Who I Am

I originally wrote this back in September 2007 and sent it to my mother for her to read. Today, she forwarded it to me asking if I still had a copy. I'm sure I do somewhere (between moving, switching computers, etc.), but after re-reading it, I decided to post it here. ~ LB

Have you ever been in the midst of some mundane task, like…say, making coffee, and God gifts you with an insight? That happened to me a few days ago while I was…yes, making coffee.

Names are important to me. I like to try to find the meaning of my friends' names, both the first and the middle. Each name has an individual origin and meaning, and it's neat to combine the separate meanings into one that might make some sense. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. After that, I like to try to find a spiritual application that I can put to the name and what it means. Again, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

That doesn't mean that God doesn't have an His own application to ascribe to a name, and I believe He gives our parents our names for a reason. It's just not obvious to us at the time. And sometimes we think we know, but later it turns out that it is not what we first thought it meant.

My name is Lauren Margaret. "Lauren" means "victorious," and "Margaret" means "pearl." Together, they could be either "victorious pearl" or "pearl of victory." I prefer "pearl of victory." It seems to be more definite, more clear, about who I am in Christ.

When I first found out what my name meant, I was in high school. I pondered what it meant to me spiritually for a long time, because even then names were important to me, though I didn't know why. One day, while I was in the bath (yes, another mundane task), it occurred to me that it meant that I would have victory in certain areas of my life. "That's great!" thought I in my naiveté. "There's hope for me yet!"

Little did I know that the certain areas in my life in high school were quite trivial compared to certain areas in my life in college and beyond. How was I to know at the time that God would continue to work on me? I didn't have a true perception of Who God really is.

I'm getting there. While I was making that coffee, God spoke to me. He said, "You know how you thought your name meant you would be victorious?"

"Thought, God?" I fill the coffee maker with water. "What do you mean by that? I still do think it."

"It's time to change that." He answered as I measured out the coffee beans. "The victory has already been won through My Son. You know that."

I pause. "Yes, I do. But we have our own victories to win, right? I mean, You hone our character through these situations You place us in. When we finish one trial, and learn what we need to, then we've had a victory."

I can feel Him gently smiling at me as I turn on the coffee grinder. "Dear child," He says. "It's not about the victories you win. It's not even about the trials you go through. It's about becoming holy and pure, like My Son. What happens to make a pearl?"

I recount in my head the story of how the oyster makes a pearl. Instead of spitting out an irritation, the oyster covers it with a fine layer of mother of pearl. Over time and after many layers, what was once an irritation becomes a beautiful and luminous pearl, shining with a radiance that seems to emanate from it's very core. That's when it hit me.

I am an irritation because I am sin. I was born sin and my life is sin. Because of God's incredible and beautiful love for us, He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die on that Cross. His blood covers us, covers our sin with grace. Over time, our sin is not visible to God anymore. For each trial we go through, we receive more grace. And more grace. His grace is limitless!

"Yes, child," He says into my heart. "It's not about the victories. It's about what My Son does for you. When I finish with you, you will be the most beautiful pearl, and you will shine with the radiance of Christ, Who is the core of your being. That is what your name means. It is who you are to Me. My Pearl."

Book Thoughts

So I've been doing a lot of thinking about this book I want to write. I have a general thought about it as well as the Main Character (MC) and two supporting characters, with a couple of other minor characters. Many of you know my story, "Genoa," and some of you have read a longer version of it, "Genoa (revised)." I want to expand it even more, and for a long time I didn't know where to take it. After everything that has happened to me with JM, I've thought that I would address the issue of domestic violence in this book. I'm thinking also that it would be somewhat therapeutic.
Now I've just got to figure out how I'm going to work on it while I'm going to school. :P

When Bees Attack

My brother saved my life last night. Big, brave, strong Thomas who thinks that being afraid of wasps is a silly thing. It's really not, but who's thinking about such things when your life is in danger?

Ok, ok, my life may not have been in danger, but I really am afraid of wasps and bees, and all other related insects. Why? Because I've been stung before. Yes, indeedy. It's no picnic, let me tell ya.

