Tender Grace (25 page)

“Don’t worry about my book—it’s right on schedule. You and I haven’t gone anywhere before one in the afternoon, and I’m an early riser.”

“My husband was an early riser. I’ve always thought rising before seven to be primitive. On school days, I had to get up at six, and in thirty years of teaching I never made friends with that hour of the day, never stopped groaning when the alarm went off. I think that’s why I like sunsets so much—it’s the only time I’m awake to see the sun do its thing with the horizon. A few weeks ago, however, I did see a spectacular sunrise over the Grand Canyon. I, and at least a hundred international travelers, loved it.”

He was smiling.

“What?”

“You’re funny.”

“You’re nice.”

He reached across the table and put his hand over mine for the briefest moment. “
This
is nice.” Leaning back in his chair again, he said, “Being with you is nice. I’ve dated a few times in the last year or so, but it just wasn’t fun. I pretty much gave it up.”

“I’m sorry, but I understand. I can’t imagine dating.”

He laughed.

“Can you imagine kayaking with a new friend?” he asked.

“Tell me that’s not the same thing.”

His smile and his eyes, kind and warm, make me happy.

“I went to the opera with an old friend in Phoenix two weeks ago and haven’t once thought of it as a date. It was . . .

what?”

“A shared experience?”

“That works.”

“Well, my shared experiences haven’t been fun either. And don’t be sorry. Teaching has been fun, writing has been as fun as such hard work can be, taking in the world around me has been fun, having time to be with my family has been fun. That’s a lot of fun, don’t you think?”

“Tender graces.”

“What?”

I looked across the table at him. “Tennyson’s ‘the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me’ has become for me ‘the tender grace of a day.’ ”

“Shall I add Tennyson to my recreational reading?”

“I don’t know about that, but the abbreviated line probably works for you as well as for me. The things you called fun are among the many things I have begun to see as the tender graces each day brings.”

He looked at me in that intent way of his and smiled again.

“I think of you as a tender grace,” I said.

Ruby and Pearl don’t have an e-mail address, so when I returned to the room this evening, I wrote them a note on the hotel stationery that began, “The Lord is sending me back home to Missouri before I make it to Oregon
.” I told them Willa and I might do the Oregon coast and Portland next summer and that I’d give them a call if that happened. I told them they had blessed my life, and I enclosed my phone number and address in case they ever want to make a trip to Missouri. And in the spirit of Willa, I added, “You would love Branson!”

I e-mailed the kids then, the message they’ve been waiting for: “I plan on being home about a week from now—next Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll call you Wednesday, but if you have nothing else scheduled, please plan on coming for the weekend. I want to have dinner on Saturday to celebrate both my return to the land of the living and Molly’s birthday. I want soooo much to see my babies. My big kids too. I love you.”

Then I sat down to read a section of John 15 about the vine metaphor. I think grasping this truth is one of the keys to living an abundant life. I think it explains where I am today. He is the vine, and we are the branches, and as long as we remain connected to him we will be healthy, capable of producing “fruit.”

I am a healthy branch these days, Life and Light no longer my antithesis.

twenty-five

September 27

From my hotel room downtown I can see the ocean. San Francisco is a fascinating city, probably the most compact city in America. I wish Tom and I had come here. He would have loved it. When I arrived shortly before noon, Zack had left a message that he’d pick me up at three for a city tour unless I called. Three gave me enough dawdle time.

“Do you like the hotel?” he asked when I met him in the lobby.

“Very much.”

“Are you up for a tour?”

“Don’t I look like it? I haven’t clicked across a hotel lobby so fast since I was in Dallas.”

“That’s a story, isn’t it?”

“Well, not much of one. To answer your question, yes, I’m ready to see San Francisco.”

He drove me down streets made famous in movies and television shows. That’s one thing I liked about New York. Afterward I watched
Law and Order
with an experienced eye. “Remember seeing that, Tom?” I’d say while we ate dinner in front of the television. Now I’m eager to go home and watch television shows and movies set in San Francisco.

We abandoned the car at Fisherman’s Wharf and boarded a boat for a tour that took us around Alcatraz. When we returned to land, we spent the rest of our time walking Fisherman’s Wharf, perusing shops, though we had no intention of buying. “You can be glad Willa isn’t with us,” I said, which called for a brief explanation. I made a short story long when I told him about the buffalo pictures.

When the sun began to set, we realized we were starving and stopped to eat at a nice restaurant on the wharf.

“My son and daughter-in-law wanted me to bring you to dinner at their house,” he said. “But I didn’t think you’d want to do that on this particular trip. I told them maybe another time.”

“Please tell Jason and Carley that I appreciate their thoughtfulness. I also appreciate your understanding. You’re a sensitive man, Zack Landers.”

