The Shack (29 page)

“Mackenzie,” Papa was strong and firm. “I already told you that forgiveness does not create a relationship. Unless people speak the truth about what they have done and change their mind and behavior, a relationship of trust is not possible. When you forgive someone you certainly release them from judgment, but without true change, no real relationship can be established.”

“So forgiveness does not require me to pretend what he did never happened?”

“How can you? You forgave your dad last night. Will you ever forget what he did to you?

“I don’t think so.”

“But now you can love him in the face of it. His change allows for that. Forgiveness in no way requires that you trust the one you forgive. But should they finally confess and repent, you will discover a miracle in your own heart that allows you to reach out and begin to build between you a bridge of reconciliation. And sometimes—and this may seem incomprehensible to you right now—that road may even take you to the miracle of fully restored trust.”

Mack slid to the ground and leaned back against the rock he had been sitting on. He studied the dirt between his feet. “Papa, I think I understand what you’re saying. But it feels like if I forgive this guy he gets off free. How do I excuse what he did? Is it fair to Missy if I don’t stay angry with him?”

“Mackenzie, forgiveness does not excuse anything. Believe me, the last thing this man is, is free. And you have no duty to justice in this. I will handle that. And as for Missy, she has already forgiven him.”

“She has?” Mack didn’t even look up. “How could she?”

“Because of my presence in her. That’s the only way true forgiveness is ever possible.”

Mack felt Papa sit down next to him on the ground but he still didn’t look up. As Papa’s arms enfolded Mack he began to cry. “Let it all out,” he heard Papa’s whisper, and he finally was able to do just that. He closed his eyes as the tears poured out. Missy and her memories again flooded his mind; visions of coloring books and crayons and torn and bloody dresses. He wept until he had cried out all the darkness, all the longing and all the loss, until there was nothing left.

With his eyes now closed, rocking back and forth, he pleaded, “Help me, Papa. Help me! What do I do? How do I forgive him?”

“Tell him.”

Mack looked up, half expecting to see a man he had never met standing there, but no one was.

“How, Papa?”

“Just say it out loud. There is power in what my children declare.”

Mack began to whisper in tones first halfhearted and stumbling, but then with increasing conviction. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Papa held him close. “Mackenzie, you are such a joy.”

When Mack finally collected himself, Papa handed him a wet cloth so he could wash his face. He then stood up, a little unsteady at first.

“Wow!” he said hoarsely, trying to find any word that might describe the emotional journey he had just waded through. He felt alive. He handed the kerchief back to Papa and asked, “So is it all right if I’m still angry?”

Papa was quick to respond. “Absolutely! What he did was terrible. He caused incredible pain to many. It was wrong, and anger is the right response to something that is so wrong. But don’t let the anger and pain and loss you feel prevent you from forgiving him and removing your hands from around his neck.”

Papa grabbed his pack and threw it on. “Son, you may have to declare your forgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day, but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day you will realize that you have forgiven completely. And then one day you will pray for his wholeness and give him over to me so that my love will burn from his life every vestige of corruption. As incomprehensible as it sounds at this moment, you may well know this man in a different context one day.”

Mack groaned. But as much as what Papa was saying caused his stomach to churn, in his heart he knew that it was the truth. They stood up together and Mack turned toward the trail to return back the way they had come.

“Mack, we are not done here,” he stated.

Mack stopped and turned. “Really? I thought this was why you brought me here.”

“I did, but I told you I had something to show you, something you have asked me to do. We are here to bring Missy home.”

Suddenly it all made sense. He looked at Sarayu’s gift and realized what it was for. Somewhere in this desolate landscape the killer had hidden Missy’s body and they had come to retrieve it.

“Thank you,” was all he could say to Papa as once more a waterfall rolled down his cheeks as if from an endless reservoir. “I hate all this—this crying and blubbering like an idiot, all these tears,” he moaned.

