Chapter 34
Evie
Itoss and turn in bed for hours, thinking about Grandma. Jamie texted me around midnight saying her surgery went well, and now she’s resting. The news only brought me a small amount of peace of mind, knowing these next few months of healing and recovery are going to be an uphill battle for her.
Finally, at two in the morning, I know there’s no hope for sleep.
Tossing the sheets off, I rise and sneak down the hall to spy on Brandon.
Peeking around the corner into the living room, I soften at the sight before me.
Brandon’s right where I left him, curled up beneath a throw blanket on the couch, his sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas tree.
His chest rises and falls steadily, his twitching, sock-clad toes poking out from the end of his blanket. Then he rubs his feet together.
A grin splits my face. I used to tease him about that cozy little tick, calling it “cricket feet.”
I miss him so much that I could cry.
“I know you’re watching me, sweetheart.”
My heart drops. I whirl away, hiding behind the wall as I stifle a stupid, girlish giggle.
“Get in here,” he rumbles.
I poke my head back around the doorway. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He cracks an eye open. “I haven’t slept.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” I walk into the room, hands clasped behind my back as I approach him. He sits up and scooches into the corner of the couch, lifting the blanket.
An invitation.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world to curl up next to him.
He tucks the blanket around us tightly so we’re as snug as two bugs in a rug, wrapping his arm around my waist as I settle into him.
We stare at the Christmas tree for a few moments, no doubt reflecting on yesterday’s series of unfortunate events.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Spitfire.”
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I echo, tilting my face up to study him. He drops his forehead to mine, and we gaze at one another. “I missed you.”
He sighs like someone has taken a significant load off his shoulders. “I missed you, too.” His voice is guarded, like he’s not sure this is real.
It doesn’t feel real.
“At the hospital, you promised everything was going to be okay,” I say, gazing at him. “With Grandma, I mean. Do you really believe that?”
He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “I know God works all things together for the good of those who love Him.”
I twist to face him, bringing my feet up beneath me so I’m sitting crisscross-applesauce style.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, mentally preparing myself for this conversation.
“How can you know that, though? You and Abi and every other Christian I know seem to have this . . . I don’t know.
This absolute assurance that God loves you—almost like you can feel something I can’t. Why have I never felt this way?”
“It’s hard,” he replies slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“I don’t necessarily always feel that God loves me.
I just know what His Word says—that He died for me because He loves me so much.
He took the punishment for my sins and spared my life.
So, knowing that, everyday, I choose to walk by faith, not by sight.
That means trusting He loves me and has my best interests at heart—even when it would be so easy to doubt Him. ”
“So, it’s not a feeling.” My voice sounds as disappointed as I feel. “It’s just choosing to believe Him at His word.”
“Well,” he says, reaching up to cup my cheek. “I wouldn’t say that, necessarily. I feel His love every day, in the smallest things. All good things come from above. All the beautiful things in life are a gift from Him. But I feel His love most intensely when I’m worshipping Him in prayer.”
I sigh. “It always circles back to prayer.” Jamie’s parting words at the hospital spring to mind.
Cast that fear and anxiety on the Lord, sis.
Is that what that verse means? Casting something on the Lord—like casting a fishing line—means bringing something to Him in prayer?
Like casting a line of communication in God’s direction?
“What do you mean?” Brandon questions.
“God never answers my prayers. He’s either not listening or doesn’t care.”
Brandon gazes at the Christmas tree for the longest moment. “I remember you telling me once that God never answered your prayer to get your parents back together.”
I frown.
“Is that why you feel like God doesn’t care? Because . . . He hasn’t done that for you?”
“There are lots of small prayers He hasn’t answered,” I admit.
“God always answers our prayers, Evie.” He takes my hand in his, gently stroking my palm with his thumb.
“Sometimes His answer is yes, sometimes it’s no, sometimes not right now.
And sometimes, He has something far better in store for us.
Our job is to be patient and rest assured that He’s sovereign and will work things out in His perfect timing, in His perfect way. ”
I don’t like that answer, despite the obvious wisdom of his words. “Sometimes I want to give up on God, but I can’t. I . . . I keep waiting for Him to show up. To answer my prayers and prove that He really does love me.”
