A Test of Faith (43 page)

The heaviness was gone. Not the pain. That would be there for a long time. But the heaviness that had pressed down on her heart and spirit was finally, blessedly gone.

She was free.

She pressed a kiss into her hand, then put it over her mother’s name. And then, smiling, Faith walked back to her car.

She was ready. Ready to do all that God had for her until she could be with her mother again. Ready to live. Really live.

“Bring it on,” she said with a small laugh as she pulled the car door open. “Bring it all on.”

thirty-six

“HELLOOO … YOU READY FOR VISITORS?”

Faith looked up and grinned. “Connie, come on in!”

Connie glanced over her shoulder, looking like a kid about to break and run for the playground. “I’m not alone.”

Faith laughed. “There’s a big surprise.”

With that, the Coffee Crew came through the door in a tumble of giggles and chatter. They sounded like a bunch of birds gone looney. They surrounded her bed, laying stuffed animals and helium balloons and bouquets of flowers from one end of the bed to the other.

One of the bouquets landed on Faith’s face.

“Look out, you clod! You’re going to smother her!”

Connie gave Andi a soulful look of utter woundedness. “It slipped.”

Linda brushed her aside, pulling the flowers off of Faith’s face. “Your brain slipped, you mean.”

“Come on, guys, is that any way to talk in a hospital?” Deb
perched on the bed. “Especially around a livin’, breathin’ miracle.”

“Speaking of which—” Jennifer peered over Linda’s shoulder. “Where is it?”

“
It?
” Patti hooted. “We’re not talking about a puppy, you know.”

“Oh, I love puppies! That’s what we should have brought, a puppy!”

Faith looked to the door, where Sandy and Lori were coming in. She waved at Faith. “I had to park the car, and
they
—” she tossed her head at them—“wouldn’t wait for me. How’s that for a bunch of brats?”

“We wanted to come see the miracle.” Deb shot Faith a quick, apologetic look. “Not that we didn’t come to see you—”

“Okay, okay!” Faith was laughing so hard tears ran down her face. “Zeke took the baby for a walk.”

Lori came to give Faith a hug. “I bet he’s so happy.”

“Even though he didn’t get a son?” Patti teased.

“Son, schmon, I got the most beautiful daughter in the world. Who needs a son?”

With a collective squeal, the women spun toward the doorway where Zeke stood holding their daughter.

He came into the room, handing the baby to Faith. The women gathered round, crooning and cooing.

“Have you decided on a name?”

Faith nodded, and Zeke answered Lori. “We’re going to name her Annette.” He met Faith’s gaze. “It means ‘little Anne.’ ”

“Little Anne!” Andi sighed, threw her arm around Connie, and hugged her. “That’s perfect!”

Sandy touched Annette’s downy crown of hair. She slanted a glance at Faith. “And you thought you couldn’t get pregnant. I told you God was in control.”

Jennifer piped up. “And it helped that you quit worrying about it.”

“I’ll bet the scented candles helped—”

“Okay, ladies.” Linda cut Deb and the others off before they really got going. “I think we’ve tired Faith and the baby out enough.” She shooed them toward the door.

“Yes, Mother.” Connie pulled a face at Linda.

With waves and calls of good-bye, the women headed out the door. Zeke and Faith heard them giggling and talking all the way down the hall. They grinned at each other.

“Is it safe to come hold my granddaughter?”

Faith looked up. Her father was peering in the doorway. “I take it you’re referring to my coffee friends.”

He entered the room. “I think they all piled in the elevator, pinning one poor guy to the back wall.”

“Was he young and handsome?”

Faith’s dad nodded.

Zeke shook his head. “We’d better say a prayer for the poor kid!”

Dad came to the bed and held out his arms. “You plan to share?”

“Absolutely.” Faith lifted Annette and watched her father’s strong hands close over her baby with gentle care.

He looked down into her face, then beamed at Faith. “She’s got your mother’s eyes.”

Faith nodded. “We noticed that too.”

“Annette. Little Annie.” He drew a finger down the baby’s cheek. “Oh, my, how she would have loved you.”

Faith held a hand out to her father, and, supporting Annette with one arm, he gripped it. “Dad, I’ll need you to help me tell her about Mom. I want her to know Mom.”

His grip tightened. “I will. You know I will.”

It wasn’t as hard to talk about Mom as it had been in that first year after she died. Now, after a little over two years, the loss didn’t overwhelm Faith every day. Just once in a while.

Like now.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I wish she could be here.”

“I do, too, punkin’. I do, too.” He looked down at Annette. “She would have considered this quite the birthday present.”

“Almost birthday present.”

“So your little one thought she was supposed to make her appearance on September fifteenth rather than the fourteenth. She was only off by a day.” He let go of Faith’s hand and cuddled
his new granddaughter close. “That’s pretty good, for a newborn.”

Faith chuckled as her dad went to nudge Zeke with his elbow. “So, how about we go show this little beauty off?”

“Dad—”

But neither one of Faith’s men was listening to her.

Zeke clapped his father-in-law on the back. “Sounds good to me!”

Before Faith could stop them, the two made their way out the door. Faith lay back against the pillows, chuckling.

“I heard there was a baby in here.”

“Winnie!” Faith waved her friend into the room. “I wondered when you’d be able to stop by.”

“I’m on break.” She pulled the chair up. “And I actually saw your dad and hubby walking down the hall, showing that little girl to anyone passing by.
Proud
doesn’t begin to cover what they are.”

“How about
crazy?”

Winnie patted Faith’s hand. “So how are you feeling?”

“Sore.” She shifted on the bed. “And grateful. More grateful than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“You have a beautiful baby, Faith. And she has a wonderful name to grow into.”

