A Test of Faith (42 page)

Winnie hugged Faith. “It’s okay. Really it is. And you know what? I think you’re very much like your mom. I see her smile in you.”

Faith sniffed and hugged Winnie. “That’s what Zeke says.”

“Well, you should listen to him.” Winnie stood and grabbed the next pile of clothes. “Anyone who looks at you sees your mom, Faith. Her heart. Her kindness. Her faith.” A smile of realization bloomed on Winnie’s face. “You’re her legacy!”

Faith stared at her friend, stunned. She’d never thought of it that way. But as she rolled the idea around in her head, it made sense. During these last few months, Faith had realized something. The very fabric of her life was made up of millions of tiny threads, many of which either came from her mother or bore her imprint. Faith always knew, even in the hard and
angry days, that she and her mother were close, connected. But she’d never imagined what losing her mother would do, how devastating a separation that would be. How she would feel torn apart. Incomplete.

She’d always believed life would never be the same without her mom. Now she understood
she
would never be the same. What she didn’t know, though, was what that meant. Only One could help her with that. And so, as her mother had always taught her, she went to Him, praying, seeking His peace and guidance. Reading His word.

And always, always, the word she received from Him was the same.

Wait.

Be patient. Be still.

Wait
.

And so she did. She waited. Trusting with her mind, if not with her heart yet, that the answer would come.

In the meantime, she thought as she smiled at Winnie, she was grateful she didn’t have to wait alone.

thirty-four

thirty-five

WHOEVER COINED THE TERM “THE DOG DAYS OF
August” had to be an Oregonian. A southern Oregonian, to be exact. Faith was sure of it. Because few places were hotter than Southern Oregon in August.

Thank heaven for air-conditioning in cars!

Faith pushed her sunglasses back on her nose, wiping her face as she did so. She was nuts coming out here on a day this hot.

That’s what you get for putting it off for so long
.

Hmph. She glanced at the arrangement of silk pansies on her passenger seat. The cheery blossoms danced as the car raced along. What was it Mom always said about pansies? Ah, yes. They had the friendliest faces of any of the flowers.

The thought made Faith smile.

She turned her car up the long drive, taking in the tall evergreens lining the road. She’d say one thing for the memorial park. It was beautiful. You could see the mountains on all sides, and the numerous trees and lush shrubbery gave it the appearance of a park.

When she and her father had decided this was the place they would bury Mom—where they’d all be buried someday—Faith
had commented on the fact that it had a great view. Her father’s bland stare made her realize what she’d said, and for a moment she feared she’d added to his grief.

Instead, he burst into laughter.

Amazing how healing laughter could be, even in the most terrible moments.

Faith could use a little laughter right now. But she wasn’t feeling terribly jovial. Maybe after she got this over with. She’d never liked feeling guilty. And though there was no good reason for her to feel that way—it wasn’t like her mom was going to be upset with her for not coming sooner—that’s exactly how she felt.

Guilty as all get-out.

She pulled the car into a parking place, took hold of the pansies, and slid from the car. Walking up the cobblestone path, she lifted her face to the slight breeze stirring the air. Cool fingers caressed her brow, her cheeks, ruffled her hair as though greeting her.

Faith’s steps slowed as she approached the brick wall of cremation niches. She hadn’t been here since the memorial. Couldn’t make herself come. Couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her mother’s name there, on the small, square plaque. Gold letters standing out in stark relief on the polished black background.

Name. Date of birth. Date of death. Inadequate testimony to the woman her mother had been, the life she’d led.

But when Faith woke that morning, she’d known, deep inside, it was time.

Drawing a breath, she stepped to her mother’s niche. It was on the top row, so that made it easy to put the flowers right above her plaque. Faith took her time, arranging the flowers, setting them just so.

Anything to avoid looking down. At the plaque.

But finally, she had to do it. She let her gaze travel down, and then stop. Read the name.

The burning behind her eyes hit, and she grit her teeth. She’d sworn she wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t cry again. But seeing her mother’s name like that…

Made it real.

