Letters from War (18 page)

“It's okay.”

“He needs to obey.”

“I know that. But you don't need to worry so much.”

“Yes I do. I don't want our four-year-old wandering around the neighborhood.”

“Rich, it's fine. He's okay in our yard. You worry too much.”

“There are ten thousand ways he can get hurt.”

“There's only a dozen and you're just—honey, please. What is it? You're shaking.”

“It's nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“James just wandered off and I thought I'd lost him.”

“He's playing in the sandbox.”

“He is now. But he was just—I ran around the house and for a minute I just thought the worst…”

“You always think the worst.”

“When you've seen the worst you're inclined to think it.”

“Listen. Look at me. He's okay. Rich, please, trust me. James is going to be fine. We need to do our job but we have to trust that God watches over him.”

“I know.”

“You don't act like you know.”

“I just want to keep James and Emily inside, out of harm's way.”

“You can't do that. You know that. They're not going to be four and two for the rest of their lives.”

“Sometimes I wish they were.”

“Your hands feel sweaty.”

“I know.”

“It's okay. Come here. Everything's fine.”

Beth tries to remember the woman who spoke those words to her husband. She tries to remember being the woman who said that God watched over her children.

Even after James disappeared, that woman remained strong. But lately, the cracks in her armor have started to show.

Maybe it's my faith being challenged.

Another part of her doesn't think this has anything to do with her. This war and James's disappearance
happened because there is evil in the world. This is one of those things that's difficult for a believer to explain. “Why did that tsunami hit?” “Where was God in the flooding of New Orleans?” “Why did He allow that earthquake to take so many lives in Haiti?”

Why do good people have to suffer?

Questions that can't and won't be answered, not in this world.

Evil and suffering and tragedy happen.

But when it knocks on your door, everything changes. When it barges into your house and sits down in your family room and decides to stay for a long while, you change.

It's inevitable.

She thinks of this after the call from Josie. Their eldest son, Matt, went to an ER last night because of a broken bone. Josie sounds relieved that it's nothing worse but also worn-out. Beth spent half an hour on the phone listening and encouraging her.

Now, as she contemplates something that she can do to help Josie, she can't help thinking of when the kids were younger.

He used to worry so much when they were little.

She wonders how Richard would have been as they got older. As the junior high years came and seemed to never end. As the teen years came.

Beth wonders if the strength that carried her through
those trying times somehow withered in this desert she's been passing through. Sometimes the days seem just like that—a caravan of one in an endless desert stuck under the piercing, needling sun.

Enough with the soul searching. It's time to make my friend some food.

As always, she knows work will carry her through to another day.

Josie looks tired and uncharacteristically casual in a sweatshirt and old jeans.

“How are you feeling today?” Beth asks as she puts the warm platter of lasagna sealed with tinfoil on top of Josie's oven.

“Beth, you didn't have to bring us dinner.”

“Of course I did.”

“Nobody died. It was just a broken bone.”

“Still. I'm sure you've had a long day.”

“Matt's the one feeling bad.”

“Is he here?”

“Upstairs sleeping. You're going to be his hero if that's your lasagna.”

“Wait,” Beth jokes, “I thought he liked my broccoli casserole.”

A few moments later, they're sharing a glass of wine and listening to music on the back deck. They've
spent many hours in this backyard. The families grew up in each other's houses. Even after Richard passed away.

“Did I ever tell you about the time when James got sick as a dog and I had to take him to the ER?”

Josie looks tanned in the bath of afternoon sun. “When was that?”

“It was shortly after Richard died. I thought of that after you told me about Matt and his broken leg.”

“What was wrong with James?”

“Just some virus. But he could not stop throwing up. He was so sick he could barely walk. He was just twelve or thirteen and he looked deathly pale. I remember being so angry that night.”

“Angry at who?”

Beth stares out at the row of trees lining the back of the yard. “God.”

Josie says a subdued “hmm” under her breath, letting her know she gets it.

“Grandma had stayed to watch Emily. It was two in the morning because the ER on a Saturday night was beyond busy. I needed to get a prescription for antinausea pills for James, and I just—everything exploded that night. In the parking lot of a Walgreens. I had a meltdown.”

“That's understandable.”

“I was so furious. And I walked around with the
same fury for months after Richard died. Outwardly I was fine.”

“Not really. You weren't fooling everybody.”

“I know. But I figured I was fooling most. But I wasn't fooling God. And I was so mad. I wanted—I demanded to know why. Why leave me alone? Why leave me to take care of things like this all on my own? I screamed and I wept. I pounded on my steering wheel.”

“Sometimes you have to do that. That or open a bottle of wine.”

“You want to hear the end of that story?”

“Is there an end?” Josie asks.

“There was an end to that chapter, at least. And it was when you gave me that key ring. The one with the carving of the mustard seed.”

“That's right. I forgot. Do you still have that?”

“No. Well, not really. I gave it to James on the day he went to basic training. And I told him the same thing you told me. ‘If you have faith even as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move. Nothing will be impossible.'”

“I found that ugly little key ring at a garage sale. You know that?”

“The gift came right after I jumped into the ring to take on God.”

“We always lose when we do that.”

Beth looks at the woman across from her. “I've kept
that verse and that gift in the back of my mind and my heart, Josie. That's why I still believe. That's why I refuse to give up on James.”

“So I'm to blame for your having hope?”

“Hope is a beautiful and blessed thing. How can it not be? I have to remind myself of that. Daily. And things like that—your finding a little key ring at a garage sale and giving it to me at the most meaningful time I could have had it—I don't believe they're accidental. And I pray—I pray all the time for one thing.”

“What is that?”

“I pray I'll get it back. That James will come home and give it to me. He won't have to say anything. We'll both know what it means.”

Josie smiles and takes her hand. “I pray you never lose that faith, Beth. That's the best thing about you, the thing I've always admired. I'm sorry for asking—for even suggesting—that you stop that. Maybe it's just because I've struggled to have it myself.”

“We all struggle. We just do it in our own ways.”

She walks with Richie down the sidewalk holding his little hand. With each day, he reminds Beth more of his father.

Life is a gift,
she thinks.
That sweet little touch is a gift.

In the stark sunlight, this is what she chooses to accept. This is what she tells herself. Even though fall has come and Emily has gone off to school and the two-year anniversary is nearly here, Beth chooses to accept the blessings she has.

Sure it might be work.

But I have to give thanks to the Lord, for I know He is good and His faithful love will remain forever.

The shadows stretch out, showing Grandma and the little figure beside her.

Beth thinks of his father.

Some wandered in the desert lost and homeless. Hungry and thirsty, they nearly died.

Beth thinks of the faraway land he ended up lost in.

He rescued them from their distress.