The first time I was ever stung, I was about 13 years old and I had just finished mopping the kitchen floor. It was our habit to just toss the dirty water over the side of our deck onto the bark. Well, that day was a nice, sunny day. It was mid-summer, and I was anticipating going to the county fair that night. We lived in a sleepy little town in southeast Kansas, so the county fair was a big thing. A very big thing.

Anyway, I banged my way through our back door with the mop and bucket of dirty water to the side of our deck. I blissfully squeezed the excess water out of the mop, and blithely tossed the buckets contents over the side. I turned to set the bucket down, and when I straightened up, I screamed. Yes, it was loud and it carried throughout the whole neighborhood, as I found out later to my chagrin.

So why did I scream? You know those big black and yellow bumblebees that fly in lazy circles around your flower garden? They look harmless, and even kind of cute at times. Well, the one I met on this occasion was not cute. In fact, he was mad! I'm talking kamikaze-mad, and he was preparing to dive-bomb my face!

Apparently, he had been minding his own business, gathering pollen to take back to his hive, when he was suddenly drenched from antenna to stinger with dirty, soapy, stinky water. Now, looking at it from his point of view, you can probably understand why he'd be angry. I mean, he was probably going to go to the fair that night, too, and he wanted to look his best. Yeah, okay, maybe not, but no one really likes to get wet when they aren't expecting it.

So here is this angry bumblebee heading straight for me. I scream and flap my arms around, trying to get him away from me, but he was determined. Next thing I know, this incredible pain exploded into my brain. The source? The end of my nose. He had found the most embarrassing place to sting me!

By that time, my mother was there and trying to get me into the house while at the same time trying to keep my 3-year-old brother (yes, the aforementioned Thomas) inside away from the killer bee.

Suddenly, I felt more pain in my side. The little bugger had somehow ended up inside my shirt and stung me on my side - twice! I yelled this time, and my mother tried to rip my shirt off of me to get the bee out. Well, I didn't want anyone to see me without my shirt, so I tried to keep it on. In the meantime, the bee got out and stung my mother on her hand, and she flung him outside. I calmed down as soon as the door was shut, but that event traumatized me for the rest of my life. I can still see the big, black puff buzzing straight for me. *shudder*

The second time I was stung was not nearly so dramatic. I was much older by this time (about 24 years old) and I was working at the gift shop/concession stand at Shoshone Falls in Twin Falls, Idaho. Somewhere nearby, there was a yellow jacket nest, and they absolutely loved to some into the concession stand and eat up anything sugary. If I had a soda from the fountain, I even had to cover the end of the straw, because the yellow jackets would crawl down the straw to the soda! We ended up putting Skittles in a cardboard tray with a little water on them to keep them occupied, though that didn't always work.

By that time, I had gotten over my fear (I thought, anyway), and I was able to tolerate them somewhat. Then one day, I felt something on the back of my arm, and thinking it was a fly, I brushed it off. Bad idea. A sharpness pierced through my consciousness and I gasped aloud. The customer I was helping showed a bit of concern when I explained what happened, but I tried to downplay it.

A few days later, the exact same thing happened. So at that point I had two yellow jacket stings - one on top of the other. By the next morning, the whole back of my arm was swollen and itched terribly. I had hives. My roommate, who was susceptible to allergies, gave me some ointment to cut down on the itch and another friend gave me some Benedryl pills, which knocked me out so thoroughly that I was late to work the next morning at a different job. Fortunately, when my boss found out what happened, he was very understanding.

When I got to the gift shop that afternoon, my boss from there was working. She told me that another girl who worked there had been stung on her tongue! She had been eating a sucker and didn't realize that she was sharing it when she put it in her mouth. I was definitely glad that hadn't happened to me.

Ever since then, I have been extremely wary of insects of that nature. When I saw the wasp just inside the window last night, I didn't want to take any chances. Fortunately, my brother took pity on me, and he killed that big, mean, wasp. Brave boy!

Beneath the Counter

The sound of fists banging on the door reverberated through my ears just as the counter scraped back into place over us.

"Police! Open the door!"

I heard the bookstore owner, Mr. Praski, walking to the door. Each step was careful as if he didn't want to knock dust into our eyes. The neighbor who had warned us stood still beside the counter. I could feel his tension seeping through the cracks between the floorboards.

