A Test of Faith (41 page)

The
Solid Rock

“It won’t collapse
,
because it is built on rock …”

M
ATTHEW
7:25

thirty-three

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS WENT BY IN A BLUR. THE
memorial service was held the Saturday before Mother’s Day. Though it had meant waiting longer than usual, Faith and her father knew it was the right thing to do.

They needed the time to deal with details they’d never wanted to deal with. Faith had never imagined there was so much to be done when one passed from this world to eternity.

The passing happened in less than a heartbeat. No such luck with all that was left to do for those who remained. One decision after another had to be made. Decisions that reminded Faith and her dad, over and over, that Mom was gone. That this gaping hole in their hearts and lives would never be filled.

Not in this life.

Faith’s emotions ran the gamut, from despair to hope, anger to gratitude. It was the anger she had the hardest time dealing with. Especially the anger with the nursing home and hospital. Yes, some in those places had been a great help. But others…

Others had done things, made decisions, that Faith was sure
had contributed to her mother’s death. A death that she still felt shouldn’t have happened.

Finally one day, she talked with her dad about it all. They were driving together, coming back from having chosen her mom’s cremation niche.

“Dad, do you ever wonder if Mom shouldn’t have died? That the mistakes people made in the nursing home, in the hospital—that those things made it impossible for Mom to recover?”

He kept his eyes on the road, thinking. “Sometimes.”

Faith turned to face him at the admission. “Doesn’t it make you mad? I mean, don’t you want to make them pay for it?”

“You mean sue them.” He sighed, glancing at her. “Sure, I’ve thought about it, but I keep coming back to the same questions. First, what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t change anything. Your mother would still be dead—”

When his words choked off, Faith started to tell him to never mind, that she was sorry she’d brought it up. But he continued.

“—and I’m not convinced suing would be the right thing to do. But it’s the other two questions that really stop me.”

Faith waited. She needed something to stop her, to calm the bitterness within her.

“What would your mom want me to do?” His wistful smile tugged at Faith’s heart. “Your mom was an amazing woman. She had such a capacity to love, to show God’s love. Would she want me to immerse myself in anger, in bitterness, and making people pay for their mistakes?”

The answer was a no-brainer. “No.”

He shook his head. “No. Your mom would want us to focus on the good, on the blessings, and on the last question. The one that matters most: What would God want me to do? What is He calling me to in this situation?”

“He sure couldn’t want us to let people get away with killing someone.”

“Faith, those people didn’t kill your mother. They may not have helped her the way they should have, but your mom was sick. Her body was worn out. Yes, they made mistakes. But
will suing them change that? No. Would it make things any better? I doubt it. The only thing I can imagine helping is to keep my eyes on God, on His word, on His call.”

She closed her eyes at her dad’s soft words. What
would
God want? He was a God of justice, but He also called them to love, to forgive. And when it came right down to it, He could have overcome all the mistakes, all the bad decisions, and brought Faith’s mom through this. He was God. His was the final word.

And that ate at Faith as much as anything. Why didn’t God heal her mother? “Are you mad at God?”

He hesitated. “Mad isn’t the right word. I wish it hadn’t happened. I’d give anything to have her still here, with me. With us. I feel like part of me has been torn away. But, punkin’, God was the one who shared your mom with me. He brought us together. He kept and held us together for nearly fifty years.” Dad blinked, but that didn’t stop the tears from trickling down his face. “God didn’t take your mom away. Diabetes did.”

Faith had thought about their conversation many times since that day. And as she did so, she realized her father was right. Suing wouldn’t accomplish anything. There were times when it was right, she supposed, but for them—for her—the right thing was to forgive. To let go of her anger and ask God to replace it with His peace.

That was the legacy her mom would want to leave.

So that was what Faith would do, with God’s help. She’d face each day looking to the good, the blessings, the evidence of God’s hand. And each time she saw those things, she’d praise Him for the mother who taught her how to open her eyes. And her heart.

The day of the memorial service dawned bright and sunny. The kind of day Faith’s mom used to love. They’d decorated the room for the memorial with blankets of pansies, silk pansies and real ones. The room looked like a garden. And in the center of the flowers was a picture of her mother, laughing, eyes sparkling.

Friends and family came from all over the country, and the
room was full to overflowing. Teachers who had worked with Faith’s mom. Students she’d taught and helped. Church members. Family members. And, much to Faith’s utter delight, Sarah McMannis, from the summer at church camp. She’d moved away shortly after Faith came home from camp. Faith had no idea she’d even known about her mom.

“Pastor Fred let me know,” she explained as she embraced Faith. “I knew I had to be here.” She held Faith’s gaze. “Your mom loved you, Faith. Deeply.”

Faith could only nod and squeeze Sarah’s hands.

When the time came to share memories of her mother, person after person stood and talked, relating stories that brought Faith’s mother to life, even if only for a moment. For more than an hour the stories came and the room echoed with a sweet blend of laughter and weeping.

Afterward, the church held a luncheon, and everyone gathered there, talking, remembering, laughing. It was as though they all were loathe to leave, as though leaving would be the final chapter in Anne Marie Bennett’s life. The final page turned, the book closed.

