct feeling she was nervous.

Great. What did I do now?

“Faith, sweetie, I need to talk with you—”

Faith swallowed.
Whatever it was, God. I didn’t mean to do it. I mean, how could I? I don’t even remember it
.

“To apologize.”

The words hung there, suspended in silence, as Faith stared at her mother. “I—you … excuse me?”

Stains of scarlet appeared on her mother’s cheeks. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Most of all that I haven’t said that more.” Mom looked down at her hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Praying. And I’ve … God has shown me some things. Most of all that I haven’t been the kind of mother I should have been.”

Faith sat there, too stunned to do more than nod. Then, realizing that might seem as though she were agreeing with her mom, she shook her head. “No, wait. I wasn’t agreeing. I mean, well, I do, kind of. But not really.”

Her mother’s laughter eased Faith’s tension, and she chuckled. She rose to sit on the bed beside her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just … you caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

“I know, honey.” She took Faith’s hand. “There’s a lot I need to say to you, but it’s going to take time. Mostly I wanted to tell you I love you.” Then she cupped Faith’s cheek. “I always have, even when things were hard. You’re precious to me, sweetie.”

The words washed over Faith like an anointing oil, seeping deep into her heart, filling the places that had felt empty for so long. She gripped her mother’s hand. “I love you, too, Mommy.”

Her mom pulled her close and held her. Faith wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but she didn’t care. She would have been happy if it had gone on forever.

After a while her mom kissed Faith’s forehead and stood. “Well, I’d better leave you to your study.” She glanced at the desk. Faith waited for the raised brows, the exclamation of surprise and excitement. But instead, her mom smiled.

“Romans. It’s a good book.”

Her mom was full of surprises tonight. “Yeah, I think it is. I mean, I haven’t read much of it, but I like what I’ve read.”

Her mom was almost out the door when she hesitated. “Hey, you know I go to a women’s Bible study every week with some of the gals from church?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Faith tried to answer, but her throat was too crowded with the emotions surging through her. She managed a nod.

“Great. Thursday night, okay?”

“Okay.”

Long after her mom left, Faith sat there, basking in the warmth of the smile that had covered her mother’s face.

A smile of pure love.

sixteen

FAITH PULLED HER LOCKER OPEN, STRUGGLING TO
balance the pile of books in one hand. She almost made it, too. Almost. But the books teetered one way, then another, and finally cascaded to the floor with a crash that drew curious looks from the kids rushing by in the hallway.

“Great. Just great.” Faith knelt to gather her things together, biting her lip against the frustrated tears that wanted to take over. “The perfect crummy end to a perfectly crummy day.”

She paused in midreach. “Oh man …” Her breath came out on a heavy sigh. Her old friend was back. Sarcasm. She hadn’t let it out to play in months.

That was one of the first things Sarah urged her to give up. “You know what sarcasm is, don’t you?” she’d said one afternoon as they were hiking.

Faith plucked several pine needles from a tree as she passed it, crushing them between her fingers and setting the pungent fragrance free. “Sure, it’s being funny.”

“No, it’s not. Sarcasm isn’t funny at all. It’s anger disguised as
humor, and it’s a tool for hurting.” Sarah planted her hands on a fallen tree in the path and vaulted over it, landing with a light plop on the ground. She waited for Faith to do the same. “Problem is, you’re too good at it.”

Faith cocked her head. “At sarcasm?”

“Absolutely.” Sarah hitched up her pack as they started walking again. “You’ve got a quick wit—which is good—and a quick tongue—which isn’t. Not when it comes to sarcasm, anyway. I’ve seen you use words to cut someone off at the knees.” She angled a look at Faith. “And believe me, that old bit about sticks and stones and words not hurting? It’s bogus. Words hurt plenty.”

It took a while for Faith to see Sarah’s point, but finally she did. By the end of the summer, she’d done it. Sarcasm was a thing of the past. It hadn’t been easy, not by a long shot. But she’d made a concerted effort to clamp her mouth shut whenever she was about to say something sarcastic. At first, she was shutting her mouth every few minutes. But soon it became a habit to keep her sarcastic thoughts to herself. And then, much to Faith’s surprise, even the thoughts hadn’t come nearly so often.

