Sewn with Joy (39 page)

½ cup butter, melted

Cut bread slices in half. Arrange half the bread in bottom of well-greased, large casserole dish or roaster pan. In a skillet, fry bulk sausage with chopped onion until browned. Drain and sprinkle half of the bulk sausage crumbles over bread. Layer half the smoky links on top. Repeat layers of bread, sausage, and links. Beat eggs and milk together; add salt and pepper. Pour over layers. Top with shredded cheese. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Remove from refrigerator 30 minutes before baking. Combine melted butter with corn flakes and sprinkle over casserole. Cover tightly with foil and bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour. Makes 20 servings.

Thirty-Four

People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.

A
MISH PROVERB

A
s the evening slipped into night, Alicia sat on her balcony overlooking the ocean. She'd eaten leftover Amish Apple Salad the ladies had brought to the lot. The salad was sweet and simple, just like her friend Joy. And as Alicia sat she couldn't help but consider Joy's words, her actions. Joy had come onto the set like a timid little mouse, and over the days and weeks she'd spoken up. She'd sacrificed her own hopes of happiness to stay by Alicia's side. No one had ever done that for Alicia before. It overwhelmed her, and not completely in a good way.

She knew Joy had meant to comfort her, but it brought no comfort knowing that Jesus had always been by her side. In the general sense, she knew God was all around her, and that—like Santa—He knew who was naughty and nice. But the idea of Him walking with her, being with her through
everything
…a shiver ran down her spine.

That meant He'd been there when she was an eighteen-year-old girl, going to the right parties to be noticed, sleeping with the influential men in Hollywood, and hoping for special favors. He
was there when she clung to the toilet, causing herself to throw up her food so she'd be the right size on camera. He'd been there when she drank more and more through the years, trying to numb the pain of not being enough, and later the pain of sacrificing her child for her own fame.

And that's what haunted her the most, the idea that Jesus was by her side as she chose to end her child's life. Her boyfriend at the time, her manager, and her friends told her it was the only way. And when she'd gotten the call that she'd earned the role of a lifetime, she knew what she had to do. Near the time her child would have been born, she was filming at Universal Studios on a back lot.
Entertainment Tonight
had reported her big break as a rags-to-riches story, but even as she showed up in the pages of
People
and
USA Today
, she felt more rags than riches. What was Jesus thinking as she'd lain there, trying to ignore the procedure and pretend it wasn't happening? He'd hated her, she was sure. In her mind's eye she tried to picture Him. But instead of seeing a face of anger, an image of His tears came to mind.

Tears?

I wept because I wanted to give you what you were searching for. You thought you were looking for money and fame, but I knew the only thing that would fill that hole in your heart was Me.

The words came as a gentle whisper to her soul. Jesus was there, but He wasn't angry as she first thought. He was hurting. He hurt with her because He knew that only He could provide what she wanted most.

The tears came then, heavy and thick. They filled her eyes and the sobs stuck in her throat. She sank from the chair onto the concrete of the balcony, now covered with debris from last week's storm. The bits of leaves and branches dug into the soft skin of her knees. Her soul felt as if it were ripping apart too, and it was
almost too much to bear. Because to realize that Jesus was there was to acknowledge what she had really done. Whom she'd really been writing the journal for.

Years ago her psychologist had told her to write a journal to herself—as if she were her best friend. He said it was a way to record her life and thoughts and to view herself in a more positive light. But now she knew differently. This whole time she'd been writing to her son, trying to share the life she'd robbed from him.

Her son.
All along she had a feeling it was a boy, but could she really trust that? The tears came afresh.

In her physical being, she could never share a sunset, the ocean breeze, or the taste of a freshly baked cinnamon roll with him because he was gone, ripped from her body by her own choice. A mother's job was to care and protect, but she'd done just the opposite. She'd sacrificed her child for her own fame. And when the realization of that hit her, she'd masked the ache with alcohol, with another role, another party, another shopping spree. If only she could go back to that young woman who'd been seeking so hard to be appreciated and loved.

