Season of Blessing (5 page)

C
HAPTER

Seven

Later that night
,
Cathy found Mark sitting at his computer. She leaned in his doorway. “What are you doing?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “He influences you too much.”

“What? Who does?”

“Steve.”

She sighed and pushed off from the doorway. “Of course he influences me. He's my husband.”

Mark kept typing. “But he's not always right. Sometimes he could be wrong, you know.”

She knocked some wadded clothes off the edge of his bed and sat down. “Mark, we're a team now. We're married. He's my husband. He's your stepfather.”

“But he's not my real father.” Mark kept his eyes on the monitor. “I have one of those, and he happens to like my ideas.”

Again she restrained herself from making a deprecating comment about her ex-husband's wisdom. “That's fine, Mark, and we'll look into it, okay? I just need some more information. We need to think this through and pray about it.”

“I have been praying about it,” he said. “I really have.”

“For how long?”

He finally turned away from the computer and faced her. “Since I've been home, okay? Since it's gotten so close to school starting.” He got up and kicked his way through the clothes on his floor. He had only been home a week. She couldn't imagine how he'd already accumulated so much laundry.

“I really do want to have a plan, Mom. But there he is, telling you what to think, what to do…and what
I
need to be doing. It's just not right.”

“It
is
right,” she said. “Mark, he's the head of this household now.”

Mark grunted. “The head of the household? Mom, it was just you before. You were the head of the household, and we did just fine.”

“That's because I didn't have a husband. But now that I do, he's the leader.”

“But that doesn't even make sense, Mom, because he's not our real father. He's not supposed to be
my
leader.”

Cathy wasn't sure how to respond to that. The Bible was clear on the marriage roles—it just didn't address stepfatherhood. “Mark, you know from all the time he invested in you while you were in jail that he cares about you. Don't you know that?”

“Well, yeah. But that's different. He can care without being so hard-nosed.”

“He just wants things to go well for you.”

“Things will go well for me, if he lets me get my GED and do what I want.”

“Doing what you want is what got you in jail in the first place.”

“But I'm not like that anymore, Mom! You know I'm not. I've changed. I'm a Christian now. I have a purpose. And I'll never get within ten feet of any kind of drugs again. I'm not ever going back to jail, and I can promise you that.”

“I believe you, honey.” She sighed and set her hands on her knees. “I don't want you to worry. It's going to be all right. We'll work all this out. We just don't want you to waste your life.”

“You can be a worthwhile person without going to college, Mom.”

“I just don't know why you're in such a hurry to grow up.”

“I already
have
grown up.”

He had a lot to learn, but Cathy didn't want to tell him so. Instead, she reached over and gave him a hug. “I'm really, really glad you're home.”

“I am, too.” He kissed her cheek. “And don't get me wrong. I do like Steve. I'm glad you married him. He's good for you. I just wish he'd stay out of it when we're talking about me.”

“He's not going to stay out of it, Mark. He's a wise man and I admire him and trust him. I welcome his input. I wish you would, too.”

“I do to some extent,” Mark said, “but he's wrong this time. I'm trying to get my life back on track, but that doesn't mean I have to do it Steve's way.”

Cathy got up and started back to the door. “I'll talk to him. We'll figure something out.”

Mark followed her. “I think I might go and talk to Daniel.”

She walked down the stairs with him, then stepped outside as he started through the garage. “Mark, are you sure you don't want to go back to home schooling with Brenda? Wouldn't it be fun to be learning with Daniel all day?”

Mark stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. “Mom, the truth is that I'm too far behind. Daniel's way ahead of me academically, but he's way behind me in maturity.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it's true. He was always smarter than me.”

“Only because he's been home schooling all these years. You're smart too, Mark. You can catch up.”

“Mom, I've been exposed to things that Daniel can't imagine. He's still just a kid, you know? But I'm not.”

Cathy felt as if her heart had swollen too big for her rib cage, as the grief she'd struggled with for the past year ached inside her again. “I wish that wasn't so, Mark.”

“I know you do. But it is. I've been in juvenile detention with kids who have been on drugs since they were four years old. Guys who've practically raised themselves. They've seen their dads and moms beat each other up. Most of them have been abused since they were toddlers. A lot of them are hard and they don't care about right or wrong. Some of them have killed people. You learn to tolerate different kinds of people…to get along with people you might have been afraid of before. It makes
you
different. And Daniel can't understand that. I mean, who could?”

She didn't want to cry in front of him. “But don't you think your experience could help Daniel? And his academics could sure help you.”

