Walking in Hope

Walking In Hope

Tales of the Middle

S. E. White

Copyright © 2017 S. E. White

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781370616121

Cover photograph by Eryk Fudala at Unsplash.com

DEDICATION

To God the Father,

God the Son,

God the Holy Spirit.

Thank you for your presence in this world,

and for your promises of what is yet to come.

Eyes of the Father

Saved

Rainbow Bridge

Foreigners

Waiting

1979

Beginning the Turnaround

Love and Conquest

All Days Are the Same

Contrast

A Good Morning

Failure

Prayer Time

The Old Days

Tension

An Allegory

Esther

Peter

About S. E. White

Eyes of the Father

Marv Sanders waved his badge under the card reader, pulled open the metal door and walked up the stairs. At the top, he opened the door, stepped onto the familiar cream-yellow carpet. Last year, when two weeks of cruising the Caribbean had gone by all too fast, the sameness of the office on his first day back had been part of his Why can’t vacations last forever blues. Today, after two weeks away for his mother-in-law’s funeral and starting to get her house in order, the sameness was a comfort. Life goes on. A cliché but true in this case.

Sanders, glad you’re back, Gene Grieg said as he walked past his open door. The wife OK?

Yeah, Marv said. Gene turned back to his computer, showing he wasn’t interested in more detail. Marv shrugged and went on. He sat at his desk, turned on his computer and logged on.

Two weeks ago Friday he’d arrived home after work while Jenny was still talking to her sister. He’d called Jim Bennet, who hadn’t hesitated to permit him two weeks off, and they’d driven up to Iowa. Not really a surprise, they’d known her heart was bad, she could go at any time. I knew that’s what it was as soon as the phone rang Jenny had said.

His eyes had gotten moist talking with Jenny that first night. He’d actually shed tears walking into the empty house when they arrived the next night. How could it look just like she’d just stepped out to the store, when she’d never come back? And who could have stayed dry eyed through Jenny’s tribute at the funeral. Mom, thanks so much, for everything. Say hi to Dad.

Would Jenny be OK today? She’d been fine after the funeral cleaning out her mom’s house and sending stuff to storage. Teary moments, yes. That was to be expected. She had said several times the funeral had been a real comfort, she’d repeated it on the drive home yesterday.

He heard Jim’s voice and turned towards the door. Jim appeared in the doorway with Melanie Kravitz the sales manager, probably on their way to a web meeting with the Chicago office. He nodded hello, thinking he’d catch Jim after his meeting, but Jim stepped into his office, and Melanie followed.

Marv, how are you? Is your wife doing OK?

Yeah, I think so. Thanks for letting me have those two weeks off.

No problem. I wanted you to have the time you needed.

He briefly told about the funeral, and how afterwards he’d scanned old pictures while Jenny and her sister started clearing out the house. He glanced at Melanie, saw two striking blue eyes fixed on him, intent in their kindness. Surprising that she cared that much.

Thanks again, he said to Jim, as he turned to go. He looked back at Melanie, thought of saying thanks to you, too. but just nodded. She followed Jim back out.

Her concern surprised him. He knew her, but they’d never actually worked together. Jim handled all the liaison with the sales team. Why was she so concerned for Jenny’s mom?x` Her glance triggered an old memory. When he and Jenny were engaged, he’d dutifully read her favorite book from middle school. The heroine’s best friend had expressed sympathy in a glance without words once. Does this ever really happen? he’d asked Jenny. No, but I used to hope it would, one day. Now it had happened to him, and it was oddly comforting.

Melanie had only been sales manager for a year. I’m guessing Ms. Kravitz got the promotion for gender diversity, Gene had said when the promotion was announced. Not that she’s flat out incompetent, but hardly the most competent. He hadn’t disagreed then. But maybe there was more to Melanie than he’d thought. Yet why was she so concerned for his mother-in-law? Had she ever met Jenny?

Do you know Melanie Kravitz, our sales manager? he asked Jenny that night.

Don’t know, what’s she like?

Long dark hair, likes turquoise and silver necklaces.

I think I know who you mean. Why do you ask?

She was in the office with Jim, I suppose because they had a meeting. Jim asked how I was, and I thanked him for letting me take off those two weeks with you for the funeral and stuff. She didn’t say anything, but just looked at me in a way to say ‘that must have been tough.’

Like Maddie and Ivy in the book.

Exactly. That chick-lit book I forced myself to finish because it was your favorite. Odd how in real life it was encouraging.

Yeah, you said it could never happen. But has she lost a parent recently, that she identifies with grief?

I don’t know.

But you know what? She took his hand. When we first married, I did feel you didn’t empathize enough when I shared a frustration. You always wanted to fix the problem, when I wanted you to listen and sympathize. Pastor Brown in premarital counseling said it would happen, but I didn’t believe him. You weren’t the super macho type who never shared feelings, I told myself. But it did jar those first years. You do share feelings, but less than I wanted you to.

I see.

But that hasn’t bugged me for years. Remembering Maddie and Ivy in the book reminded me of it. You certainly don’t treat my grief over Mom as something you can fix, or wonder why I didn’t get over it. You’ve been with me in it. I appreciate it. She leaned against him and kissed him.

Two years later, he sat in his childhood bedroom calling Jenny on his cell phone. Your mom had her oncologist appointment? she asked.

Yes. Mom likes her. She sounds like she’s got her head on straight.

Dr. Yao had been matter of fact as she talked to Mom. At your age, and with what the scan shows, the treatment I’d propose is to just slow it down, she’d said. We can’t promise a cure. We’re just aiming at keeping your quality of life high as long as we can.

