Chapter 17
Seventeen
epiphany (n.): an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure
Carly
“Oh, Rog. Here it is in a nutshell. I never want to get over the hope God has called me to or stop being moved by his grace in my life. And I want that for others.”
“That sounds like my Carly. Although, if you don’t mind me sayin’, I’m not sure I’ve seen you pop a gasket about it for some time. Come out here. Take a gander. Got some warblers at the feeder.”
“That’s nice. Want your binocs? It’s just that it hurts my heart, babe.
It breaks me to see people living in such fear.
Christians, of all people, living in discouragement and fear.
Gorging on meaningless stuff will never satiate a soul created with an internal, eternal appetite.
How can it be so many of us are living in terror of the very things Jesus warned us never to worry about?
How can we embody love and mercy no matter who sits in the Oval Office or moves in down the street?
I tell you, hon, I am ever living on the edge of tears. ”
“Whoa, girl. Maybe whittle that down? I get it, hon, I do. But it sounds like you’re speaking to a broad swath of people. Haven’t you always said that if you write to everybody, you write to nobody? No, no, leave the binoculars. Come out slowly. They’re right there, in the poplars.”
“Oh. I see. They’re lovely.”
For a time, we watch the migrating birds in silence. How miraculous that they always know just what to be about.
“You’re right, of course, about narrowing it down. Roger, in my mind’s eye, I can see this woman. She’s stuck. I want her to know God’s love so deep in her bones that she becomes fearless. She’ll surrender anything.”
His brow lifts. “So write to Lucy.”
Our eyes connect. I hold his gaze, hold on for dear life.
My breathing turns choppy. Tears gather, and for once I let them spill. Because my man is spot-on. But what has my heart all stuck up in my throat is that it wasn’t Lucy’s face that first came to mind.
It was my own.