Chapter 7
SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED with a bright stream of sunlight pouring in through my bedroom window. I slipped out from beneath my cozy duvet, shivering as my feet hit the floor. A glance out the window informed me that it had snowed through the night. The last of the flurries were just settling.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a thick hoodie and headed downstairs.
The frosty air kissed my face as I walked out of my building and into a winter dreamland—the kind of New York you see on all the postcards, complete with fresh snowbanks lining the streets and an ivory dusting on the trees reminiscent of powdered sugar.
I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and thrust them into my hoodie pocket before heading to the little coffee shop a few blocks away.
Their buttery croissants and rich mochas were my Sunday treat to myself.
The scenic route seemed the right decision today, considering there weren’t many fellow walkers on the streets.
The city’s first snow was often met with tired sighs from many a New Yorker. It made getting around more difficult, to say the least. Still, seeing my city dressed in snow had never failed to enchant me. And after the letdown that was last night, I would take any enchantment I could get.
I reveled in the satisfying crunch under my boots with each step—until suddenly, without warning, a hidden patch of slick, invisible ice sent me flying backward.
I flung my arms around to regain my balance before landing squarely on my tailbone. An agonizing jab stabbed my back as my forearms hit the snow.
“Agh!” I rolled onto my knees, catching my breath.
“Are you okay?” a voice called out to me. I looked up to see an elderly woman some fifteen feet away on a stoop.
“I’m—I’m fine,” I stammered, fighting my way to my feet. A new wave of pain spread throughout my lower back. How badly did I want that croissant?
“Can I get you anything, dear? Do you want to sit down?”
Another look at the woman revealed to me her kind eyes, a stack of pamphlets in her hands, and the church entrance she was right in front of.
An old Gothic church stood before me, complete with spires, stained glass windows, and stone arches. Grand and beautiful. A congregation of voices spilled out, singing a hymn that I had the faintest memory of but couldn’t quite place.
“Would you like to join us?” she asked.
“I, uh . . .” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d set foot inside a church.
After moving to the city, I’d stopped going entirely. I’d been busy. Extra credit work for college courses had claimed many of my Sunday mornings, and there was no compelling reason for me to keep up with the obligation of church.
“I’m afraid I’m not really dressed for it.” I glanced down at my outfit—there was little doubt that my jeans and hoodie weren’t included on the list of acceptable attire for a Sunday morning service.
“God doesn’t mind.” She grinned compassionately.
“I don’t . . . I don’t think I can.” I shook my head, smiling hesitantly. The last thing I felt like doing was sitting on a cold, rock-hard pew for an hour in the middle of a drafty church.
“Tell you what—I’ll let you get on your way, but after I give you one of these.” She held out a pamphlet. I slinked forward and took it.
I nodded. “Thank you.” The little old lady slipped beyond the church’s bright red door and disappeared.
I looked down at the pamphlet, which informed me that the church was called Holy Trinity: God is with you. He is for you. So are we.
A nice thought. A questionable one too. The words felt empty, fluffy, hollow. Maybe it was true that God didn’t care about jeans. But I had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care about me either.
I hadn’t exactly concluded that God wasn’t real—just distant, which almost seemed worse to me.
The God I’d heard sermons about growing up ultimately felt unreachable.
Aloof. Disinterested in me and my dreams and the things I had tried to pray for.
No single prayer had ever made even a minute difference in my life, as far as I could tell.
So eventually, I’d just stopped. Partially to test if I’d notice the difference, and partially because I wasn’t convinced it was changing anything about my life for the better.
So I gave up on trying to get God to listen or care or act.
I folded up the pamphlet and tossed it into the nearest garbage can, turned around, and headed back in the direction of my apartment. I’d lost my appetite.
Trudging along, I kept my eyes on a constant search for any other slippery spots when laughter across the street caught my attention. A young girl in an NYU sweatshirt and an older man carrying luggage ambled across the street. He kicked up snow at her, causing a white cloud to envelop her legs.
“Dad, stop!” She giggled as she jumped away and shoved her foot into the snow to get back at him. He let out a belly laugh and threw his arm around her as they continued on, gabbing and chuckling.
A sharp nudge from my conscience brought my parents to mind in their little two-bedroom home in Colorado, wondering when, or if, their daughter might come to see them. If not for a seventieth birthday, when would she?
The girl and her father ducked into a coffee shop. I knew it was time. To see my parents. To go home—to Avila Falls.