The Scarlet Thread (59 page)

did. Great sex. Was that it? Was it passion for one another that held us

together, Lord?

A flush ran up her cheeks, and she caught her thoughts. Was it

proper to talk with Jesus about such things? If not, she hoped he

would forgive her, but there was no one else she could go to, no

one who would understand her from the inside out. Who else

could do that but the one who created her?

As she prayed and talked with God, she struggled with all the

questions. Had she caused her own downfall by living in a fantasy world, never being willing to see who Alex really was? Was

that why their marriage had worked as long as it had?

Was that it, Lord? I still ache when I see him. I’m a Christian now, and

I still ache for him. I love you, Jesus. Everything’s changed, not the least of

which is
me.
And still I love him.

Lord, what do I do? What’s your will for me in all this?

She leaned her head back against the sofa and looked up at the

quilt.

And then it dawned on her. A flash of insight from out of nowhere, from within her. And with it, God’s quiet loving voice.

Be still, beloved. And know that I am God.

She blinked, amazed, overwhelmed. It was right there before

her eyes, only she had been blind to it. The message her mother

had said would come had finally arrived. Sitting forward slowly,

Sierra studied the quilt—and understood.

“One day it will come to you like a star bursting in the heavens. And

what a day that will be!”

Sierra stood and went to the quilt, smiling in wonder, her fingers tracing the scarlet thread that held all the pieces together

and made them a whole incredibly beautiful work of art. “Oh,

Lord . . . ,” she whispered brokenly. How could she have been so

blind?

Who am I, beloved?

“You are God. Almighty God.”

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Responding to an impulse, she called Alex.

“Sierra,” he said hoarsely. “What’s wrong,
querida?”

She had awakened him. Glancing at the kitchen wall clock,

she grimaced. She hadn’t even thought about the time. “Nothing.

The children are fine. I’m fine.”

“Something’s happened. What is it?”

Should she tell him to go back to sleep? Her heart was racing,

her soul singing praises to the Lord. “Can you come over?”

“Sí.”
He didn’t even ask what time it was. After she hung up,

she raked her hands through her hair. One-fifteen in the morning! What must he be thinking? Embarrassed, she called him

back to apologize and tell him her discovery could wait until

morning.

Maybe it should wait until she’d had more time to think.

Would he understand if she even tried to explain now in the feverish excitement of discovery? Doubts crept in. Maybe she was

overreacting. Maybe she was getting overemotional. Maybe her

imagination was running rampant.

O Lord. O Lord.

Alex didn’t answer. Before she hung up, there was a tap on the

door.

Taking a deep breath, Sierra opened it. Her heart turned over

at the sight of her husband. He had pulled on his old sweats and

stood barefoot, his dark hair disheveled. He looked worried.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t even look to see what time it was.”

“I’m awake now,” he said coming inside.

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but there’s something I want to show

you.”

O God, let him see. Let him understand. Help us! Be the glue that holds

us together this time.

Alex followed her into the living room, looking around for

something out of place. No earthquake had happened. No ceil4 5 6

ing falling in on her. Nothing unusual. He looked at her, bemused, questioning.

She looked up at the quilt. “The question’s never been
whether,

but
when,”
she said, more to herself than to him.

“When what?”

She smiled at him. “It says that every knee will bow and every

tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. So the question is

do we relinquish everything to the Lord, or do we make him strip

us bare before we understand
he’s
in control.”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,

querida.”

“Sit down with me, please, Alex. I have something very important to ask you.” She turned to face him as they sat together on

the couch. “This is the most important question I’ll ever ask you.

Who is Jesus to you?”

Surprised, he searched her eyes. “God the Son, Creator,

Father, Savior.”

Her eyes welled with thankful tears. “So you do believe.”

“Sí, amor mío.
Since I was a little boy. I never wanted to make

an issue of it with you. Your family . . . mine . . .
impossible
. . .
yo

comprendo.
And then, when I walked away from you, I figured I’d

walked away from him as well. I didn’t think he would forgive

me, that he could—”

His voice broke, and Sierra felt her throat tighten with tears at

the depth of his despair. He met her eyes. “But he has,
querida.

Dennis helped me see that. God has forgiven me—he has restored me to himself. And that’s why I won’t give up on us. If he

can forgive, he can help us to do the same.”

Relief swept through her, and joy as well. She looked up at the

quilt. “Almighty God, Creator, Master. He’s the Alpha and

Omega. Mary Kathryn McMurray came to understand. She

made that quilt so others would see as well. I was just so blind.”

Oh, the wonder of it all.

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“Because he’s
sovereign,
Alex. I guess I just didn’t understand

what it meant. I’ve been turning things over and around and inside out, trying to decide how to fix things, how to make them

right, how to make sure everything would work the way it’s supposed to work. And then tonight, as I was looking at the quilt, I

realized I’m not in control at all. God is. He always has been. He

is Almighty God.”