The end.

But Faith knew that wasn’t so. It wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning of the pain she would feel every time she looked at her mother’s chair and didn’t see her there, every time she saw pansies or smelled roses.

Zeke and Faith talked it over and asked Dad to come live with them. When he said he would, Faith was delighted. It was the first time in months she’d felt any joy.

Then came the task of sorting through her parents’ possessions. Her mother’s possessions. Her jewelry. Mom’s letters from her mother. Her treasures.

And her clothes.

That was what did Faith in. Taking her mother’s clothes out of her closet, placing them in boxes. Clothes that still had her mother’s scent on them. Clothes that she could still see her mother wearing.

She’d held it together until she got the clothes to her house, to a back room where she planned to sort through
them. That’s where Zeke found her, sitting on the floor, surrounded by her mother’s clothes, face pressed into her mother’s favorite jacket.

“I—can’t—
do
—this!” Faith gasped the words out when Zeke crouched beside her, placing a tender hand on her hair. She looked at him, begging him with her eyes to understand. “I can’t
do
this without her. I don’t know how to act, how to be … I don’t know who I am without her.”

“You’re Faith Adelle.” Zeke’s quiet voice rang with love and conviction. “You’re the baby she waited for, prayed for. The one she named
Faith
because God answered her prayers; the one she named
Adelle
because she knew you’d have a noble and kind spirit.”

“But only because of her! How can I go on without her?”

“Because you’re your mother’s daughter. You’re the thing that kept her going year after year. You’re the one who brought her joy and delight. Just a day or so before she died, your mom and I talked. She told me how much she loved you. How proud she was of you. How grateful she was to see you living your life for God. Faith, your mom loved you! You meant the world to her. You and your dad were her world.”

Each word flowed over her broken heart like a healing ointment, soothing the pain, warming the cold places.

Zeke took hold of her hand, drew her to her feet, then led her to a mirror. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, as she looked at her reflection. He cupped her cheek.

“Your mom’s not gone. You’re the image of your mother. You have her smile, her hands, her laugh. And her faith. She lives on in you.”

She leaned into him. “I miss her so much!”

“I know, darlin’. I know.”

“Will it ever stop hurting? Does grief ever let you go once it gets hold of you?”

He was silent for a moment, and she met his gaze in the mirror. She saw the answer in this eyes.

“It won’t, will it?”

He shook his head. “Not entirely. It will be better, but it’s always going to hurt that your mom is gone.” He turned her to
face him, framed her face with his hands. “But we’ll get through this. I promise.”

Zeke looked at the piles of clothes. “But you know what? You don’t have to get through this alone. I’m calling Winnie to come help you.”

Faith didn’t argue.

The next day she and Winnie sorted and folded. And though there were moments of tears, there were also times when they shared a memory that made them laugh.

“Your mom always wore this when she worked in the garden.” Winnie held up the T-shirt with a lamb on the front and the saying, “I’m not fat, I’m fluffy!”

Faith grinned. “Mom loved that thing. She said she liked thinking of herself as fluffy.”

“You know, Faith, your mom was a beautiful woman.”

Winnie’s words touched Faith’s heart. She’d always considered her mom beautiful, but she knew others who looked at her, those who didn’t know her, only saw a woman who was obese.

“Did you know—” Winnie folded the top and laid it in the box with gentle hands—“that the nurses were convinced your mom was younger than she was?”

Faith smiled. “She didn’t look her age, that’s true.”

“One of the nurses I work with said your mom had the smoothest, prettiest skin she’d ever seen.” Winnie’s eyes twinkled. “I told them what your mom always used to say.”

Faith almost choked on her laughter. “You didn’t!” She knew exactly what Winnie was talking about.

Winnie nodded. “Oh, but I did. I told them your mom always said that was the nice thing about being fat …”

They finished it together: “There’s no room for wrinkles!”

It felt so good to laugh. Faith had wondered these past weeks if she’d forgotten how.

She laid down the scarves she was folding and sat on the bed. “Thank you, Winnie.”

Her friend glanced at her. “For what?”

Faith motioned at the clothes. “For this. For your help. For everything.” She looked down. “I was so mean to you
when we were in school, and you know what? I’m only starting to understand why.”

Winnie came to sit beside her. “Faith, I forgave you long ago.”

“I know, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Mom …” She still had a hard time saying that. “Since Mom died. And I realized something.” She gave Winnie a lopsided smile. “Did you know you’re just like her?”

“Me?” Pink tinged Winnie’s cheeks.

Faith nodded. “You. You have the same kind of heart and spirit she did. The kind that reaches out to people, wants to help them, to care for them.” She folded her legs under her. “When I look at you, Win, I see so much of Mom.”

Winnie blinked away tears. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Well, it’s true. And it always has been, which is why I think I was such a brat to you back in school.” Faith had been thinking this through for the last few days, and as she said it out loud, she knew it held the ring of truth. “You reminded me of Mom, and that made me mad.” She met Winnie’s surprised gaze. “Because I wanted to be like her. And I wasn’t. I was jealous of you, Win. And I resented that you were more like my mom than I was. I’m so sorry for the way I acted.”