Mom had nodded, he’d nodded too, appreciating the doctor’s plain speaking. Now he wondered, were they giving up quietly too soon? Surely there was something; experimental pills, offbeat drugs, radical surgery! Beat this thing. Whatever it took.

I wish I could have come with you. Jenny said.

I know, he said. When he’d bought the ticket, they’d both said how it didn’t make sense to pull the kids out of school. But the blow of this news was harder than he’d imagined.

Why couldn’t something be done? God? He lifted up his eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer.

He thought of Melanie Kravitz’s glance of compassion after Jenny’s mom had died. He could use another glance like that. Could he tell Melanie about Mom’s condition? He still barely knew her.

Did God care? That’s what the disciples asked while Jesus slept in the storm. Don’t you care that we perish? Did God not care that Mom was dying? How about a cure, a healing touch?

He wasn’t alone in this. Jenny certainly was praying, she liked Mom. Their Sunday school class was praying too.

Didn’t the Bible say that all good gifts come from the Father in heaven? Could remembering Melanie’s glance point to the compassion of God? It was a good gift, so it had to come from the Father. If he could see the Father’s eyes, wouldn’t he see the same warmth and concern?

What had Jenny said about sympathy? Their first years of marriage, he had been too ready to offer a fix when she’d shared a problem. I just wanted you to sympathize. That was what Melanie’s glances had been, sympathy. Some things you couldn’t fix, like cancer.

But God could fix it. But suppose he wanted to sympathize instead of offer a fix? He could heal Mom, yes. But if he chose not to, did that really mean he didn’t care?

Pastor Ford often said, Christ doesn’t promise you’ll never have problems. He promises He’ll be with you. He shouldn’t listen to the voice that said if God cared, Mom wouldn’t have cancer. God was with him. The memory of Melanie’s glance was another reminder of that promise. Pastor Ford also said the best is yet to come. Sounds trite, you’ve heard it often before. But it’s still true. For Mom the best was yet to come. So he could believe God cared even if he didn’t fix the cancer.

Had Melanie given him that glance two years ago so that he’d realize God was with him today? Rather, had God led Melanie to give him that glance two years ago knowing today was coming? Whether that was it or not, it was a truth he needed to remember. God is with us in this, don’t be afraid. Don’t despair. Lord, help. Don’t leave me, he prayed aloud. Thank you that you are with me, he added.

The plane stopped, people jumped up and opened the overhead bins as the fasten seat belt sign turned off. Marv pulled his satchel up, double checked that he’d put his iPad in it even though he clearly remembered doing so. Jenny pulled her phone out of her purse. I’ll just text Karen we’ve landed. When their turn came to move he headed down the aisle. The stewardess who vaguely reminded him of Melanie Kravitz was at the door saying goodbye. I am sorry, she said, touching his shoulder as he left.

He’d chatted with her an hour before landing. When Fiddler on the Roof had finished he’d gone back to the restroom and taken a cup of water from the galley as he waited his turn. Heading for the slopes or heading home? she’d asked. He’d looked blankly at her, debated whether to tell her, then plunged in. Neither. I grew up in Denver. This is a sad visit, my mother just passed away.

Oh, I’m so sorry! she’d said.

Thanks, then the restroom had opened up and he’d gone inside, thinking her resemblance with Melanie ended with the facial structure. He much preferred Melanie’s unspoken gaze of sympathy than phrases like I’m so sorry. Phrases you were supposed to say but were meaningless. But Melanie’s glance three years ago had helped prepare him for this.

He strode down the corridor, wondering again who would be there to pick them up. Karen had texted him We’ll pick you up. Would Dad come? He had almost been sobbing as he’d talked on the phone yesterday. She just didn’t wake up. Her body was cold. Was he perhaps sobbing inconsolably at the house?

They got off the escalator to baggage claim, looked up and saw Dad with Liddie and Karen, Mark standing behind them. Dad, I’m sorry he said. He looked down as he realized he’d just said the same thing he’d criticized the stewardess for saying. But what else was there to say?

Dad nodded hello.

He and Jenny went to the baggage carousel. Dad doing OK?

Yes.

He sounded pretty broken up on the phone yesterday morning.

Yeah. I’m glad you made this flight today.

So how are you feeling? Jenny asked that night in bed.

OK I guess. It’s hard to say it’s a surprise, with the cancer hanging over her all this last year.

I know. It’s surprising her heart just went like that, but I’d rather go that way than after a long stay in hospital or hospice taking pain meds for the cancer.

Yeah. At 85 it makes no sense to say she should have lived longer. I just wonder about Dad. But Karen and Liddie are looking out for him, I’m sure. But I also thought about Melanie Kravitz. Do you remember me saying how she’d given me this compassionate look without saying anything back when your Mom died?

Yes.

I was thinking about that on the flight. The day I came out here when Mom first had the diagnosis, I wondered if God hadn’t inspired her to do that to help prepare me for this. Her glance reminded me of God’s compassion. But today I’m worrying why I haven’t cried about Mom’s death. Worse, on the plane I watched Fiddler on the Roof, and my eyes watered when they sang Do you love me, then again when they had to leave their village. But I haven’t cried about Mom. Am I holding back, not letting myself cry? I don’t think so. Maybe the memory of Melanie’s glance right now means it’s OK to admit Mom and I weren’t especially close.

He paused. You know what I mean, right? She nodded as he went on. I don’t mean we were ‘estranged.’ We got along OK, we didn’t have that much in common.

"Yeah. Like I don’t have that much in common with your sisters. I know they aren’t trying