“Oh child,” spoke Papa tenderly. “Don’t ever discount the wonder of your tears. They can be healing waters and a stream of joy. Sometimes they are the best words the heart can speak.”

Mack pulled back and looked Papa in the face. Such pure kindness and love and hope and living joy he had never stared into. “But you promised that someday there will be no more tears? I’m looking forward to that.”

Papa smiled, reached the back of his fingers to Mack’s face, and ever so gently wiped his tear-tracked cheeks. “Mackenzie, this world is full of tears, but if you remember I promised that it would be Me who would wipe them from your eyes.”

Mack managed a smile as his soul continued to melt and heal in the love of his Father.

“Here,” Papa said and handed him a canteen. “Take a good swallow. I don’t want you shriveling up like a prune before all this is over.”

Mack couldn’t help but laugh, which seemed so out of place, but then on second thought he knew it was perfect. It was a laugh of hope and restored joy. . . of the process of closure.

Papa led the way. Before leaving the main path and following a trail into the strewn mass of boulders, Papa paused and with his walking stick tapped a large boulder. He looked back at Mack and gestured to him that he should look more closely. There it was again, the same red arc. And now Mack realized the trail they were following had been marked by the man who had taken his daughter. As they walked, Papa now explained to Mack that no bodies had ever been found because this man would scout out places to hide them, sometimes months before he would kidnap the girls.

Halfway through the boulder field, Papa left the path and entered a maze of rocks and mountain walls but not before once again pointing out the now familiar marking on a nearby rock face. Mack could see that unless a person knew what they were looking for, the marks would easily go unnoticed. Ten minutes later, Papa stopped in front of a seam where two outcroppings met. There was a small pile of boulders at the base, one of them bearing the killer’s symbol.

“Help me with these,” he said to Mack as he began peeling the larger rocks away. “All this hides a cave entrance.”

Once the covering rocks were removed, they picked and shoveled away at the hardened dirt and gravel that blocked the entrance. Suddenly, the remaining debris gave way and an opening into a small cave was visible; probably once a den for some hibernating animal. The stale odor of decay poured out and Mack gagged. Papa reached into the end of the roll Sarayu had given Mack and pulled out a bandana-size piece of linen from the end of it. He tied it around Mack’s mouth and nose and immediately its sweet smell cut through the stench of the cave.

There was only enough space for them to crawl. Taking a powerful flashlight from his own pack, Papa wriggled into the cave first with Mack right behind, still carrying Sarayu’s

gift.

It only took them a few minutes to find their bittersweet treasure. On a small rock outcropping, Mack saw the body of what he assumed was his Missy; face up, her body covered by a dirty and decaying sheet. Like an old glove without a hand to animate it, he knew that the real Missy wasn’t there.

Papa unwrapped what Sarayu had sent with them and immediately the den filled with wonderful living aromas and scents. Even though the sheet under Missy’s body was fragile, it held enough for Mack to lift her and place her in the midst of all the flowers and spices. Papa then tenderly wrapped her up and carried her to the entrance. Mack exited first and Papa passed their treasure to him. He stood up as Papa exited and pulled the pack over his shoulders. Not a word had been spoken except for Mack muttering occasionally under his breath, “I forgive you . . . I forgive you . . .”

Before they left the site, Papa picked up the rock with the red arc on it and laid it over the entrance. Mack noticed but didn’t pay much attention, busy as he was with his own thoughts and tenderly holding the body of his daughter close to his heart.

17

C
HOICES OF THE HEART

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

—Author Unknown

E
ven though Mack carried the burden of Missy’s body back to the cabin, the time passed quickly. When they arrived at the shack, Jesus and Sarayu were waiting by the back door. Jesus gently relieved him of his burden and together they went to the shop where he had been working. Mack had not entered here since his arrival and was surprised at its simplicity. Light, streaming through large windows, caught and reflected wood dust still hanging in the air. The walls and work benches, covered with all manner of tools, were organized to easily facilitate the shop’s activities. This was clearly the sanctuary of a master craftsman.