Faith knew that was silly. Her mother’s death was as real as it got, plaque or no plaque. She was getting to the point where she could sleep regularly again. Well, somewhat regularly. But better than she had been. And now it was only once in a while that Zeke had to hold her while her sorrow worked its way through her.

Still … somewhere in the back of her mind, Faith had been able to convince herself her mother wasn’t really gone. Not for good. She was
away
. On a really long trip. That’s what she’d convinced her heart. Until now.

She lifted her fingers and traced the letters of her mother’s name. Then she pressed her palm to the plaque and let out a shivery sigh. “Oh, Mom. You’re really gone, aren’t you?” Her mouth trembled. “You’re not on a trip someplace. You’re gone.”

Faith rubbed the heel of her hand into her eyes, wishing she could rub the pain away as easily as she could the tears.
Father God, this hurts so much
.

After her mother’s death, Faith had remembered all the times she talked with someone who lost a loved one. The stupid things she’d said. Things she wasn’t sure would help, but that she felt she had to say. After all, one had to say something to fill the silences, didn’t one?

Faith shook her head. Why didn’t those poor souls tell her—tell everyone who spouted empty platitudes—to
shut up
. Now that people had said those things to Faith, she understood. Understood that many words of supposed comfort were salt on a raw, pulsating, bone-deep wound.

“She’s in a much better place now.”

“She’s where she can watch over you.”

And Faith’s personal favorite:
“She’s not hurting any longer. After all, you wouldn’t want her back, would you? Not if it meant she was in pain again?”

That’s what a well-meaning person at the memorial service had said, and it had taken all of Faith’s resources to keep from
yelling, “Are you
stupid?
Of COURSE I want her back. On any terms. She’s my mother! I’d take her any way I could get her. Don’t you get it? Grief isn’t about her, about her pain or freedom, but about
me
. About the fact that my mother is gone.”

My mother is gone
.

Faith let the words echo through her.
My mother is gone
. Faith would never see her smile again. Not in this life. Never feel her soft hands on her face. Never know the solid sensation of her hug or the sweet fragrance of her nearness as she pressed a kiss to Faith’s cheek. Never hear that tender, loving voice telling her how treasured she was, how she didn’t know what she’d do without Faith, how glad she was that Faith was there.

Wouldn’t want her back?

Now, almost four months later, those words rang so false. No words could help or heal. What really helped was silence. And listening. And letting her talk and vent and weep and grieve. Sitting with her and holding her hand because her mom couldn’t do that any longer. And letting her talk about Mom. Remember her. Laugh about her and all she was to Faith’s family.

A family that would never, ever, this side of eternity, be the same.

Faith moved away from the wall. She walked to where she could look out over the valley. How her mom had loved this valley! Loved its rugged beauty, the mountains that cradled it in massive arms. She’d found such delight in the beauty all around them.

She’d found such delight in
life
.

She’d celebrated the blessings God gave them, savoring each moment—teaching Faith to do the same. And as Faith stood there, she grew more and more aware. Of silence. Of peace.

Of a presence, around her, within her.

From deep within her memory, words came rolling forward. Words she’d read long ago. Words of truth and life.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is upon me.”

A tingling sensation began at the base of Faith’s spine, working its way up, as the words continued.

“He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted and to announce that captives will be released and prisoners
will be freed.”

The last three words rang through her, filling her heart, overflowing her spirit.

Free. She was free. And suddenly Faith understood. Yes, losing her mother hurt. Of
course
it hurt. How could it not? Her mother was joy and celebration and love. Her mother was God’s touch in Faith’s life. Losing her had to hurt. Deeply. And it would take a long time to deal with such a loss.

And Faith realized something more.

It was okay.

Okay to cry, to grieve a year, two years, even ten years down the road. Okay to wish her mother was still with them. Okay to long for eternity, because it was there she would once again be with her mother.

And it was okay to enjoy life until then. To laugh. To find joy.

To live.

Because that was what her mother would want for her. She’d want her to embrace life. To delight in all God had for her.

Laughter, as pure and refreshing as water from a mountain stream, bubbled up from inside her and lifted on the warm, summer wind. Something was different. Something inside her had changed. Turning to walk back to the niche, she looked again at her mother’s name—and smiled.