Little Aron whispered something to Mama. She shook her head and placed her finger against her lips. Papa had his arm around Irina, whose eyes were so wide with fright that all I could see was white. Bogdan sat beside me, scowling at his hands in his lap. Even as I watched, he balled them up into fists. My heart skipped a beat and I reached over and placed my other hand over his. He looked up at me, and I could see the anger glinting in his eyes in the dim light. We stared at each other for a moment, then he smiled ruefully and I could feel him unclenching his fists. I started to breathe again, but I could still see Bogdan's anger. I knew it would only be a matter of time.

I heard the counter scrape above us, and everyone froze. I felt Bogdan's hands ball up again and he tensed, ready to spring. The trapdoor lifted and we saw Mr. Praski, his relieved face beaming over us. "They've gone! Come out and have some supper."

Papa laughed, and it almost sounded as carefree as it used to. He stood up and grabbed Mr. Praski's hand. When we were all out, Mrs. Praski and her daughter, Magda, shooed us into the kitchen for a hot meal. In spite of the Praskis' kindness, Mama's face was still white and Papa's eyes were shadowed. The time beneath the counter had marked us all. Who knew that by the summer's end, we would spend time there every day, hiding from the Germans?

I helped Magda with the supper dishes. Papa and Mr. Praski smoked their pipes as they looked at some books from the store. Mama showed Mrs. Praski a new embroidery pattern while she stroked Aron's head as he slept in her lap. Bogdan and Irina played chess. Bogdan glanced up at me and smiled, but the edges of that smile were bitter. I smiled back, but I knew my heart wasn't in it.

I turned to Magda. "Why would you help us? Your family could get into so much trouble!"

Magda smiled at me. "It is what Christ would have us do."

"Huh." I swiped a dish with a towel. "Most Christians I've met call us Christ-killers."

"Oh, Edyta!" Magda shook her head. "Jews didn't kill Jesus! Our sin did."

"Our sin?"

She nodded and put the plate she was washing down. "You see, God commanded the Jews, as His people, to make sacrifices for their sins, using an unblemished lamb, right?"

I nodded. Though my family didn't strictly keep to the law, we still celebrated the Feasts.

"Well, God wanted His people to see that they needed to atone for their sins through blood, but even keeping the law and doing all the sacrifices weren't enough." She smiled again. "So He sent His Son to be the final sacrifice for our sins, and not just for the Jews – for the whole world!"

Wonder began to seep into my soul. "So He really was a great Man."

Magda laughed. "Well, He was God! While He was here on earth, He set the example for all of us to follow. How can we do any less?"

Her words sank deep into my heart, and as we waited beneath the counter each day, I contemplated them. Every day, Magda told me more about Jesus. One day, several weeks later, I accepted His sacrifice for my sins.

Two days after that, Magda made her own sacrifice. Every year, I tell my children about Magda. I tell them I wouldn't be here if she hadn't followed Christ.

Friendship Surprise

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Wren. I know, quite an auspicious beginning, isn't it? I mean, as beginnings go, this one is pretty generic. Ahem. Anyway, on with my story.

Wren moved with her parents to a small town in southern Idaho where she enrolled in the local junior college and began attending classes in the fall. Because neither Wren nor her parents could actually afford her tuition, she applied for federal aid and was accepted. That fall, not only did she start her college education, she also started a work-study in the college's main computer lab.

The first semester went well. Wren excelled in her classes and developed hands-on experience with basic computer software (now outdated!). That was also when she gained her first introduction to the internet, without which you would not be able to read her story. Nevertheless, that's unimportant right now.

During the second semester, she started working at the computer lab one night a week. Shortly afterwards, she noticed a certain young man would come in to use a computer. Now this guy was weird. She had seen her share of weirdos, but for some reason this one stood out to her and she couldn't put her finger on why. One thing that really bothered her was that he always gave her what she thought was a dirty look whenever he came in. She didn't realize that her thoughts were clearly written on her face and he saw it every time he came in.

