Tales of a Daughter and Her Mother

Dangling

Ava O’Brien looked out the window of her compact sewing room in the back of the family’s small house. The summer afternoon fog was thinning and maybe, just maybe, she would see the sun before it set. She was hand stitching the collar onto a new dress for her middle child, while waiting for her firstborn to join her. Earlier that morning, the two had made a two o’clock date. For several days, Bethie had been asking for a new story, from long ago, “from Fernie, Mommy.” Although Maggie and even younger Joe were usually part of her audience, Ava realized that Bethie may be ready for more of a lesson. About her mother’s life, yes, but also about life in general. She had thought, Bethie’s now the age I was that year. That exceedingly long winter. Maybe, this story is for an audience of one. And with these thoughts, Maggie and Joe had been diverted to the front of the house, now lost in a new jigsaw puzzle.

Ava was distracted in preparing the details of her story and had failed to hear her daughter enter the room. When she looked up from her sewing and saw Bethie sitting near, she thought, that child, how can she be so quiet at times and so emotional at other. Her daughter turned her gaze from the window and smiled, “I came a few minutes early. To make sure I got the best seat.”

“Oh, I’ll always save the best seats for my best audience. I’m so lucky you three like my stories.”

“Love your stories, Mommy.”

Ava focused on her daughter’s smile, on how well it graced her young face. It’s there, her smile, she thought, simply resting. Nothing hidden. Open, and so honest. She returned for a moment to her seam line before launching her story.

“Well,” Ava said, looking briefly at her watch, “it’s two o’clock, isn’t it.”

“Yes, it is,” Bethie said, slightly fidgeting, then almost nestling into her chair.

“Time for another story of a long-ago childhood in faraway Fernie?”

“Yes. The small mining town in the middle of nowhere. But such a great place to live,” Bethie said, quoting her mother, then the town’s motto captured on the postcard that stood framed on her nightstand .

Ava couldn’t resist smiling at her daughter’s description. She rested her hands on her lap as a formal commencement and, as she always did in telling her children a story, began by looking at her audience, now holding that look with her daughter, making sure their connection was set. Then, and only then, did she start with a very brief introduction. “This story begins with a very early and very heavy snowfall, just past the middle of . . . fall. The day after Halloween.” She picked up the dress and half-sewn collar, quickly found the rhythm of her stitch. Ava knew many of the story’s details, but was comfortable, almost preferred, much would be told without plan. One memory following another, almost as one scene flows into another within a dream. Also, Ava knew this audience would have questions that would interrupt, some she could almost predict, and some, wonderfully unexpected.

“I was eleven years old and woke up from a night of trick-or-treating to find myself in my favorite season – snow! We had no weather forecast back then, Bethie. Well, nothing I ever heard, other than what you could see, or feel, in the sky. To go to sleep in autumn and wake up in winter? It was magic! So,” she paused with a short breath, “All Saint’s Day, which was a holy day, immediately turned into a holiday, certainly for us children. By the time it took to convince my brother his chores could be neglected, and then us reaching our favorite sledding hill, the snow had been packed from top to bottom by countless others. If you remember, Bethie, Anthony was much older than me, and, next to my daddy, my favorite person in the world. He would lie flat on the long sled and be the pillow I would lie on, my arms and legs tight around him. And not have a care in the world, I trusted him so much. He was such a good sledder.”

“Was he the brother who became a sailor?”

Ava smiled to herself, maybe I haven’t told them about my family as much as I’d thought. “Yes, my love, only one brother, Anthony. Tony. He did become a type of sailor. He joined the merchant marines. Actually, about a year after this story ends.” Ava paused, trying her best to remember, no, to actually feel the sensations of long-ago sled rides. From the very moment before she and her brother would push off and take the plunge downward. She took a deep breath now, almost feeling the icy air rush in. “I can remember how it felt, Bethie, such cold air, from the outside tip of my nose all the way down into my chest, but, at the same time, being warm on top of my brother. Ready, he would call out. Ready, I would yell, squirming and pulling myself even tighter to him. And off we’d go. So fast, so quickly. Almost as if, we were falling.” Ava glanced from her sewing and saw the sparkle in her daughter’s eyes.