Until today. A steady stream of sarcastic thoughts had run through her mind since first period. And now they’d escaped into their favorite tool: words.

Faith waited for the surge of guilt she was sure would come. And waited.

Nothing.

No, that wasn’t quite true. She did feel a slight nudge. A niggling that she was doing something she shouldn’t.

And she felt something else, too. Something far stronger.

Good. She felt good. Letting her frustration out like that plain felt good.

Faith grabbed another book and slammed it on the pile she was making. Sarah would be disappointed in her. But what was she supposed to do? It had been a truly rotten day.

“I tried, Sarah. I really did.”

She shook her head at the whispered comment. Talking to someone who wasn’t there. She was really losing it. But it was
true. She’d been trying all week to follow Sarah’s lead, to do things the way Sarah wanted her to do them. But every time she sat down to read her Bible, she’d look up and find Trista and her group watching her. She’d shoved another book over the Bible, so they couldn’t know what she was reading.

Still, it bugged her.

Then there was Dustin. Since she got back from camp, things had been far from great between the two of them. Dustin didn’t like the changes she was making. Every time Faith tried to tell him about the summer, about Sarah and all Faith had learned from her, he shrugged her off. Changed the subject. Threw his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close.

“I don’t care what you did there, sweet thing. All I care is that you’re finally back
here
. Where you belong.” He smiled down at her. “With me.”

She’d wanted to say more, to make him understand. Instead, each time she let it drop. She still wasn’t quite sure why.

Sure you are. You didn’t want him getting mad at you. Or thinking you’re some kind of religious freak
.

It was true. She could still see the look in Dustin’s eyes when she started talking about Sarah and God. He hadn’t wanted to hear it. Not then … and not today.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She slammed another book on top of the pile. She still couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid today. After lunch, she’d gone out to the back of the school, looking for Dustin. He was there with his buddies, smoking and talking. Taking a deep breath, Faith went to slip her arm in his.

He looked down at her, but he didn’t smile. “Hey.”

That was it. “Hey.” Not even his usual “Hey, babe.” Just …”Hey.” Faith had never been all that crazy about being called
babe
, but suddenly she wanted him to do so. Wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

If he called her
babe
, that would mean he still liked her.

She stared down at the toes of her shoes. “So … can we talk?”

“Sure.” Dustin took a drag on his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke. “Go for it.”

She glanced at the other boys. “Privately.”

Dustin stared straight ahead, not saying anything. With each passing second, Faith felt smaller and smaller. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it another second, he shot his pals a look and jerked his head toward the school. They got the message.

As they walked away, Faith tried to sort through what she wanted to say.
Please … please, let this go well
. Surely God would listen. Surely He wanted Dustin to understand. Maybe even wanted to use her to help Dustin accept Him.

Faith’s eyes widened at the thought.
That would be so great, God
. Then they could be together, and her mom couldn’t complai—

“So?”

She jumped a little, then looked at Dustin. “Well, I wanted to tell you … to talk with you about … you know, this summer.”

“You already told me.”

Faith shook her head. “No. Not really. Dustin, something happened to me this summer. Something … really cool.”

Unfortunately, those last two words came out all shaky and tense. Dustin’s sideways glance told her it wasn’t the most convincing she’d ever sounded. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt.

“Does this have to do with that God-stuff again?”

She hadn’t expected him to go on the offensive. She blinked, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well, yeah. Kinda. I mean, yeah …” She was so dry her lips were sticking to her teeth. She ran her tongue over her teeth, forcing a quick swallow.

“You telling me you got religion this summer?”

Searing heat filled Faith’s face, then drained away, leaving her cold. Shivering. “No, Dustin. Come on. I’m not talking about
religion
—”

He flicked his cigarette away, watching it arc into the air. “Good. One thing I don’t need is a preacher.” He pulled a new cigarette from his pocket and lit it, then held the pack out to her. She looked down at it.