One day, Wren went to visit her friend, Tonya, at Tonya's workplace – The Christian Bookstore. She had met Tonya in their French class and they struck up an immediate friendship through their faith in Christ. While Wren visited with Tonya, she noticed one of the employees crouching in an aisle and straightening books. It was that same guy! The one from the computer lab!

Wren turned to her friend. "Tonya, who's that guy?"

Tonya leaned over the counter to look, and then sat back on her stool. "That's Jon. He's a little weird."

"Tell me about it!" Wren grimaced a bit. "He comes into the computer lab at school sometimes. He kinda creeps me out 'cause he's so weird."

"Oh, Jon wouldn't hurt anybody." Tonya assured her friend. "He just likes to keep to himself."

"Hm." Wren's mind was spinning with thoughts. If this guy's working at the Christian Bookstore, it stands to reason that he's a Christian. If he's a Christian, then he really must not be as weird as she thought. But then, why did he always give her such dirty looks? "Well, I need to go, Tonya. See you in class tomorrow!" With a wave to her friend and another curious look at Jon, she was out the door.

The next time Jon came into the computer lab, she watched him as he talked with a girl sitting beside him. To Wren's chagrin, she realized she had been misjudging Jon. Now that she knew a bit more about him, she saw him in a different light. Why, he actually seemed pleasant! Wren buried her nose in her book the rest of the time Jon was there.

One Sunday night, several weeks later, Wren was at church waiting for the college group to start. She was sitting at a table near the door, chatting with friends, when who should walk in? That's right, it was Jon! Uh, oh, thought Wren. Please don't come over here! That means I have to be nice to you. She pretended she hadn't seen him until he found a seat at a different table. Whew! Got out of that one—for now!

Jon came every Sunday night after that. Wren grew used to seeing him, and even spoke to him on occasion, but she never felt comfortable enough to have a real conversation with him.

The group decided it was time to have their first retreat. The pastor was able to book the same retreat center the men's and women's groups used. Both Wren and Jon went. The retreat was fun as well as spiritually enlightening and thought provoking for Wren. She rededicated her life to God with great joy. When the group returned to the church that Sunday afternoon, it was announced that there would be no regular meeting that evening. Jon and Wren happened to be standing by each other at the time.

Jon turned to Wren as he picked up his duffel bag. "Now I don't know what I'm going to do tonight. I just want to keep fellowshipping!"

Wren grinned. "I know what you mean! I want to stay, too." She stooped to pick up her sleeping bag. "I'm tired, though. I didn't sleep at all last night, so I'm going to take a nap when I get home." She glanced up at Jon. "See you next week?"

"I'll be there."

"Cool. Well, see ya later, then!" She smiled and headed for her car. What a nice guy! I want to get to know him better.

That evening, the phone rang, jarring her awake. Probably for Mom or Dad. She closed her eyes to rest some more.

"Wren!" Her mother's voice made her eyes snap open. "Phone for you! Some guy name Jon."

Jon? Calling me? Wren dragged on a cord to bring her phone closer. "Hello?"

"Hi!" Jon's voice sounded a little bit too chipper. "Did I wake you?"

Wren rubbed her face a little. "Um, yeah, but that's okay. I needed to wake up, or else I won't sleep tonight." She rolled to her back. "So. What's up?"

Jon grinned. She could here it in his voice. "Well, I'm bored."

"O—kay…"

"No, seriously. This weekend was such a blast that I don't want it to end. I wanted to talk to somebody about it, so I called you." He hesitated. "That's okay, isn't it?"

Wren sat up. "Sure, it's okay! You just surprised me, that's all."

His relied came out in a sigh. "Oh, good. So. What did you think of this weekend?"

Wren smiled.

Sometime later, they were still talking. They had found so many common interests that Wren wondered why she hadn't talked to him before.

Finally, Jon said, "Well, I probably should let you go."

"Oh, Um, okay."

"Do you realize we've talked on the phone for two hours?" he asked.

"Has it really been two hours?" Wren looked at her clock. "Wow, I guess it has been."

"Yeah. I should go. It was great talking to you."

"Yeah, same here."

"Okay. Well, can I call you again?" he asked.

"Sure. Can I call you?" Wren smiled as Jon chuckled.