He laughed.

“Are you thinking Maggie wouldn’t believe someone would say such a thing?”

“Something like that.”

“I read once that the suffering that comes from losing someone we love has the potential of making us better. The old person dies, and a new one is reborn. I think your wife would be so proud of the new you.”

“I hope so. Thank you for the very nice thought.”

He left the car parked at the wharf and walked me back to the hotel. One of the long streets was the equivalent of a ten percent incline on my treadmill, and he took my hand and pulled me the remaining few feet to semilevel ground. We took a few side trips to see the lobbies of several hotels near the one I’m staying in simply to marvel at the opulence.

“We’re a long way from the Sudan,” I said.

“Still plodding along in your book, huh?”

When we made it back to my hotel, he walked me into my lobby and over to the elevators and pushed the Up button. “The usual time tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ll be ready.”

“We have one more day before you leave. I thought you might like to explore Sausalito, and I have a surprise for you tomorrow night—if you trust me enough.”

The elevator door opened.

“I trust you.”

In chapter 16, Jesus speaks again of going away and the Holy Spirit coming to us. Intellectually, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit is a difficult concept to get hold of. Experientially, it is simpler. He is like an ever-present Jesus: comforting and confronting, guiding and equipping, enabling and enlightening. His presence is the greatest of gifts. I’m sure Andrew thought I was a little weird when I said the Spirit was good company. I hope someday it makes perfect sense to him when he sits on his patio and looks at the hills.

Even though I wish beyond what I can say that I could look up and see Tom sitting across the room waiting for me to finish typing so that we could go to bed, I believe that in Jesus, I have everything I need. I’m sure only someone who has tested his claims can understand that is not a paradox.

September 28

I read a chapter in my novel last night since I happened upon one of a rational length. When I turned out the light and stretched out under the cool, luxurious sheets, I realized that I am getting used to being alone in a queen-size bed.

I loved sleeping with Tom. Our wedding night was the first time I had slept with a man. I was twenty-two and quite ready to be with someone—considering that someone was Tom Eaton. In between lovemaking, amateur on my part but wonderful nonetheless, we lay there talking and laughing.

The first morning of our married life was as memorable as the joy of our wedding night. My eyes still closed, I awakened, trying to discern what my feet were touching and finally realized it was Tom’s sturdy and hairy legs. Thus began the comfort of sharing a bed. It was a comfort I cherished for thirty years, one of the things I have missed most. The very human side of me can hardly stand getting used to his not lying beside me.

I did not pray for it, because it didn’t seem right, but I know I lay there wishing that the memories I had relived would cause me to dream of Tom. I was disappointed when I woke up this morning and realized he had not come to me.

I suppose that’s the main reason I read some more in John this morning. I’ve taken over Tom’s Bible. Though I still call it Tom’s Bible most of the time, it’s really our Bible now. Reading it helped me get ready for this day along with and better than my shower and room service brunch.

I was in decent shape by the time Zack arrived. I enjoyed the Golden Gate Bridge, Sausalito, and dinner at yet another quaint local restaurant.

“I didn’t dream about Tom last night,” I said after we had been led to a table in the corner of a dimly lit dining room and had placed our orders.

He just looked at me.

“I’ve dreamed of him often since he died, especially on this trip. I found him sitting by a river near Santa Fe, lounging in an inner tube on a lazy river ride near the rim of the Grand Canyon, and parking his golf cart on a street in Prescott. In the last dream I had about him, he was at the top of Santa Cruz Island watching a whale extravaganza in the ocean below.”

I could not believe I had introduced this topic and then proceeded to develop it. What was I thinking? Though it proved rather embarrassing, I backed up and explained why I had wanted to dream of him last night.

“I’m sorry for bringing up such a crazy thing,” I said when I had sputtered through the explanation.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m glad to hear it. I understand it. And I’ll tell you something just as crazy: I
did
dream about Maggie last night.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought when my alarm went off this morning. I don’t dream very often at all. I can remember dreaming about Maggie only one other time since she’s been gone.”

“Is it a dream you can tell me about?”

“There really wasn’t much to it. I was sitting on the patio reading when Maggie opened the door and came outside. She seemed surprised to find me there. She sat down, handed me her glass of tea, and asked what I was reading. The next moment a basketball court appeared in the backyard a few feet from the patio, and Jason asked us to come play H-O-R-S-E with him. She got up and headed into the house. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got something I have to do.’ The last thing she said before going in was, ‘Have fun.’ ”

“Did the dream make you happy or sad?”

“Both.”

“Yes! Both. Always.”

Then he changed the subject, asking me about progress on my book.

“Reading larger sections of John requires more of my time. But don’t worry—I’m not abandoning the novel. My television viewing has taken a real hit, though.”