Where My Heart Belongs (26 page)
“Have you talked to Brian since leaving?”
“No.” Sunny fixed her gaze in the distance. “I doubt he’d even take my call. I tried to talk to him over and over before I left, but he wouldn’t speak to me. His mother said his pride was wounded. She believes he knows the truth but is too proud to admit it.”
“So he’ll just destroy his family for the sake of his pride? That’s a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Sunny frowned but still didn’t look at Kathy. “I think a lot of things are ridiculous.” She began to rock back and forth. “For so long I believed I didn’t have a right to question anything or anyone. I felt like the mistakes I made were so severe I’d lost any right I had. I believed I was so bad that even God couldn’t love me. But Lana believes it’s typical of people who’ve been abused. They convince themselves they got what they deserved and they don’t have a right to anything better. I keep trying to work on that, but sometimes it’s really hard.”
Kathy felt uncomfortable with the topic. Hadn’t she told herself that Sunny didn’t deserve anything better? Hadn’t she been as harsh about the situation, convinced that because Sunny had made poor choices she deserved to bear the consequences—no matter how painful?
How could I be
that cruel?
She suddenly felt a mixture of shame and guilt.
“Tell me about Lana.” She hoped Sunny’s comments would steer her mind away from the negative thoughts.
“Lana’s a wonderful woman. She’s a widow who works at a hospital in Anaheim. She’s a registered nurse, and she’s also best friends with Nancy, Brian’s mom.” Sunny shifted in the chair and crossed her legs. “They’re a funny combination. Nancy is so wealthy she’ll never have to worry about anything, and Lana barely makes enough to treat herself to an occasional dinner out. They’re an odd couple, but they are closer than any two friends I’ve ever known.
“When Brian demanded I leave, I went to Nancy. I didn’t have anyone else. It’s funny, but I didn’t make any real friends in California. We knew people, of course, but they weren’t what I would call friends. There are those people in the world who are happy to be close to you when things are going great, but just let one thing go wrong or get ugly, and they either desert you or hang around long enough to see how badly you’re going to crash and burn.”
Kathy nodded. “I know the kind.”
“Well, I didn’t have anyone to go to that I cared to let know the situation. So I went to Nancy. I told her what had happened. I told her I knew I couldn’t stay with her—after all, Brian was her son and he wouldn’t be comfortable to come to her if I was there. Nancy agreed, but suggested I could stay with a friend of hers. She called Lana and told her the situation. Lana was happy to have me. She had a three-bedroom house to herself and was rather lonely. I went to live with her but had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.”
“What do you mean?” Kathy’s curiosity was once again triggered.
“Lana is a woman with a strong faith in the Lord. She lives her faith like nobody I’ve ever seen.”
“What about Mom and Dad?” Kathy felt defensive and crossed her arms. “They had strong faith.”
“Yes. They did, but this went even beyond what we grew up with. Lana lives in a way that suggests she’s actually seen God face-to-face. I know she hasn’t done that in a physical way, but she certainly has in a spiritual sense. She’s at peace all the time. She never questions God’s ability to resolve a matter or deal with things fairly. She doesn’t fool anyone by suggesting that getting right with God equals freedom from pain and problems, but she makes it clear that by experience she knows that a closeness with God equals a peace of mind that cannot be had anywhere else.”
The rhythmic beat of the glider moving back and forth was the only sound for several minutes. Sunny seemed to be considering her words carefully, almost as if she knew Kathy was feeling a certain tension from the unspoken suggestion that Lana had something the rest of them didn’t.
“Mom and Dad trusted God for sure. They were always encouraging us as kids to read our Bible and pray. They wanted us to be in church and to know who God was and what Jesus had done for us in dying on the cross. I knew all of that and still walked away. I knew the stories. I knew the routines. I had even stood up in church when I was twelve and asked God to save me from my sins. I did everything that tradition called for.”
“You mean that the Bible called for, don’t you?”