"Sure."

"Cool." They each waited a few seconds, then she said, "Well, bye!" and laughed.

He laughed, too. "Bye!"

So began the friendship of Wren and Jon.

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This is a true story* about my best friend, Jon† and me. That phone call was the first of seven (so far!) years' worth of phone calls, visits, walks, talks, huffs, complaints, laughs, VeggieTales, movies, pizza – well, everything! We've endured many sly winks and nods about our relationship, even outright speculation—from our parents, no less! So far, we are living proof that you don't have to be married to your best friend.



* My memory is a fallible thing. The events are as true as I remember them. The dialogue may have been dramatized a bit simply because I don't remember exactly what was said. Jon could very well read this and say, "I don't remember it that way!" If he does, appropriate corrections will be made. Otherwise, this is it!

† His name has been changed because I wanted to protect his privacy somewhat. The person who asked me for this story knows his real name, anyway.

Finding Dad

This is a non-fiction story I wrote for a class. It was rather hard for me to write at first, but I think some healing has taken place.

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"Do you know what you are going to say to him?" Gina pulled into the parking lot and looked for a spot. The cars in the lot huddled together like sardines as if to keep warm, but she found a space on the far side of the building.

"No." I said. "I think I'll just let it come to me."

It had been my step-dad's idea that I meet Ben, my father. I feared hurting him because I thought he might see it as rejection, but he said I needed to do this. I agreed. That Christmas I flew to Oklahoma to visit Gina and my other sister, Susie, as well as to meet Ben.

We sat in the truck for a few minutes. This was it. For the first time in eighteen years I would meet the man whom I should have called "Dad." I rubbed my gloved hands on my legs as I peered out the window at the restaurant. My mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding. I reached for the door. Before I could open it, Gina stopped me.

"Lacey," she said. "You really don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." I licked my lips. I needed to know my father, and I wanted him to know me. I didn't think Gina would understand this. Because of our separation as children, she saw him far more often than I did.

"Well, he might not even be there."

"Then there's no harm in going in to see, is there?" I opened the door. "Besides, I'm thirsty."

Gina sighed. "Okay. We'll go in. Just don't be disappointed if he's not there."

I loved my sister. We were close even though we had reunited only a few years ago. She and Susie had a different mother. When my mother and I moved out of state, my sisters and I lost touch. I smiled as I helped my niece, Millie, hop out of the truck. Millie was an extension of Gina, and at three years old, she already had the makings of a prom queen.

We swung Millie between us as we walked to the door. When we reached it, she let go of her mother's hand and giggled at the puff of air that floated from her mouth while she pretended to smoke. Gina rolled her eyes at me as she checked to see if she had put the truck keys in her purse.

Like the parking spots outside the restaurant, the tables inside of Denny's held people in abundance. I looked around the room but I saw only a few empty tables. I didn't see Ben, but then I really didn't know what to look for.

The noise resounded like a cacophonous orchestra. Diners provided the melody while they spoke and waitresses kept the harmony with the cooks. Every once in a while I heard a banging noise from the kitchen which emphasized a certain beat in the whole symphony. The sound of silverware against dishes acted as counterpoint to it all.

I stood with Millie in the entry way while Gina spoke to the hostess. A booth stood close to us and I could smell the bacon that had been served with the pancakes the man ate. It made my stomach rumble and Millie clapped her hands over her mouth when she heard it. I scrunched my nose at her and her blue eyes shone with laughter.


Gina came back. "Okay, the hostess said he's here and showed me where he's sitting. We can go on over." She captured her brown hair into a ponytail and pushed it off her shoulders.


I nodded, and my stomach turned into a huge knot. I wanted to do this but I had half-hoped that he wouldn't be there. Gina picked Millie up and started to weave through the tables while I followed.

"There's Grampa!" Millie yelled.

I looked over towards the corner where he was sitting. I couldn't believe it. He had the same face I did, albeit with masculine planes. The knot in my stomach tightened.

"We're here!" announced Gina as she deposited Millie onto the seat. He had chosen a corner booth with high seats, as if he wanted protection from the noise. If he was anything like me, he also didn't want anything to catch him unawares.

