The Forgiving Hour (25 page)

Dark, low-slung clouds made midday seem like evening, and a steady rain splattered against the windowpanes. Kevin had driven over to her apartment right after his church service let out and had brought her to Sequim—across Puget Sound and north from Seattle — to indulge, as he put it, in a seafood feast. It had been both an enjoyable drive and a delicious meal. The entire day had been perfect … until now.

“Do you even
know
what you believe, Claire?”

Her gaze snapped back to Kevin. “Of course, I do. But why should I tell you?”

“Don’t be defensive. Please. Just hear me out.”

He was right. She shouldn’t be defensive. But she hadn’t meant to send the conversation down this particular path. Not again. She’d always believed that discussing one’s politics or one’s religion was the quickest way to make someone angry or destroy a friendship. Yet she knew it was different with Kevin. In the time she’d been in Seattle, she’d learned that he talked easily about his God. He talked about God the same way he might talk about a dear friend or a close member of his own family. The same way Dakota did.

“All right,” she said at last. “I’m listening.”

“Thanks.” His smile was warm. “Here’s my reason for asking. The Bible tells me that as a Christian I’m to be ready to make a defense to everyone who asks for an account of what I believe and to give them a reason for my hope in Christ. Should anything less be expected of you and your beliefs? Shouldn’t you be able to explain it to me so I can understand?”

He was right. She should be able to articulate her own personal beliefs. And to her great surprise, she realized she wanted to tell him. Perhaps it was because no matter what she said, she knew that he wouldn’t belittle her.

She began slowly, feeling her way with care. “Well, I don’t doubt the existence of God. I don’t think something as incredible and intricate as this earth, let alone the entire universe, just happened by accident. So I suppose there must be a Creator, a Supreme Being. I can accept that much.” She paused to draw a deep breath and gather her thoughts.

Kevin waited patiently.

“It’s organized religion I can’t accept. It seems to me it’s just a … a control thing. Besides, who’s to say that only one way is the right way to find God? Why can’t there be many different paths?”

“Ah. I see.”

His voice was soft, his words simple. Yet Claire thought she heard pity within them, and her temper flared again. She didn’t want his pity. His or anyone else’s.

“How can
you
be so sure of yourself and your religion?” she demanded. “Why can’t there be more ways than just yours?”

“Do you really want an answer?”

Sharply, “Yes, I do.”

“All right. I’ll tell you.” He leaned forward. “The Bible says that you do well to believe in God, that even the demons believe and they shudder. The difference for Christians is Jesus, His death on the cross, and His resurrection. The difference is
knowing
Jesus, having a personal relationship with Him. You see, Claire, He’s alive. He isn’t just some historical figure. He isn’t just a good or wise man from the past. He isn’t just a prophet. He’s the Son of God and He is one with God. He’s as much alive today as He was two thousand years ago, and we can know Him. And I mean
know
Him.”

She’d heard Dakota say similar words over the years, but she’d always turned a deaf ear. Now, for some inexplicable reason, her heart was starting to pump double time as she listened to Kevin.

What would it be like to believe, as Kevin and Dakota did, in a living Jesus? What would it mean if He really was here beside her at this very moment? But that was crazy. That was impossible.

“Mankind is separated from God by sin, Claire. We’re all sinners and fall short of the glory of God. He’s holy and can’t tolerate sin, any kind of sin, be it a tiny white lie or murder most foul.”

Well then, if that were true, there was no hope for her. Claire was well acquainted with her own shortcomings.

“But God also loves mankind so much He made a way for us to be reconciled to Him. That way is Jesus on the cross, and Jesus Himself said that He is the
only
way.” Kevin reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “Jesus died for you. He looked into the future and saw you and counted it a joy to die on the cross for Claire Conway. He loves you
that
much.”

Did she believe in a love like that?
Could
she believe in it?

She resisted the pull of his words. “If God loves me so much, why did He let my marriage fail? Why did my son have to grow up without a father? That doesn’t sound like a loving thing to do.”

“Are you blaming God for what your husband did? Or the things you chose to do?” He asked the questions without accusation. “God gave you the freedom to choose, Claire. That’s part of His love. He gave us all free will. The choice is always ours.”

Tears streaked her cheeks, and Kevin offered her his handkerchief.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said as she dried her eyes.

“Don’t you?”

Beloved, come to Me.

Her tears fell even faster. “No,” she half whispered, half croaked, not knowing if she was answering Kevin’s question or rejecting those softly spoken words in her heart.

“Claire …” He tightened his grip on her hand.

She knew she was making a spectacle of herself in the middle of the restaurant, yet she seemed unable to stop. She felt broken, all her secrets exposed. The weight of a lifetime of hurts and disappointments, lies and betrayals, bitterness and anger, pressed down upon her shoulders.

If God cared so much for her, why hadn’t He made her life turn out differently? Why was she all alone at her age? Why had He let all her dreams be destroyed? If God loved her, why hadn’t He kept her from so much pain?

She’d heard the verse countless times, about God loving the world so much that He gave His own Son.

But what have You ever given to me, God? Tell me that. What have You ever given to me?

She had a right to feel bitter and angry. Her husband had left her in the cruelest way. For years she’d had to struggle just to survive. She’d slept alone in her bed with no one to turn to for comfort or encouragement. And the worst part had been seeing the pain her son went through, how he’d suffered because he didn’t have a father.

What sort of love was that?

Dakota has a father in Me, beloved.