In her mind's eye, Alicia saw Jesus there too. She saw Him sitting beside her on the porch step, shivering in the cold as her mom lay passed out on the couch inside. She saw Him standing next to her and protecting her heart from the bully's vicious words that she'd never amount to anything. He was there as she waited by the phone for an invitation to the dance, and as she made a resolve to become so famous that they'd all be trying to call her and to get on her good side.

But if Jesus had been there the whole time, then she hadn't needed any of that, had she?

If Jesus had loved her even then, she'd already had what she wanted most—to be known and loved—even before she stepped
into Hollywood. If Jesus was real and had always been with her, as Joy had claimed, then she'd been rejoiced over and accepted even before she'd uttered her first word.

“What am I supposed to do with this now, now that I know? What?” The wind off the ocean picked up her words. The cool ocean breeze swirled them, carrying them into its grasp.

Tell them.
The wind whipped back to her, brushing her hair across her forehead, as if a gentle hand was stroking it.
Tell them what I have done for you. Tell them how I've always been there, and I will always be.

“But if I tell them about You, I'll have to tell them about
me
,” she whispered. “Who I was and what I've done. Then they will know…everything.”

When you reveal your pain, you'll also reveal Me as the healer. As you are healed, you'll be able to offer the same to others. Give as Joy gave to you—completely, selflessly. Give as I have given to you…with My life.

Even though these thoughts were in her mind, she knew they were from God. She would never speak such things to herself—require that of herself.

“Now? Do You want me to tell everyone
now
? Spill it all out? Or when? When will I have to tell?”

When your heart is healed, then you will speak out of humility, out of thankfulness. Not today. Not even tomorrow. Don't worry about the telling. Only put yourself into My arms and discover My love. The rest will come in time. Your true story will spill from a healed and tender heart.

Alicia breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She didn't need to head to the nearest television studio and talk about all God had done for her. She simply needed to love Jesus and focus on how Jesus was changing her, and the rest would come in time.

Waiting on Jesus was the message God had for her. And deep down she had a feeling it was a message God had for Joy too. Their Lord gave with an everlasting love, yet He didn't rush His gifts.

Would Joy ever trust that God would give her the desires of her heart too? For the first time Alicia felt the urge to pray for her friend. It was a strange feeling to think her prayers would make a difference. She simply had to believe and trust that God would give Joy the rest of what He had for her—in His perfect time.

 

Amish Apple Salad

1 egg, beaten

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

½ cup water

4 apples, peeled, cored, and diced

8 ounces whipped topping

In a small saucepan, cook beaten egg, flour, sugar, and water until thick. Remove from heat. Stir in apples. Add whipped topping. Pour into serving bowl. Makes 6 servings.

Thirty-Five

We make a living by what we get, a life by what we give.

A
MISH PROVERB

W
hen Joy glanced up, his back was to her, but she still recognized the tall, light-haired man with the broad shoulders. Her heart leapt. She considered turning and leaving the restaurant, but
Dat
had specifically asked for noodles from Yoder's for his dinner. He'd been unable to eat much lately, and that he was requesting something was a good thing. Besides, Matthew would be seated before she even got close, and she could pretend she'd never seen him.
If only my aching heart would let me forget.

He leaned forward and said something to an older woman, but as he did, Joy realized it wasn't Matthew's voice. She furrowed her brow. It didn't make sense. She took a step forward to get a better look. Her arm bumped against a rack of cooking books, and a copy of
Simply Delicious Amish Cooking
tumbled to the floor. She bent to pick it up and then righted herself. Peering up, she looked directly into the man's face. It was Matthew's face…but not exactly. The man's eyes were brown, and they held a hint of humor—not the deep ache in Matthew's gaze the last few times she'd seen him. He was also wearing a beard.

How? Who?

The book slipped from her hand again, and the man bent to retrieve it. “Here, Joy, let me get that for you.”

She straightened and let him pick it up. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know my name? I'm sorry, I don't know yours.”

“William Slagel, but call me Will. I'm Matthew's brother.” A smile broke out on his handsome face. “I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'd recognize you anywhere from the way my brother described you.” He placed a hand to his chest. “Like a Swiss maiden on an alpine hillside with creamy smooth skin, honey-brown hair, and eyes the color of topaz.”

Laughter burst from Joy's lips. “He said that?”