I delayed sitting down by taking off my coat. All of the sudden, I didn't want to do this. I wanted to be home with my family, celebrating Christmas. It was a tradition that my step-dad started that we open one present on Christmas Eve. We'd gather around and listen to him tell the story of the Christ Child. Then we'd play a game. I missed that.

However, I wasn't home. I was here and he was here, but I was afraid that something would happen that I didn't want to happen. Gina sat down on his left close to the end of the bench seat with Millie between them. I finally sat on his right, also close to the end. He watched me the whole time. Finally, he spoke. "Hi."

"Hi." I nearly closed my eyes. Yeah, great start, Lacey! What's next, "How are you?"

"How are you?" he asked me.

"Fine, fine. And you?" Geez! We're acting like we saw each other just last week!

"I'm fine." He pointed to a stamp on my hand. "I see you had some fun last night."

I tried to rub it off. "Yeah. I went to the dance hall with Gina and everybody." I didn't want to mention my other sister, Susie. She had written our father off along time ago, but even she knew more about him than I did.

"And how is everybody?" he asked.

"They're fine." I was beginning to think that all we were going to do was small-talk.

Gina saved me. "Hey, Dad, guess what Millie did the other day?" She launched into a tale of her daughter's latest escapade.

Pretty soon, I relaxed enough to sit back in my seat. Ben countered with a story about his step-daughter's little girl, seemingly more proud of her than Millie.

The waitress came, and we ordered. I chose French toast, Gina a club sandwich and mozzarella sticks for Millie, and Ben a steak with a baked potato. We talked about the weather and other meaningless topics and Ben asked me about life in Idaho. As I told him about my life and my family there, I watched him. He didn't smile often, but when he did, it didn't reach his eyes. Every time I mentioned my mother or stepfather, he almost winced, and would steer the conversation back to me. He asked more questions. It felt like he was gauging how happy I was by my responses.

When our food came, we dug in. I ate everything, as did Gina. Ben ate about a quarter of his steak and an equally small portion of his baked potato. At my curious look, he explained, "I had to have my stomach stapled to lose weight, and now I can't eat much in one sitting."

"Oh." I knew he had been large when I was born, but I didn't realize he had done such an extreme thing to lose weight. It made me wonder about other health issues from his side and solidified my determination to know him.

"So, Ben. What do you do now?" It was the first time I had actually called him by name. I don't think he liked it.

"I sell cars." He grimaced as he said it. "It's a job and it pays the bills…barely. It's not what I wanted to do, of course." Gina rolled her eyes. He wanted to play music, he said. His wife didn't want him to. His boss at the dealership didn't like him. He couldn't make ends meet.

I listened politely. Ben acted as if the world owed him many things, but it refused to pay up. He never said that he could have done better. I couldn't help comparing him to my step-dad, who worked hard and loved what he did. If things didn't work out, he tried to fix them.

"And that's what's been going on in my life." He ended by taking a long drink of his soda without looking at either of us to see our reaction.

I looked over at Gina and shook my head in disbelief. She shrugged. Apparently she had heard it all before.

"So, Lacey, what do you want to do with your life?" Ben appeared to be interested, but somehow it looked like it a mask to me.

I told him about the few plans I had. I attended college at the time but I really had no idea what to do afterwards. I would do whatever opportunity came to me. He nodded a few times but I got the impression that his mind was somewhere else. When I finished, he asked me the question that I had been expecting, almost dreading, all evening.

"How's your mother?"

"She's fine. Great, actually. She keeps busy with my two little sisters and homeschools my brother." I played with my napkin. I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Ben took another drink. "You know she called me a few years ago." He watched me, his eyes hooded.

I nodded. "She told me."

"Did she tell you she asked me to forgive her for what she had done?"

I wanted to ask him what he thought she had done, but instead I just nodded again.

"I told her that I forgave her, but you know? She really hurt me. I'm not sure that what she did can actually be forgiven." His bitterness hit me like a bucket of icy water.

I stared at him. I knew that my mother hadn't treated him well when she filed for divorce. She basically moved with him to be closer to her brother, and then kicked Ben out. When she first told me about it, she carefully admitted her fault, but she also said that Ben hadn't been without fault, either. When he said that she couldn't be forgiven, he denied everything, laying the blame completely on her.