Brandon faces me, bringing his own legs up beneath him so he’s mirroring the way I’m sitting.
He takes my face in his hands. “We’ve been through this before, Evie.
Prayer isn’t about getting what we want from Him, like He’s Santa Claus.
No matter how noble our prayers might seem.
” I grimace. “It’s about communion. Prayer is about communicating with God because you desire to have a relationship with Him. ”
I look down, saying nothing. He’s making sense, and I don’t like it.
“Look at it this way,” he continues, his countenance burning bright with something I’ve never seen before.
“If our earthly parents gave us everything we wanted in life, would that prove they loved us? No, not necessarily. It would only prove that they’re good at giving us what we want.
And what we think we want isn’t always what’s best for us.
Just like a toddler doesn’t know that he can’t have dessert for every meal because sugar isn’t good for him, we don’t know what’s good or profitable for us, either, because we’re not God.
We can’t see the bigger picture like He can. ”
I glare at him. “Are you saying that reconciliation between my parents wouldn’t be good for them? Or for me?” I thought God frowned upon divorce. “Or what about a relationship with my mother? Or relief from the physical pain I suffer every single day? God thinks those things are good for me?”
The thought makes my blood boil. How can God call Himself good if He deems suffering acceptable or good in His sight? What does that say about Him?
Brandon shakes his head patiently. “You’re thinking too narrow, Genevieve.
You’re thinking in terms of the world and the desires of the flesh.
But God is far more concerned with this.
” He taps my heart with his pointer finger.
“Your heart. He’s more concerned with how you respond to life’s trials and tribulations and sorrows.
Will you allow them to bring you closer to Him? Or push you further away?”
I marvel at him, stricken by his wise response. It’s almost like I’m not even speaking to Brandon anymore, but Christ through him.
He continues, encouraged by my astonished silence.
“Right now, Evie, you’re letting what you perceive to be unanswered prayers keep you from deepening your relationship with Him.
He doesn’t want that for you. He wants you to come to Him with everything.
Every question, every burden—even your doubt and confusion and anger.
He’s not offended by any of it. He can handle it all.
And you might just be surprised by how He responds. ”
I nod hesitantly, absorbing everything he’s said. “Okay.” I face the tree again. “I’ll think about it.”
Brandon shifts to face the tree as well and pulls me into his side, wrapping us up in the blanket once more.
“So, to answer your original question. While I don’t know what the future holds for Maggie, I know God loves her beyond measure, and He hears every one of her prayers.
I also know He’s with her right now, and He always has been, demonstrating His love for her through you and everything you’ve done for her.
Not to mention the miracle of modern medicine. ”
I sniffle, holding back my tears. He kisses my temple. “And one more thing,” he whispers into my ear, and I swallow at the rough, determined edge of his voice. “God loves you just as much as He loves Maggie, Evie. You are His beloved, and He will never leave you alone.”
His words seep slowly into my soul, spreading a strange, comforting warmth through my whole body.
Meanwhile, my heart ponders and wonders at how similar Brandon’s words are to Pastor Mark’s—and even Abi’s.
So cast your burdens on Him, child, because He cares deeply for you.
His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.
He will never leave you. Never forsake you.
He is a good, trustworthy Father who always pursues His beloved.
Is it purely coincidence that they’ve all been painting an image of a God who lovingly pursues His beloved children? Or is God trying to communicate something to me, and I’m just a terrible listener? For so long, I assumed He wasn’t listening to me.
But maybe the opposite is true.
“He who began a good work in you will see it through to the day of completion, Evie,” Brandon continues, kissing my hair. “I believe that. He will never stop pursuing you. No matter how long it takes for you to trust that He loves you.”
For some reason, I get the sense that there’s a double meaning to Brandon’s words. His arms constrict around me, and I snuggle deeper into his embrace, tilting my head back to look at him. “Hey, Brandon?”
“Hmm?”
“Have I told you lately that I love you?”
He laughs, and I join in. “No.”
“Well, I do.”
“I love you, too,” he murmurs. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Closing my eyes, I allow the strong, steady beating of his heart to lull me into a deep, restful sleep.