She looked up at Mary Kathryn’s quilt. “She knew, Alex. It

took heartache and tragedy for her eyes to be finally opened, but

in the end, she knew. And she put it there in her quilt for all to see

who had the eyes to do so.”

I am so much like her, Lord. Stubborn, stiff-necked, and you have loved

me through everything. Thank you for your patience with me.

Alex looked at the quilt, frowning. When he looked back at

her again, Sierra could see he wondered if she’d taken leave of

her senses. She got up and went to the quilt.

“I noticed the scarlet thread the first time Mom and I took the

quilt out of the old trunk in the attic. I just didn’t understand until

this evening why Mary Kathryn picked that color. Do you see how

it stands out? Do you see how it holds all the pieces together, Alex?

Mary Kathryn made each square separately over a period of years.

Each shows something significant that happened to her: tragedies,

births, changes in her life, upheavals. And here at the end, the stone

wall with that red cord hanging from the window opening. I never

understood that.” She stood before the quilt, tracing a portion of

embroidered grape leaves and grapes. Shaking her head, she

turned and looked at him, her heart full of love.

“I read her journal, the whole thing, several times, and I never

understood why she made that wall as her last square. There was

never a mention of a wall in her journal. Tonight, I understood.

It’s Rahab’s wall.”

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“Rahab?”

“Rahab, the prostitute who hid the Israelite spies who came to

Jericho. Moses had died, and the Israelites entered Canaan to

take possession of the Promised Land. Joshua sent spies to Jericho, and Rahab took them in. She was a prostitute who had lived

a life of sin and disobedience, and yet, in that moment, she risked

her life to protect those men and hide them from the ones looking

for them because she believed in their God. She had faith, and

she acted upon it. The spies told her to hang a scarlet cord in her

window, and though everyone else in Jericho would be put to

the sword, no one in her house would perish. And they kept their

word. She married Salmon and is named in the lineage of Jesus

Christ.”

She looked up at the quilt again. “But it’s more than that, too.

Scarlet is for Jesus and his death on the cross. Scarlet is for the

blood he shed for us so that we could be redeemed. He was there

in the beginning of it all. Faith is the key.”

“Scarlet for her faith, you mean?”

“No, not her faith. Mary Kathryn contended with God. Early

in her journal, she was angry and rejected him. After that, she

scarcely mentioned him in a good light—not until much later.

She wasn’t faithful at all. In a sense, she was like Rahab, prostituting herself to other gods in a foreign land. Her home and land

mattered more than anything. Then it was her husband and her

children. And with each loss she suffered, God was there with

her. She didn’t understand that until the end. That’s what the

scarlet thread signifies. That’s why the wall is her last block. The

window is open, and the scarlet cord flowing out and upward,

tying it all together. God was there with her throughout her life.

He brought her through.”

She laughed softly, filled with relief and joy. “Look at the

stitches, Alex. Grape leaves and grapes, chains, doves, crosses,

olive branches—so much skill and beauty. When she quilted this

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everything that had happened to her was through God’s will.

She finally surrendered. She
believed.
And because she did, God

opened her eyes so that she could look back and see how he had

been intimately involved through everything. Death. Birth. Fire.

Disinheritance. Love. Betrayal. Loss. God allowed her to go

through all those things so that she would come to him. Once she

did, she saw the wonder of all of it.”

She came back and sat down with Alex again. “The things that

happen in our lives are allowed to happen because the Lord

wants to draw us to him. We make decisions and do things,

thinking we’re in control, but we never really are. God is. It’s

arrogance and pride to think we rule our lives. It’s an illusion.

We’re never able to orchestrate a thing. God is in control.”

She put her hand on his knee. “I thought you were in control of

my life, Alex. When you moved me to Southern California, I felt

powerless. I was angry and frightened. I rebelled. I didn’t even

think about turning to the Lord. I turned to friends, and their

lives were in shambles. I turned to my mother, and then she was

taken away from me. I wanted to turn back to you, but then you

were gone, too. God finally got through to me on the Hollywood

Freeway.” She laughed through her tears. “Sacred ground for

me was a strip of macadam in Los Angeles County.”

He brushed the tears lightly from her cheek, his eyes tender.

She wanted more than anything for him to understand. “Oh, Alex,

don’t you see? I never would’ve needed Jesus if I’d had any control at all. Everything that’s happened—all the pain—he’s turned

to
good.
It’s served his purpose. It brought me to him.”

His dark eyes softened. “I saw the change in you.” He cupped

her cheek tenderly. “I was a fool to leave you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “Had you not left me,

Alex, the change would never have come. I thank God for all of

it. I thank him with every ounce of my being, Alex. All the pain

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