I wanted to say something – anything – to defend my mother, but I was in such shock that I couldn't speak. He sat there, drinking his tea, as if nothing had happened. I had hoped that we could start building a relationship, but after what Ben said, I knew I could never do it. Mom moved on, building a new life and family with my step-dad. Ben obviously hadn't, and I couldn't love him as my father knowing that he would never give my mother the respect she deserved.

I stopped listening. I didn't understand him and I certainly did not feel sorry for him. I was swimming in a sea of doubt and anger. I was so angry I couldn't sit there any longer.

I stood to leave. My dreams of knowing my father were shattered. I couldn't believe it. I left Ben at the table and walked out of the restaurant. I had to go. Gina followed with Millie after she had paid our check.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"No, I'm not." Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I couldn't see where I was going. Gina put her arm around me to guide me to the truck.

"I should have told you how he was," she said quietly.

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted you to find out for yourself." She dug in her purse for her keys. "You wouldn't have believed me."

I sighed. "I know." I climbed into the truck. "I had such hopes, though."

Gina started the truck. "Why? Lacey, you have a dad already. Why do you need another one?"

I stared out the window. She was right. I did have a dad already. My step-dad had been there for me for most of my life. He raised me. He taught me how to ride a bike. He helped me with my homework. He taught me how to cook. He punished me when I'd done wrong. He had been there for me when Mom and I were at odds. I knew he would be the one to walk me down the aisle when I marry. I had a dad.

"You're right, Gina," I told her. She just smiled her answer.

We headed back to her house. I stayed for another couple days, and they passed quickly. I enjoyed the time I spent but I looked forward to getting home.

Finally, the day arrived. Both my sisters took me to the airport and we said our goodbyes at the gate. My flight was uneventful, and when the plane taxied to our small airport I could see Mom holding my baby sister in the window and my other little sister bounced up and down. My brother stood by them, but not too close. He was just reaching the age when it was uncool to be seen with parents. I looked for my dad, but I couldn't find him. He's probably at work.

I stepped off the plane and walked across the tarmac. When I entered the airport, my family bowled me over. I still didn't see my dad, but I figured I'd greet him at home. My brother and my little sister were telling me about their Christmas when Dad walked in the door.

"Daddy!"

He pulled me into a bear hug. "Welcome home!"

I held onto him. "Thank you for being my dad."

I wasn't sure he had heard me until I felt him squeeze me a bit. That was all I needed, but I still basked in his next words.

"I love you."

Frau Nussbaum

I pulled the map out and squinted at it. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes and I impatiently scraped it back. It was time for a haircut, I decided. The map folded over itself and I slapped it back open which tore it a bit on one of the creases. Great! Just what I need, I thought to myself. First I get lost and then I destroy the only map I have! This trip is a waste of time.

I was on a backpacking trip across Europe. There were two reasons I was here. The first was because I had just graduated from college and I wanted to do this before I didn't have time. The second reason was because of Mike. Mike was my fiancé. Yes, was. He had died two months ago in a freak accident while helping his parents build their dream house. The irony is that he had died 3 days before we were to marry. We had the funeral in place of the wedding. This backpacking trip was supposed to be our honeymoon.

I had not cried when Mike died. I did not want to cry now, so I packed up the map and got back in the car I had rented. There was a village about 5 miles to the south, so I decided to head there for lunch. I gripped the steering wheel tightly enough that my knuckles turned white. God! Why did You do this to me?!? I screamed silently. It's not fair!

I paid no attention to the countryside. Mike was the sightseer and liked to take his time. I, on the other hand, just wanted to get there. He always had to make sure that I saw the beautiful things that I would have otherwise missed. I didn't even try this time.

I came to the village quicker than I had thought I would. It was a quaint place, with a fountain in the square and buildings built close together. I parked the car in front of an eating house, and took a deep breath. It really wouldn't do to go out in public the way I was feeling. I needed to calm down.

