Chapter 48
Lydia
In the end, I go to church by myself. Cole is still sleeping when I slip out of the house, and I won’t be the one to wake him. He’s had a long, exhausting week and though he’s acting like he’s got everything under control, I’m not an idiot. He’s back to going into work at dawn and not getting home until late. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his dad has called me twice this week to see if something is wrong with him. Cole, of course, hasn’t told anyone about his diagnosis. Every time I bring it up, he says he has it handled and not to worry about it. Right. I’ll just not worry about the idiot man I’ve stupidly fallen in love with. Fat chance.
So, since he wouldn’t let me do anything outright for him this week, I’ve just had to be shifty. Basically, I’m using all the methods I did when he and I were in a prank war, except now I’m using them to help him. For instance, instead of doctoring his food with a sleeping tablet, I’m now doctoring it with protein powder. And instead of planting flowers with messages endorsing his opponent, I’m leaving little encouraging messages and Bible verses on post-it notes around the house and telling him that a friend recommended I do this as a way to mentally prepare myself for labor. (Sidenote, I’m going to miss being able to blame anything weird I do on pregnancy. At least I’ll get the PMS excuse back though. Love and PMS cover a multitude of sins.) Most importantly, rather than talking to my favorite grocery store clerk about our impromptu nuptials, I’ll be talking to Holland local news channel sweetheart Mandy Avondale! That’s right, after Elliot’s article came out earlier this week (which was great, even if Cole didn’t seem to like it), someone from the station got in touch with me about doing an interview, and I said yes. I haven’t told Cole, because I’m sure he’d be against it. But I know this will help his campaign, and that in turn will take some stress off his shoulders, so I’m doing it. I get that Mandy will probably ask me some tough questions about the Deb’s Deets post, but I’ve decided not to care what other people think about me… slash, I’ve decided to just be so fabulous everyone will have to like me.
Worst case scenario, I’ll just fake going into labor and book it out of there.
Anyway, I’m not worried about that right now (much), because I’m too anxious about church this morning. I haven’t been all summer. Jamie was so busy planning her wedding that she didn’t have time to harp on me about not coming to church, other than a few comments in passing. So I’ve just let each week slide by, comfortable with continuing to hide from God like I’m Eve and I just ate the fruit He told me not to. The other day in that doctor’s office though, I felt a tug on my heart, like God was saying that I needed to go back to church. Hence my hasty invitation to Cole.
Jamie and Luke don’t get back from their honeymoon until tomorrow, so I arrive late and sneak into the back of the church undetected. I’m determined to face God and let him give me all the rage. Maybe if I can just feel like he’s yelling at me, I can move on, having gotten the discipline I deserve. Our pastor has never given a fire and brimstone type of sermon, but I bet today will be the day. God drew me back to this building for a reason. Your mom doesn’t call you to the kitchen after you broke one of her rules to tell you she loves you; she does it to rip you a new one. Now that I think about it, I’m glad Cole isn’t here with me today. When he comes, I want him to hear the message of how much God loves him, which is totally different from what I’m expecting for myself.
As the last note of the opening worship session plays, a man stands up to read today’s scripture passage. I scoot to the edge of my seat, ready. Give me some of God’s wrath sweeping through the Israelites for their sin or Jesus flipping them tables.
“Our reading today is from the book of John, chapter 8.” Okay, I take a breath. Here it comes, this is probably the chapter where Jesus scolded the Pharisees for being total hypocrites. After all, I told people I was saving myself for marriage. I even had a promise ring! Hypocrite, party of one. That’s me.
“The Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst, they said to him, ‘Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now, in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?’” My head snaps up as I tune into what the man is reading. I know this story; it’s not a story about God’s wrath. It’s about his mercy. My shoulders cave into my body as I prepare my defenses. No mercy for me.
“Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask him, he stood up and said to them, ‘Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.’ And once more he bent down and wrote on the ground. But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus stood up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, Lord.’ And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.’”
Okay, when did I start crying? This is so not okay. People are turning their heads.
“Oh dear, are you okay?” The woman sitting next to me, puts her hand on my shoulder. My mind goes back to my plan for escaping Mandy Avondale’s tricky questions, and before I can stop it my mouth spits out, “Um, I think I’m in labor.” Then I stand and book it out of there, praying no one follows me.
God does not answer this prayer, though. I’ve just shut myself into a bathroom stall when I hear the door open and an unfamiliar voice speaks.
“Lydia?”
I have two options. Pretend I’m not here. Which isn’t a very good plan, considering they followed me in here, and this isn’t Harry Potter; I can’t just flush myself down the toilet and land in the Ministry of Magic. That leaves me with option two.
“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong person.” Clearly, neither option was great.
“I don’t think so. You’re Lydia Jacobson. Cole’s wife.” Well, now she’s got me curious. I attempt to peek through the slit in the stall door, but I can’t make out any of the woman’s features. Boo.