“This hill was known for, not only being steep, but its twists and turns, especially the bend around a big oak tree near the bottom. The ground was banked perfectly. As if God had designed it himself for sledding! As you came over a rise, it looked like you’d crash right into the tree, but a big slope would push you away, then another would send you back around the tree. Back down the hill, back to the finish. The more trips made, the sharper the curves became.

“Well, something was different that day. I have no idea what or why, but I remember, even before we spilled, it felt different. Instead of being guided by the first bank, we were flung. Away from the tree. And the next curve wasn’t sideways, but . . . upward. And we were flying.” Ava rested her work on her lap. “At first, soaring, and, oh my word, it was thrilling. But then, while still in the air . . .” Ava looked at her daughter and slowly shook her head side to side. “That poor little girl. No older than you are now, Bethie.”

“The little girl was you, Mommy,” Bethie said with eyes wide. “What happened? Were you hurt?”

“Hurt? Oh my, yes. But, first, it was just . . . confusing. We were both flipped while still in the air. Someone said later we looked like flapjacks being tossed so high. The little flapjack, high, the big one, even higher. Luckily, both away from the hard packed snow. Into the oh-so-soft snow. But unluckily, I landed first. And Anthony landed . . . right on top.” Ava paused again, shaking her head. “That poor girl. And that poor big brother. He wasn’t hurt, but he felt so bad. Maybe felt even worse than his little sister felt physically. He picked her up from the soft snow, just like powder, only to see . . . her leg . . .”

“Your leg was broken, Mommy?”

“. . . dangling broken. Snapped in two. Both lower bones.”

“You went to the hospital?” Bethie thought quickly. “Did your town have a hospital?”

Ava smiled and thought, I’ve always said how small Fernie was. “Yes, we were lucky. I was lucky. We had a hospital. And a doctor who could fix dangling broken bones. Remember, Fernie was a coal-mining town. We always had accidents. Terrible accidents.”

“Is that the end of the story?”

“Oh, no, dear. Not the end. Rather, almost the beginning.”

“The beginning?”

“Yes, maybe a long beginning, but this story has a longer ending. I was in the hospital for almost two months. Those two months are . . . well, they’re the heart of the story.”

“Why?” Bethie asked, looking puzzled. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Ava had finished the dress collar and now focused on the first of the two pocket covers. “Hmmm. Wrong? No, not at all.” She made sure of the alignment and then pinned the covering to the shirt. She looked at her daughter. “No, this isn’t a story of ‘wrong,’ Love. Almost the opposite. Almost a story of ‘right.’ It’s a story of . . . being given a gift. No, more a blessing.”

Ava noticed the slightest settling of her young child, her eleven-year-old, as if she had said just the right thing at the right time. That Bethie understood, somehow, maybe unconsciously, what her mother had just described. And that Bethie was ready to hear what that blessing was.

“This is a story of a young girl given the gift of solitude . . . of being by herself for what seemed forever. Though I should add her brother, father, and sister, they all came often. And such lovely visits.”

“Only one sister, mommy? Aunt Stella?”

“No, dear, Aunt Catherine. Aunt Stella had left home, the year before. Already in Alameda by then. Here, across the Bay.” Ava paused, thinking back on all the comings and goings of her childhood. Must be confusing to my audience, she thought.

“Solitude. The way I think of the word is different from how the dictionary defines it, which is a loneliness. To me, it’s more . . . an opportunity. It was for this girl, lying in bed, left to her thoughts. Day after day. Left to thinking, and . . . so many questions. A chance, maybe not to answer them, but to . . . simply know they existed.” But Ava thought to herself, this is too abstract. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the details of the small hospital room she was confined to many years before. Only the single floor-to-ceiling window remained vivid from the room itself. “I was so lucky to have such a beautiful window, Bethie, that tall, tall window to look out. To see the world, to see the seasons. The seasons passing.” Ava laughed quietly. “From winter back to fall then again into winter. You see, we quickly went back to autumn. The last of the leaves had gone in the snow, but that early snow soon melted and left the trees bare before real winter came to dress them again.”