But I haven’t had a husband!

For your husband is your Maker, whose name is the Lord of Hosts.

She didn’t know where those words came from or why, all of a sudden, she believed them. But she did. It was true. It was all true. She wasn’t alone. The knowledge filled her, invading every pore.

I’m not alone.

A seemingly endless succession of memories drifted through her mind — days and weeks, months and years, countless incidents where she could clearly see that God had been calling to her, drawing her toward this precise moment. She had rejected Him over and over again, and yet, He had never given up on her. He had loved her then. He loved her now.

Why hadn’t she seen it before? Why hadn’t she heard?

But none of that mattered. She saw it now. She heard it now.

“Okay, God,” she whispered. “I give up. I give it all up, Jesus. I won’t run away from You any longer.”

It was as if she could feel arms wrapping around her, holding her close. Something happened inside of her. Something beyond description.

Welcome home, Claire, My beloved. Welcome home.

TWENTY-SIX

Sara Jennings was undeniably the most beautiful woman in the world. Bar none. Even dressed in sweatpants and a faded denim jacket and her hair in its usual ponytail, she was without equal in the looks department. And Dakota would dare anyone to say otherwise.

Better yet, she was beautiful within. He was more aware of that every time he was with her.

As far as he was concerned, Sara was perfect. He still found it amazing that she’d agreed to go on a date with him.

Well, okay. She wasn’t thinking of this as a date. To her this bike ride was just an outing with a friend. He was going to have to work on that aspect of their relationship. But at least she was spending an afternoon with just him and without all the others from their church singles group. It was a start.

God had truly answered his prayer. The January weather was mild, in the fifties. The sky was a clear and startling blue. The sun shone warm on their heads and backs as they rode along the greenbelt, a paved pathway that followed the Boise River for many miles, right through the heart of the city and clear up to Lucky Peak Reservoir, east of Boise. This time of year, the giant cottonwoods were brown and naked, but it wouldn’t be long before spring adorned them in shades of green.

Not that Dakota was looking at the trees. His gaze was more often than not locked on Sara. Which was why he didn’t see the young skateboarder until it was almost too late.

He swerved off the path to miss the kid. His front tire clipped a milepost marker, then hit a foot-high tree stump dead-on. The tail end of the bike rose off the ground, like the
Titanic
just before it sank, and Dakota went sailing through the air. He tried to protect his head with his arms as he crashed back to earth. He felt dirt and gravel scraping the flesh from his bare hands and burning the skin on his elbows and knees right through his clothes. Then the wind was knocked out of him as he flipped over and landed hard on his back.

For a split second, he didn’t feel anything.

And then he felt too much.

“Dakota!”

He opened his eyes to find Sara bending over him.

“Are you all right?”

“Define
all right”
He tried to smile at his own joke.

“Do you want to try to sit up?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered even as he started to do just that. A very unmacho groan rumbled in his throat.

Sara took hold of his upper arm, gently assisting him to an upright position.

The skateboarder stepped into Dakota’s line of vision. “I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t see you.”

He waved the boy off. “It’s okay.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the kid dropped his skateboard onto the asphalt and rolled away.

Sara sank to the ground beside Dakota. “I’d give it an overall score of nine-point-four. It wouldn’t take much to make it a ten.”

“Huh?”

“The hang time was pretty spectacular, but the landing could have been better. Poor use of hands, and the tuck-and-roll method wasn’t used. Automatic point deduction. Sorry.”

“You’re rating my accident?” He groaned again. “Don’t tell me. You’re glued to the television for every Olympics, both winter and summer games.”

She laughed, and the sound was husky and rich. Beautiful, like Sara herself. She met his gaze, and her laughter faded, along with the music of the rushing river and the distant voices of others enjoying the greenbelt.

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened. He leaned toward her. She leaned toward him. Each looked at the other’s mouth. And then they kissed.

It lasted no more than a few seconds. When they drew apart and he could gaze into her eyes once again, he knew that she was feeling the same thing he did, that there was something special happening between them.

A verse of Scripture sprang to mind:
Like a lily among the thorns, so is my darling among the maidens.
It seemed to describe Sara perfectly. A lily. A beautiful, white flower, a symbol of purity and goodness.

A blush rose in her cheeks, and she glanced quickly away. “Maybe we should start for home before you stiffen up.”

“Not yet. Sara …” He didn’t continue until she looked at him again. “Let’s talk awhile.”

“I’m seven years older than you. I don’t think we should —”

“Why does it matter?”

“People will —”

“Does the age difference bother you? Personally, I mean. Do you see me as a boy instead of a man?”

She hesitated a moment before she answered. “No.”

“It doesn’t bother me either. So I guess it isn’t important what others think.”

She nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“Sara, do you believe God brings people together for a reason?”

“I suppose.”

“Then let’s find out why He brought
us
together. I’d like to know.” If that were just a line, he knew it would’ve sounded corny. But it wasn’t a line. He meant it. He wanted to know God’s purpose and plan. He thought it just might be because he and Sara were meant to share the future together. He hoped so.

Sara turned once more toward the river. She flipped her thick ponytail over her shoulder, hugged her legs to her chest again, and rested her chin on her knees. “I’d like to know, too, Dakota.”

I think she’s got me, Lord. Hook, line, and sinker.

With her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, Claire walked beside Kevin through the park. “Are you sick and tired of all my questions yet?”

He grinned. “Not yet.”

“Sometimes this all seems too good to be true.”