“Mom, twelve-year-old Joseph is probably ahead of me academically. I never applied myself in school. I never listened. I was just a washout. I can't start it all over and do it right. I might as well just make the best of it and move on.”

“Mark, you're settling. I don't like for you to settle. You have too much potential.”

“Mom, I'm not settling. I'm just trying to find my place. Work with me on this, okay? Trust me.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the garage wall. “I trust you, Mark, but I don't trust your judgment, not yet. You're too young.”

“Well, at some point, you're going to have to try my judgment out,” Mark said. “I'll see you later.”

She watched him, struggling to hold back tears, as he crossed the street to Daniel's house. Behind her, the screen door squeaked open.

Steve came out and slid his arms around her waist. “Is everything all right?”

She leaned back against him. “Yeah, I just think you might have been a little too hard on him.”

He let her go and she turned around and saw the tension tightening through him. “Me, too hard? What did I do?”

“I think maybe you expect too much of him too soon. I think Annie's right. We need to cut him a little slack.”

“I'm willing to cut him some slack. I just don't want him to make another mistake.”

She slipped her fingers through his belt loops and drew him closer.

“Maybe we can't really keep him from doing that. I mean, as long as he doesn't go out there and ruin his life, maybe we need to let him make a little mistake or two.”

“We're not talking about a little mistake or two,” Steve said. “Dropping out of school could be a life-altering decision.”

“Steve, a GED is not like dropping out. It's not that easy. He'll probably have to go to school and study for it. And he could still get into the community college here. Lots of colleges accept GEDs. If he does well in that, he could go on to a four-year college.”

He picked up a weed eater leaned against the wall and hung it on its hook.

“I'm afraid he won't
want
to go to college. I have a bad feeling that if we let him drop out of school to get his GED, he's going to wind up getting a job and he's going to think he's making a fortune when he's only making a little above minimum wage.” He set his hands on his hips. “And you know what worries me the most? I worry that he won't get a job at all, that he'll just want to hang around here all the time and do nothing.”

“Well, what would be so wrong with that for a few weeks? He had a really bad year.”

“But coddling him now is going to undo whatever jail did for him. I don't want to see you do that.” He picked up Tracy's bike and took it to its assigned place on the other side of the garage.

“He's become a Christian, Steve. He's changed.”

“But that doesn't mean he's all of a sudden going to have good judgment and wisdom coming out his ears.”

She didn't know why he couldn't see things the way she did. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I know that. Don't you think I know that?”

“Well, you act like we need to do everything he wants.”

She crossed her arms. “I'm just trying to show a little compassion. You remember that, don't you? Compassion?”

Her comment stung him, and she saw his face shut down. “That was low. Just because I'm the voice of reason, suddenly I'm devoid of compassion?”

“The voice of reason?” she asked. “Come on, Steve. What am I the voice of? Stupidity?”

“No. I'm just saying that you're thinking with your heart instead of your head.”

“Which is exactly what
you
do when you're dealing with Tracy. It's a little different when it's
my
child involved.”

Now he was insulted. “I don't do that with Tracy. I'm treating your kids exactly the way I treat mine.”

She let out a sarcastic laugh. “Think again. I don't see that.”

His face twisted with indignation. “What have I done? Give me an example.”

“She threw a napkin and hit me in the face, and you didn't even bat an eye. If one of my kids had done that and hit you, you'd have been all over them.”

He shook his head with disgust. “She was just playing. Give me a break, Cathy. What do you want me to do? Beat her?”

“I'm just saying that it's a double standard. You want to think that you're treating the kids the same, but you're not.”

“Besides, Tracy wouldn't have done that if your kids hadn't started it. And while we're on the subject, it does concern me that she's picking up some of your kids' behavior. It's hard to punish her when she's seen your kids do so many of the same things.”

“Oh, brother.” She turned away. “This conversation isn't really going anywhere. I can see it going downhill from here.”

He kicked a skateboard out of his way. “Not one of our better moments.”

Cathy tried to keep her voice steady. “Maybe we'd better just cool down and talk later.”

“Good idea.”

Steve stormed into the house and slammed the door behind him. He headed for the bedroom.

“You do that again, I'm taking the door off the hinges!” Cathy yelled.

When he didn't respond, she burst through the screen door again and slammed it harder than he had.

But it didn't help her anger or her sense of injustice. And she wasn't sure if anything would.

C
HAPTER

Eight

Sylvia waited
until nine o'clock to make sure that Harry was home from the clinic. León, Nicaragua, was on the same time zone as Breezewood, so she knew that he would be waiting for her call. He usually worked very late, treating all the poverty-stricken people who came to him for help. By now, he was probably unwinding, eating his dinner and reading his Bible, basking in the quiet. He also probably worried about her.