Faith held out her hand, and Winnie took it. “Will you help me tell her about Mom, Winnie? I want Annette to feel as though she knows Mom. Really knows her.”

Winnie’s eyes misted. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll tell Annette how your mom waited for you like you waited for her. And how God answered your mom’s prayers, and yours. But the best way for Annette to get to know your mom is for her to get to know you.”

Faith squeezed her friend’s hand. “I wish Mom were here.”

“I know, Faith. But she’s a part of you. I see her in you all the time. And the older you get—”

“Hey, you’re just as old as I am! And I’m not old!”

Winnie ignored her. “The more I hear her in you. You sound like your mom more and more.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“That’s a very good thing.” Winnie glanced at her watch, then
rose. “Now, I’m going to go tell the nurse to chase down those two scamps of yours so that baby gets some rest. And you, too.”

“That’s what happens when you have a baby at the ripe old age of thirty-eight.” Faith grimaced.

“I seem to recall someone saying we’re not old …”

This time Winnie was the one who got ignored. “They make you stay two nights instead of letting you go home the next day.”

“At least you don’t have to fix your own meals here.” Winnie gave Faith a hug and waved as she left the room.

Within minutes, Zeke was back in the room, Annette cradled in his arms. Faith looked over his shoulder, but no one followed him in. “Daddy go home?”

“Yup. He said he’d stop by to see you tomorrow morning. Tonight he just wanted to see Annette before he headed home to bed.”

“Hmpf! Fine thing!”

At her mock outrage, Zeke wrapped his arms around her. “Hey, I love you.”

She snuggled against them, then had to stifle a yawn. “Oops.” She pulled away. “Sorry about that.”

He took her hand as she settled back against her pillows. “No problem. Having a baby is hard work. Or so you keep telling me.” He pulled the covers up to her chin. “Get some rest.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Not until you fall asleep.”

She smiled, letting her eyes drift shut. “Zeke?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you worried?”

“About what?”

“The baby. I mean, so many things could happen. And kids can get into so much trouble—”

“Faith?”

“Hmm?” She pried her eyes open to look at him.

His eyes glowed with a warm, tender light. “Relax, hon. Go to sleep. God’s in control.”

Faith smiled. So He was. And with that truth cradling her, holding her tight, she drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Dear Reader,

Novelists are odd ducks. We experience the same joys and trials as everyone else, but we do so with a mental notepad. Bad encounter in traffic? Hmm, better write that down. Fight with the spouse? Gotta remember how that felt, what we said. Sickness, job loss, parenting challenges, good or bad times with friends and family, sick dogs, laundry stains, gardening…

Doesn’t matter what it is. We jot the details down. Because who knows? One day we just might use it in a book!

When I first started writing, I planned to have fun, to write entertaining, uplifting stories of adventure and romance (and a sprinkling of my love of animals). And that’s what I did. Until two years ago.

That’s when I finally quit telling God, “No, I can’t.”

He’d nudged me for years to write about my marriage; I’d resisted for years. I mean, it would be hard! The hardest book I’d ever write. After all, it was based on the hardest thing I’d ever experienced. But finally I knew the time had come, and so I wrote
The Breaking Point
.

I was right. It was the hardest book I’d ever written. But when I finished, oh, man! I felt great! This was the story God had been preparing me to write. And so I sent it off to my wonderful editor, Julee Schwarzburg, grateful for God’s work in my life—and ready to go back to writing the easy stories.

Funny how our plans are so seldom God’s plans, eh?

I’m glad He doesn’t tell us that. I’m glad I didn’t know then—in my “Praise God, the hard book is done!” glow—that the worst thing I’d ever face was just around the corner. It hit with savage force in 2002, when my mother, the center of our family’s universe, fell seriously ill due to complications of diabetes.

Mom was diagnosed with diabetes more than thirty years ago. Back then, they didn’t know that once you’re diagnosed with diabetes, you’ve got, generally speaking, about fifteen years to manage the disease. What you do in those years has a huge impact on the kind—and severity—of complications you’ll face. And believe me, the complications of diabetes can be horrific.

Sadly, because we didn’t have this knowledge, Mom didn’t manage her disease as well as she might have. So her complications were severe: eye disease; nerve damage to her feet, which limited her mobility; and heart and pulmonary disease.

It was those last two that hit Mom in early 2002. We went through run after run to the ER, a score of tests, unexpected heart surgery, weeks in the CCU, then the ICU, months of rehab, battles with medical professionals, and day after day of prayer and petition.

But on April 23, 2002, my sweet mom’s body couldn’t fight any longer, and she left us for eternity. I was stunned. It was as though someone had reached in and ripped out part of my heart. As much as I adored my mom, I hadn’t realized how much of my identity was tied to her, how much I leaned and depended on her. Awash in grief, I went to the Christian bookstore, frantic to find something—anything—that would help make sense of what I was going through.

There was very little.

I found general books on grief, most about losing children or spouses. But there was nothing—not one book—about a woman losing her mother. Fortunately, God gave me wonderful friends and family, and talking with them helped. And showed me I was far from alone.

While men shared their losses, it was the women’s stories that got to me. Women of all ages poured out their sorrow and pain. Losing a mother is hard for anyone, but I realized that for a woman, whether she’s close to her mother or not, it’s one of the most difficult, painful, and shattering things she’ll ever face.

Good, bad, or indifferent, mothers mold us. They model womanhood, motherhood, and friendship. They impart physical, emotional, and relational threads that weave together to make up the very fabric of who we are. So much of our focus, as young girls and as adults, centers on our mothers. We want to be as much like them (or as different) as possible, to make them proud (or not embarrass or humiliate them), to do what they did (or didn’t do) in their parenting, to make them smile (or stay out of the line of fire).