The inside of the eating house was nice and cool. The proprietress was a kindly woman who fortunately knew English. I placed my order and found a seat by the window. I had a view of the fountain, which was really a work of art. It was a bronze statue of woman pouring water over the feet of her son. Beside the fountain there was an elderly woman gazing up at it.

"That is Frau Nussbaum. Her husband and his mother posed for that fountain. She comes to look at it every day." The proprietress shook her head sadly as she filled my coffee mug.

"She looks so sad," I replied as I looked at the frau more closely.

"Herr Nussbaum died when he was building a new home for themselves. They had been together for almost 50 years. She has not been the same since he died." The proprietress went back to her kitchen, still shaking her head.

I kept thinking about Frau Nussbaum when I was back on the road. Her husband had died the same way Mike had, but at least she had been given the chance of living a life with him. For nearly 50 years they had lived together, breathed together, loved together, and now she was without him. I could not imagine how that would be.

As I was thinking these things, I saw a little church by the side of the road. I stopped my car and got out. The church appeared to be abandoned. The doors had faded and one was hanging off of its hinges. Inside there were no pews, but the altar was still there. Behind the altar was a huge wooden cross. I couldn't help it; I knelt at the altar and started to cry. I realized I had been so selfish. Here I was moping around when I still had my life to live. And I had my life because of what Christ did on the cross. Mike had been a believer too, so I knew I'd see him again. What about Frau Nussbaum? Would she ever see her husband again? I didn't know. I began to pray for her. As I did, I felt the bitterness melt away. The grief was still there, but now there was hope.

A Letter

Dear __________,

You don't know me, but I have something very important to say. You are reading this letter because I cannot tell you myself. Either I am dead or seriously injured to the point of incapability, but this is too important for me to leave to someone else.

I'm laying here on the ground looking up at the sky. Have you ever really looked up at the sky? Even when there is no sun to speak of, the brightness can still take your breath away. Today, it is sunny with a few clouds. Today, something bad has happened, yet I am not afraid. Today is the day I might see my Savior face-to-face.

My friends and I had decided to go camping in the hills this weekend. We packed up what we needed and piled into a friend's jeep. Unfortunately, there are no seatbelts, but we are young and invincible. So we thought. It happened so fast. We were driving along a remote road in the hills, looking for the best spot. Ted (the driver) wasn't speeding, but he wasn't being careful either. Suddenly, a doe walked into the road right in front of us. It's funny how I remember that it was a doe and not a buck. Thank God for small favors.

Ted tried to swerve but it was too late. We hit her full on and then there was nothing. I have no idea how long I've been out. My whole body hurts. I know I've broken some bones, possibly my back and my stomach hurts too much to just be indigestion. However, this letter needs to be written. I will not die until it is finished.

Have you ever heard of Jesus Christ? This is the Man that has saved the world. No? Then let me tell you about Him. He is my Lord. He is the One I serve. He saved me just as He has saved you if you would only accept Him. I have, and I have never regretted it. As I lay here, I think of the atrocities that Christ went through so that I could be here today writing this letter to you. His pain was ever so my greater than mine is.

Why was He in pain?

Because I killed Him.

What? You killed Him? How?

I crucified Him on a cross. I did it through my sin.

What sin?

The same sin that you are in bondage to.

Me? I don't have any sin! I'm a good person!

I thought so too until He showed me that no one is good. When you have a chance, get a Bible and read Romans chapter 3, verses 9-19. They say far better what I am trying to say here. In fact read the whole chapter. It explains everything. Then read the book of John. It's my favorite Gospel. It speaks of Jesus. This is the Man I serve.

I still don't understand. What has He done that was so special?

He loved me so much that He died for me. I was a sinner, but He still loved me. Imagine! All that love, just for me! And He loves you in the same way. He died for you.

Oh, I wish I could say more, but my time is short. Soon, He will come for me. I will be able to spend eternity with Him. I didn't want to spend it without Him, that's why I chose to accept His love and to serve Him. To spend eternity without Him would be…hell. I don't want you to go there. Please consider what I said.

There's a light. Oh, it's beautiful! More than words can express. And I hear singing! Angels are praising my Lord! There He is…His face shines like the light. No, He is the light! Take me home, Lord! Take me home…