“Some of it was what the Bible called for. Some of it was what we the people in the church had attached to it. Do you realize how difficult we make it for someone to accept that Jesus died for their sins and that they can be saved for all eternity by accepting His sacrifice?”
“What are you saying?” Kathy shook her head. “You make it sound as if Christians don’t want people to get saved.”
“Well, I don’t know if they do or don’t as a whole. I just remember how severe people could be with each other. I know how hard they’ve been on me. All I want is forgiveness and to be able to move forward with my life, and instead I get negativity and ugly comments.”
“Now wait a minute.” Kathy stopped the glider and leaned forward. “You can’t just do whatever you want in life and then expect people to overlook it.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. There are always consequences, good and bad. Lana helped me to see that God’s love is unconditional, while most people put conditions on their love. They’ll accept you or care about you so long as you do things their way. Some people do whatever they can, even to their detriment, all in order to please someone else and earn their approval. That’s what I was doing with Brian. I really loved him—I still do—but I wasn’t being myself. I was living in a way that I thought would please him, until I saw what it was doing to our daughter. When he started pressuring me to have more kids, I knew I couldn’t just please him without counting the cost. Lana suggested that my standing up to him probably fit in with one of the stories Anita was feeding him at the office.”
“How does she figure that?” It frightened Kathy to realize that she wanted to challenge her sister at every move.
“Well, if Anita was telling him that I was having an affair with Rick, she was probably also suggesting that I wasn’t willing to have any more kids or get off the birth control pills I insisted on taking, for fear I’d get pregnant while having my fling.”
“Seems strange that Brian should have even confided in Anita about wanting more kids.”
“I know, but I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way.” She sighed.
“Lana sounds like a good friend,” Kathy said after several minutes of silence.
Sunny got up and leaned against the porch rail to face Kathy. “Lana has helped me to see things in a different way, but I don’t suppose I ever would have cared about what she had to say if I hadn’t seen her live her convictions firsthand. She’s not just a Sunday Christian—she really lives her faith daily.”
“Mom and Dad weren’t Sunday Christians either. Neither am I.” Kathy knew her tone was edged with irritation, but she didn’t try to disguise it.
“I’m not going to judge anyone,” Sunny said defensively. “I just saw Lana live her faith rather than just speak it. She helped me to see that I could have something different too. It’s more than what I had when I attended church as a child. It runs so deep and true. I’m sure you’re right, that Mom and Dad had it, that you have it, but remember . . . I left not caring to recognize that kind of behavior in them. I’m not trying to say Lana is better than anyone, but she has a friendship with Jesus—a deeply rooted love and trust in Him that keeps her solid when things around her seem shaken to the point of destruction. I want that for myself—more than anything.”
“More than Brian and Lucy?”
Sunny stood biting her lip for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Because I now see that if I don’t have that kind of real relationship with God, none of the rest will matter. None of it will last. I’ll have no solid foundation to build on.”
Kathy could finally see what Sunny was saying. “I guess I understand what you’re saying. It’s kind of that place where life can no longer shake you. I want that too.”
A large four-wheel-drive vehicle came down the road in front of the farm. Kathy recognized it as Sylvia and Tony’s Suburban. She waved and saw Sylvia wave from the passenger seat at they drove toward their farm. Sunny waved too.
Silence shrouded them for several minutes. Sunny again took her seat in the rocker while Kathy thought on all they had discussed. It was like a door had opened just a little wider. They were making progress, but it was coming in baby steps.
“I knew it would be hard coming back. I figured I’d have a real time of it with Mom and Dad,” Sunny said softly. “Lana helped me to see I needed to mend the past before I could move forward, and I really wanted to do that. I guess in most respects, I have. I have Mom’s and Dad’s forgiveness. I thought that would be hard earned, but instead it came in such unexpected ways. Mom’s letter. Dad’s open welcome.” Sunny turned and faced Kathy. “But what I don’t have is your forgiveness. And, as strange as it sounds, I never thought I would have to work for it like I have.”
“What do you mean work for it? I’m not making you work for anything.”