Ava was impressed at how engaged her daughter seemed, how still she sat in her chair. Ava finished stitching the first pocket cover and then, as the flap had been fixed, had sewn the button onto the shirt, directly underneath its opening. She moved to the second cover.

“The first gift I was given was the small library down the hall. Well, silly to call it a library. Simply, a free-standing piece of furniture in an alcove, quite large, but a single bookcase, nonetheless. But it was filled from top to bottom. Children books, adolescent books, classics, biographies, stories about people’s lives. I had always been a reader. I was well known to the town librarian, her “best customer,” she always said. And yes, my love, before you ask, our town also had a small library. But the specific treasure of that long winter was the book I was to devour, read cover to cover, from beginning to end and then back to all the middles.” Ava paused, then said, “Oh my, Bethie, I almost forgot. I didn’t find it on that bookcase, someone gave it to me. A gift all wrapped up.”

“I know who gave it to you, Mommy,” Bethie’s face brightened. “It was your daddy. He was always giving you presents.”

Ava once again had to acknowledge how attentive Elizabeth was. And extra attentive to the matters of the heart. She smiled warmly toward her daughter. “And most times, Bethie, you would be right. He did give me so many presents. But not this one. This present came from the nurse, my nurse, who took care of me almost every day during those two long months. And . . .” Ava stopped, turning her gaze out the window, “I can’t remember her name.” She tapped her forehead, drumming her fingers as was her habit when trying to make her brain work, then gave her head a quick shake. “I’ll remember it. I do remember her. How she looked, my, how everything was in place. How kind and patient. Though she could also be stern. And how surprisingly strong. She would turn me over so easily, even with that heavy cast. . . And her back rubs. Those I remember best.”

“As good as your back rubs?”

“Oh, that’s not for me to judge, dear, but, now that you ask, I guess she was my first teacher. I know when I was in nursing school, I often thought back to her. Devlin, that was her name. I don’t think I ever knew her first name. She wasn’t married. I called her, Miss Devlin.” Ava smiled thoughtfully. “She was very proper, very English. I was always Miss Pieske to her. Well, almost always. Once or twice, her face would soften, and she would call me by my name. My first name.” Ava tilted her head, staring unfocused toward the ceiling for a few seconds. “But there was another connection. That I didn’t know at first, for the first few weeks or so. She knew my parents. Both of them.” Ava thought to herself, how much of this do I want to say? To tell Bethie? This wasn’t the lesson I intended. But maybe, a small introduction?

“I know I’ve told you all about my daddy. Probably, in most stories I’ve ever told.”

Bethie nodded her head emphatically and added, “In every story.”

“But not so, my mother. She must have been somewhere in one of my stories?” Ava asked, looking at her daughter, but also asking herself. Or maybe even asking anyone, or anything, who might be listening from the spirit world.

“You once told us she was very sad. That she once had to go back to her family, her mother and father. That was part of the story where you went to live at your uncle’s farm. But you didn’t stay.”

Oh my, Ava thought, poor Bethie. Far too many comings and goings. Must be so confusing. Though, maybe not. She doesn’t seem confused. Only, interested. Maybe, they’re all just stories to her. But keep it brief, Ava, keep this brief.

“Yes, that story. My poor mother was sad. For a very long time. And several times, she was in the hospital, that same hospital that I was in, in this story, my broken leg story. And Miss Devlin was her nurse. That was how she knew my mother, and my daddy. A few weeks into my stay, unexpectedly, her face softened, and she said, ‘I’ve taken care of your mother, Ava dear. When she was here, as a patient.’”

“Why was your mother so sad, Mommy?”

Ava sighed, “Oh, Love, that’s an extremely long story. One that actually doesn’t have an ending yet.”

“Doesn’t have an ending? You mean,” Bethie answered haltingly, “that your mother is still alive?”

“Yes, Bethie, your grandmother, my mother, is still alive.”

Ava could see the complexity play out on Bethie’s smooth, unlined face. In her eyes, and maybe on her forehead, or perhaps circling her lips? Or was it more ephemeral, almost spiritual, hovering above her head. Or, I am adding something not there, she thought. Oh Ava, you didn’t plan for this, did you. Ava was painfully aware that her children had never met either of her parents. Her father having recently died, having never moved or travelled from his home in Fernie, and her mother knee-deep, soul deep in  lifelong depression now in a hospital in Vancouver. Ava’s children had seen only photographs, had only heard stories and mostly of her father. And on top of that, they had known so little of their other grandmother, her husband’s mother, before she died.