Directly before them stood his work, a masterpiece of art in which to lay the remains of Missy. As Mack walked around the box he immediately recognized the etchings in the wood. On closer examination he discovered that details of Missy’s life were carved into the wood. He found an engraving of Missy with her cat, Judas. There was another of Mack sitting in a chair reading Dr. Seuss to her. All the family was visible in scenes worked into the sides and top: Nan and Missy making cookies, the trip to Wallowa Lake with the tram ascending the mountain, and even Missy coloring at the camp table along with an accurate representation of the lady-bug pin the killer had left behind. There was even an accurate rendering of Missy standing and smiling as she looked into the waterfall, knowing her daddy was on the other side. Interspersed throughout were flowers and animals that were Missy’s favorites.

Mack turned and hugged Jesus, and as they embraced, Jesus whispered into his ear, “Missy helped; she picked out what she wanted on it.”

Mack’s grip tightened. He couldn’t let go for a long while.

“We have the perfect place prepared for her body,” Sarayu said, sweeping past. “Mackenzie, it is in
our
garden.”

With great care they gently placed the remains of Missy into the box, laying her on a bed of soft grasses and moss, and then filled it full with the flowers and spices from Sarayu’s pack. Closing the lid, Jesus and Mack each easily picked up an end and carried it out, following Sarayu into the garden to the place in the orchard that Mack had helped clear. There, between cherry and peach trees, surrounded by orchids and day lilies, a hole had been dug right where Mack had uprooted the flowering shrub the day before. Papa was waiting for them. Once the crafted box was gently placed into the ground, Papa gave Mack a huge hug, which he returned in kind.

Sarayu stepped forward. “I,” she said with a flourish and bow, “am honored to sing Missy’s song, which she wrote just for this occasion.”

And she began to sing, with a voice like an autumn wind; a sound of turning leaves and forests slowly slumbering, the tones of oncoming night and a promise of new days dawning. It was the haunting tune that he had heard her and Papa humming before, and Mack now listened to his daughter’s words:

Breathe in me . . . deep

That I might breathe... and live

And hold me close that I might sleep

Soft held by all you give

Come kiss me wind and take my breath

Till you and I are one

And we will dance among the tombs

Until all death is gone

And no one knows that we exist

Wrapped in each other’s arms

Except the One who blew the breath

That hides me safe from harm

Come kiss me wind and take my breath

Till you and I are one

And we will dance among the tombs

Until all death is gone

As she finished, there was silence; and then God, all three, simultaneously said, “Amen.” Mack echoed the amen, picked up one of the shovels, and, with help from Jesus, began filling in the hole, covering the box in which Missy’s body rested.

When the task was complete, Sarayu reached within her clothing and withdrew her small, fragile bottle. From it she poured out a few drops of the precious collection into her hand and began to carefully scatter Mack’s tears onto the rich black soil under which Missy’s body slept. The droplets fell like diamonds and rubies, and wherever they landed flowers instantly burst upward and bloomed in the brilliant sun. Sarayu then paused for a moment, looking intently at one pearl resting in her hand, a special tear, and then dropped it into the center of the plot. Immediately a small tree broke through the earth and began unbending itself from the spot, young and luxurious and stunning, growing and maturing until it burst into blossom and bloom. Sarayu then, in her whispery breeze-blown way, turned and smiled at Mack, who had been watching transfixed. “It is a tree of life, Mack, growing in the garden of your heart.”

Papa came up next to him and put his arm over his shoulder. “Missy is incredible; you know that. Truly, she loves you.”

“I miss her terribly . . . it still hurts so much.”

“I know, Mackenzie. I know.”

It was a little after noon, by the path of the sun, when the four left the garden and reentered the cabin. There was nothing prepared in the kitchen, nor was there any food on the dining table. Instead, Papa led them all into the living room; where on the coffee table sat a glass of wine and a loaf of freshly baked bread. They sat down, except Papa who remained standing. He directed his words to Mack.