She dialed the number, listened for the ring, then heard Harry's voice. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey. How was your day?”

“Blessed,” he said, as he always did. “Any better and I'd have to be twins. So tell me about your doctor's appointment. How did it go?”

“It was fine.” She had practiced this phone call, and kept her voice level, just as she'd rehearsed. “Everyone at the hospital said to tell you hello.”

Harry wasn't easily distracted. “What did he find, Sylvia?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Well, he found that I'm anemic. Said that was the reason for the fatigue.”

“Anemia?” She could tell he wasn't satisfied with that. “I could have found that myself.”

“Yeah, if you had a lab. And technicians to work in it.”

“So that's all it was, huh?” He still didn't sound convinced.

Sylvia thought of saying yes, that was all it was, and switching the conversation from her defective body to the children she missed so much. But he had a right to know. “Harry, there was one other thing.”

He got quiet, and she knew he braced himself. She wasn't sure if he needed to or not.

“When he was examining me, he found a lump in my breast.”

Silence hung on the other end of the line. Sylvia hurried to fill it in. “He sent me for a mammogram. Jim Montgomery was the radiologist. He sends his regards. Says he's really missed you over at the golf course. His daughter's getting married next month.”

Harry clearly wasn't interested in Jim's daughter's nuptials. “Sylvia, what did he say?”

“He showed me the lump, upper outer quadrant on the left breast.”

“And?”

“And…I'm going for a biopsy tomorrow. No big deal. It's probably nothing.”

Silence hovered over the line. “Honey, it's going to be all right. God's in control.”

He cleared his throat. “I need to come home. I want to be there.”

“That's ridiculous. Honey, I'll have the results in a day or two. It's probably nothing.”

“Sylvia, I don't think I have to remind you that your mother died of breast cancer. You're at high risk. I should have seen it coming. I should have made you get mammograms while we were here. You could have gone to Managua to get one. It was important, but I just let it go.”

“Harry, you are not responsible for my body. I'm a grown woman. I should have known to get mammograms, but we've been busy. The Lord understands that. I think I would know if my body was betraying me that way. I'd have some sense of it, you know? Some premonition or intuition that things weren't right.”

“Sylvia, you know better than that. It's not like your body sends warning messages to your brain. Not in every case, at least. Not this way.”

“I just don't think it's anything to worry about.”

Harry's voice quivered slightly. “I would still like to be there. I could catch a plane tomorrow morning.”

“Harry, I won't let you do that. I want you to stay right there and go on with your work, and in a few days I'll be there to join you.”

Silence again. “You're not going to keep anything from me, are you? If I think that for a minute, I'll be on the phone calling every doctor who has anything to do with this.”

Sylvia sighed. “You're going to do that anyway, Harry. You know that.”

When he didn't deny that, she laughed softly. “I have a positive attitude, honey. Just like you've always told your patients to have. I'm not going to let this get me down. There's no reason for it. When we get the results, we'll find out it was no big deal. I don't intend to waste my time worrying. I'm having too much fun being back.”

“I want to pray for you, Sylvia. Right now, before another minute passes.”

“Okay, Harry.”

She heard the silent prelude to the prayer, as Harry prepared his heart for speaking to the Lord. He always prayed the way the Israelites entered the tabernacle. He stopped at the bronze altar to deal with his sins, then washed in the cleansing water of the brass laver, then slowly approached the Holy Place…

“Lord, you know what's going on with my beloved bride…”

Sylvia swallowed the tears in her throat, glad he couldn't see her. She listened as her husband lifted her up to God's throne, laying her on the mercy seat.

When he said amen, she could hardly speak. With great effort, she forced her good-bye to sound upbeat and normal.

But when she got off the phone, she sat there a moment, staring down at it, wondering what would happen if indeed this lump in her breast proved to be malignant, as Jim suggested it could be. Would she be able to have quick surgery to remove it, then return to her work in León? Or would their ministry have to be shut down altogether? She couldn't fathom the idea that God might want them to come back home, not after it took so much for her to leave in the first place. Not after she'd given her life so totally to the work God had given her.

As she got ready for bed, she walked through her house, thankful that they hadn't sold it in all the months that they'd tried. It was a comfort to be here, back on Cedar Circle, surrounded by people who loved her. Cathy had called after their prayer meeting tonight and insisted on driving Sylvia for her biopsy. What a worrier. Yet she was glad for the offer. It would make things easier.

No, she wouldn't worry, she told herself as she climbed into bed. She was too tired to worry. She could do that tomorrow.