“Okay. You’re right.” I sigh. “This is Lydia. How may I help you?” I’m seventeen again, answering the landline phone at my dad’s office.
“I’m actually here to help you until the ambulance arrives,” the woman replies. “I heard you were in labor. How far apart are your contractions? Has your water broken?”
Crap. Someone called an ambulance? Crappity, crap, crap. “Um,” I begin, ready to confess, but I’m interrupted by the sound of her laughter.
“I’m just kidding. I know you’re not in labor. Women in labor can’t sprint like you just did.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, and the woman laughs again. “Honey, why don’t you come out of that stall, and we can talk about whatever had you hightailing it out of the service.”
I lift my hand and drum my fingers along the door lock, considering. What if this woman is some sort of undercover reporter and she’s hoping for a scoop on me? Worse, what if she’s… “Your name isn’t Deb, is it?”
“No, my name is Josie. You know my husband, Saul.”
“You’re Saul’s wife?”
“I am,” she confirms.
My fingers slide the lock open, and I step out. Josie regards me with kind eyes. “Would you like to talk about what happened in there?” She gestures to the church nave. I’m struck by how much she looks like Shari Lewis; I half expect Lamb Chops to appear on her hand. Perhaps that’s why I find myself spilling out all my secrets. My own personal version of “The Song That Never Ends”—the problems that never end.
“Nothing was supposed to happen,” I stress this point, as soon as I’ve finished telling her about that night at the airport hotel with Cole. “Things just got out of hand.” I sink onto the cushioned bench in the corner of the bathroom as I continue, telling her about Cole’s suggestion that marriage would solve a lot of our problems, then moving on to talk about all our pranks and everything with Ashley and the media. Josie just listens, nodding her head every now and again and murmuring comforting things like, “Oh, honey” and “I bet he didn’t see that one coming. ”
“You might think this sounds silly,” I close my eyes as I say my next words, “but I just feel like God is punishing me.” My shoulders slump. “And I deserve it.”
“What makes you think God has been punishing you?”
An incredulous laugh flies out of my mouth. “Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been plagued by negative media attention, I got put on leave from work, I only just made up with my brother over this whole situation, Cole just found out–” I break off, that’s not my diagnosis to tell. “I mean,” I swallow hard, “I’m married to a man who doesn’t love me, who only married me to preserve his political career.” Tears blur my vision once more.
Josie studies me, then shakes her head. “First off,” she ticks my list off on her fingers, “you’ve done an amazing job coping with the media. Sure, you’ve had some negative press, but that article in the Sentinel this week really softened people to you. Second, you’re about to give birth to twins; having a little extra time to relax and rest may actually be a blessing. Not to mention, you can afford it. Heck, if you ended up deciding you wanted to stay home for a bit after the twins are born, you’re actually in a financial position to be able to do so. Third, okay, you fought with your brother, but you just said you made up, so that really can’t be on your list anymore. I can’t speak to your fourth point, since you didn’t tell me what Cole just found out. As for your last point, that you’re married to a man who doesn’t love you, I can wholeheartedly say that’s a bunch of boohockey.”
That pulls me up short. “Did you just say boohockey?”
“I did.” Josie nods unflappably. “I know I haven’t seen the two of you together, but I’ve seen enough pictures in the newspaper of him staring at you with gaga eyes to know that man has feelings for you.”
“No,” I shake my head, even as hope rises inside me, “he’s just acting for the cameras.”
Josie snorts. “Please. I’ve met Cole many times. He’s not that good of an actor. Besides, Saul says he’s different with you than he was with Ashley. You soften him. Make him see that life can be fun; it’s not all about work.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “I don’t know about that,” I whisper. “He's been working like mad this week. I’ve barely seen him.”
“Yes, well, maybe you need to start believing that he actually cares enough about you to care that you think he works too much.” She lays a hand over one of mine. “But I’m not here to talk about your relationship with Cole. I’m here to talk about your relationship with God. I’ve already debunked your whole God is punishing me for my sin theory, so now let’s hear why you’re having such a hard time accepting God’s grace and love.”
My heart beats double-time in my chest. “I don’t know why, Josie. I’m just a mess.” I place my hands over my ginormous bump. “I honestly came to church today in the hopes that God would find a way to ream me out once and for all.”
“And instead, he gave you the story of an adulterous woman to whom he showed compassion.” Josie clucks her tongue. “Seems like God might be trying to tell you something you’re trying pretty hard not to hear.”
My eyes can no longer contain the moisture pooling inside them, but as tears slide down my cheeks, Josie simply takes me by the hand. “God has already forgiven you, my dear, but I don’t think you’ll be able to receive His forgiveness until you forgive yourself. So forgive yourself, Lydia. Let Christ set you free from the bondage of your sin. Accept that you are His beloved child.”
And as we sit there in the bathroom, my head pressed back against the cold wall, I feel some of the shame I’ve been carrying since that night I slept with Cole fall away. A sigh escapes me as I let God’s grace take its place. I am forgiven. I am beloved. I am His.