“You may not think you’re doing anything, but you are. You’ve withheld yourself from me in so many ways. I kept telling myself I didn’t have a right to talk to you about it— to challenge you to face it or change it, but I can’t stay quiet. You treat me as if I’m a stranger. As if you have to be cautious of me and what I might do.”
Kathy stiffened. “Why should I be any different than anyone else? You hurt me.”
“But I thought we had something different.”
“I thought so too, but then you ran away.” Kathy felt her defenses rising. “I felt like everything I had believed was a lie.”
“But why? I was the one who messed up.”
“But I felt betrayed. You asked me what it was I needed from you, and I figured it out earlier today. I need honesty. I need truth, because, Sunny . . . Amy, I thought I had the truth when we were girls. I thought we were close—and what you did by leaving the way you did, by staying away without any word for twelve years . . . well . . . it negated the relationship I thought I had with you.”
Kathy fought to keep back tears. She didn’t want Sunny to think she was weak. “Everything I believed was true changed almost overnight. Some by my hand, but mostly because of you. The family changed. My relationship with Kyle changed. I changed. The only constant I had was God. I clung to Him like a drowning rat, and while I may not fully understand what it is to have complete peace in Him, I’m trying.”
“That’s all any of us can do. Lana told me that her relationship with God didn’t come overnight. It’s been developing over years of getting to know Him better and learning that He is faithful—that we can trust Him not to hurt us like we hurt each other.”
“I believe that,” Kathy said, calming a bit. “It’s the same with human relationships. When we put our faith and trust in someone and they prove themselves to be false, it hurts.” She felt the tears slip down her cheeks. “You hurt me, Sunny. You hurt me more than I can say.”
Sunny nodded, her expression betraying that she too was close to tears. “But you won’t let me make things right?”
“You can’t make things right!” Kathy declared a little louder than she’d intended. “You can’t give me back the wasted years—the lost relationships and life that I might have known—that we might have known.”
“No. I can’t. I can’t do anything about the past except say I’m sorry—and I am genuinely sorry. Hopefully I can do something about the present—the future.” Sunny got to her feet. “But first, Kathy, I need you to forgive me.”
KATHY REMAINED QUIET for a long time. Forgiving was the right thing to do, and in truth, Kathy knew it was what she wanted to do. She stared out past Sunny to the road. The light was fading and nearly gone.
So many years stood between them, the past a vast wasteland that seemed impossible to cross. Yet Kathy knew that with God, all things were possible. Either she honestly believed that or it was nothing more than a quaint saying, hollow in its promise.
She looked at Sunny and saw nothing but sincerity in her expression. “I want to forgive you. I know it’s the right thing to do, but my heart screams for protection. I want to trust you again,” Kathy finally said. “Please understand, though, I can’t do it overnight. I mean, I can say the words, but it’s going to be a process—a journey.”
“Most things in life are,” Sunny replied. “I don’t mind waiting, Kathy. I just want you to forgive me so that we can start over.”
Kathy nodded. “I want that too. I really do.” Yet still she wasn’t saying the words. What was wrong with her? Why was her heart so hardened against giving Sunny her forgiveness? Was it that Kathy thought forgiveness somehow equaled approval? Was forgiveness saying that it didn’t matter what Sunny had done—that she shouldn’t feel bad or responsible for the problems she’d caused? Kathy felt her head begin to throb. She thought of what Paul said in Romans seven, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”
Hating Sunny wasn’t what she wanted to do. Holding a grudge and focusing on the bitter past weren’t what Kathy wanted either. Yet most of her adult life, Kathy had focused on exactly that.
But what child of God—what honest-to-goodness Christian woman—would refuse someone forgiveness when they asked?
The thought startled her. She wasn’t refusing Sunny forgiveness— was she? But she was using the excuse that it would take time—that Sunny would have to prove herself.
It’s a good thing God doesn’t treat me like that
, Kathy thought.
How would it be if I asked God for forgiveness and He said, “I
want to forgive you, but it’s going to take time”?