Exhausted, she fell off to sleep, but she dreamed of doctor's offices and hospital gowns…

At two
A.M
., she woke up and stared at the night. The clock ticked out its passing seconds, its red numbers glowing. She turned it around so she couldn't see.

Her mind wandered to the immediate future. Would she have to have surgery? She had planned on visiting her daughter and holding that grandbaby one more time before returning to Nicaragua. Would she have that chance now? She mentally tallied the commitments on her calendar. She had planned to meet with the realtor, to talk about lowering the price on the house, in hopes of making it sell. She wanted to be back in León by August fifteenth, when they planned the big work day to renovate the church that had been damaged in the hurricane. Until now, they hadn't had the supplies to do it, but recent donations had made it all possible. She'd planned to take some of the older children from the orphanage and let them help paint. They were all looking forward to it.

Maybe if she did have to have surgery, she could fly back to León for the work day, then come back and have the surgery done afterward.

But would it be wise to wait? If she did have cancer, was it growing with every passing moment? Should she get it ripped out of her before it spread?

She lay her hand on the offending breast, mashed it, and tried to feel the lump. Had her breast betrayed her? Was it her enemy now? Would she have to have it removed to keep it from killing her?

What would that kind of surgery mean? Pain…difficulty lifting her arm…emotional upheaval…frustration at having to find a prosthesis to wear over a healing wound, so she wouldn't be lopsided and call attention to herself…self-pity and anxiety about her husband's disappointment that one of his favorite parts of her body would be gone? And if the truth were known, it was probably one of
her
favorite parts, too.

Or would that be the least of it? Surgery on other organs? Chemotherapy?

Would the surgery be the beginning of her death, or the start of her cure? Would she go downhill from here, through a form of hell, before she came out on the other side?

She thought of getting up, turning on the light, and beginning her day, just to banish these thoughts from her mind. But she wanted…needed…to sleep, so that she could cope with the day ahead of her. She didn't want to be tired and emotional and fall apart when the doctor told her the results.

It looks like it's malignant
.

She turned to her side, fluffed her pillow, and pulled the covers up to her chin. Would she handle his answer with dignity and faith, or would she fall apart and feel sorry for herself and whine to everyone who would listen? She'd always been fairly healthy. How would she behave as a sick person? Would she get angry and bitter, or would she accept this as one more of the human trials God warned us of, another offshoot of the Fall? Would the Lord allow her to get well so that she could continue to bear fruit, or did he intend to bear fruit through her death?

Finally, she did get up and went into the kitchen, flicking on lights as she went. She poured herself a glass of cold water, then sat at the kitchen table, staring down at it.

She recalled the Scripture about having not because you ask not, and asking with wrong motives. Did she have wrong motives? Would those hinder her prayers?

She started to examine them, desperate to find any unrighteous reason for her prayers not to be heard. Why did she ask God to take this from her? Was it because of the inconvenience and pain and illness it would bring to her life? Was it because she loved this world more than him? Was it because she tried to hold herself out of God's reach, refusing to trust him with her life, whatever happened?

Was it because she wanted to see her children grow into mature adults? Wanted to attend her grandchildren's school plays? Was it because she didn't want her children to suffer?

Or was it because of the children at the orphanage, who had so few people in the world who loved them? Was that a selfish motive?

Or was it because of Harry? Didn't she trust God with her children, her husband, her life?

She examined those motives, wearily trying to find some fault within them. They were human, normal motives, borne of uncertainty. Didn't God understand?

She asked the Lord to show her what lay in her heart. She asked him to forgive her for the selfish motives, the ones that were more for her than for God's kingdom and his plan. Then she asked him to let the tests come out negative for cancer.

“Let it be a wake-up call,” she whispered. “I'll get my annual mammograms from now on, and exercise and eat better and give up Nutrasweet and sugar and flour and whatever else I have to.”

But she still prayed without confidence, because she understood God's sovereignty, that his ways were not her ways.

“Not my will, but thine be done,” she made herself say. Then she added quickly, “But please don't have it in your will to do this to me.”

She went back to bed, curled up under the covers that gave her some comfort, and tried to put these things from her mind.

Be anxious for nothing…
She knew better than to let herself wake up worrying in the wee hours of morning. But knowing better didn't always make it so. Sometimes fear came in before the morning. It was fear of the unknown, mostly. Fear of what lay beyond the certainty.

Finally, as daylight seeped in through the window blinds, she checked her alarm. One hour before it would go off. Slowly, she drifted back into sleep, before she had to get up and face what the day held.