“I have a grandmother,” Bethie said slowly. She paused, appearing to Ava to let this new fact sink in. “But where does she live?”

Oh dear, Ava thought, I really did let the Genie out of the bottle. Let’s see how good of a storyteller you really are. “Still in Canada, Love. And I promise I’ll tell you and your sister and brother more one day.” Though at the same time, Ava was thinking, how can I tell my children “more” when I’ve never understood that story myself. Ava quickly added the calmest of smiles to reassure her daughter. “But back to this story. Back to Miss Delvin’s gift.” Ava could thankfully see that Bethie once again repositioned herself in her chair in anticipation.

“What book did Miss Devlin give this young girl? This girl who was still weeks from returning home. This girl who had a different book on her nightstand almost every other day. Well, a book of someone the nurse looked up to as her guiding light. Maybe this light could also be a guide for this young girl.

“So, you see, Bethie, this was truly a gift. Given to me to maybe make a difference in my life.” Ava paused. “Have you ever heard of Florence Nightingale?”

“Yes, in school. She was a nurse. And I think she was British. Like Miss Devlin!”

“She was English. And yes, she was not only a nurse, but, in a way, maybe the very first nurse. At least, in the way we think of nurses. You could say that she became a nurse by becoming a nurse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean that nursing didn’t really exist before her. It’s hard to imagine, but it wasn’t one person’s job to care for hospital patients. Really truly look after them. Florence changed all that. Changed it first for herself, then changed it for everyone – she wrote the very first book on how to become a nurse. And started the first school to train for that job.”

“Was that the book that Miss Devlin gave you?”

“I was a good reader, but her book was a true adult book. The book Miss Devlin gave me was simpler, written by someone else and told the story of her life. A few years later, I did read Florence Nightingale’s book. My daddy gave me it as a ‘going-away’ present when I moved down to live with Aunt Stella. After I had said for years how much I wanted to be a nurse. You see, Bethie, that little girl was so impressed with that special woman, how Florence devoted all of her life in helping her patients. And then teaching others how to do what she did. She never married. Never experienced the wonders of being a mother. But every day, she experienced the joy of making a difference, a real difference, in people’s lives.”

Ava had slowed her stitch across the second pocket cover and finished the last loop, knotting the underside. She saw her daughter lost in thought, almost searching for something out the window. She could see Bethie softly biting down on her lower lip and knew a question was forming. Ava waited in quiet expectation that, once again, her daughter’s question would impress her with its simple insight.

Bethie began while still looking out the window. “Mommy, you were a nurse first. Before you and daddy were married?” She turned to look at her mother.

Ava paused only a second before realizing where her daughter was headed. “Yes, Love. I was a nurse at St. Mary’s for almost three years.”

“And you’re not a nurse anymore. I mean, I don’t remember you ever going to the hospital. To work I mean.”

“Well, I do keep my certification active, but no, I stopped working as a nurse before you were born.”

“Was that hard?”

Ava first thought, was what hard? Then she realized and said, “You mean, was it hard to stop being a nurse?” Bethie nodded her head. “Yes, it was hard. One of the hardest decisions I ever made. In a way, I first made my decision before Daddy and I got married. Knowing that if I married your father meant that we would have a family, that I would be a mother. But even so when the time came to actually stop being a nurse? That was harder than I ever imagined.”

“How did you decide, Mommy?”

“Well, that’s a long answer. The very first part of that story was your father’s persistence. He asked me to marry him three separate times!”

“Daddy. He must really love you.”

“Oh, he does, Hon. More than anyone else in my entire life. Even more than my Daddy. I was . . .”

All of a sudden, Maggie and Joe stormed into the room, with Joe exclaiming, “We’re done! In less than an hour. A record!”

Maggie, seeing her dress was finished, added on top of her brother’s excitement, “Oh, the collar and pocket covers are even darker purple. Can I try it on?”

“In a second, Maggie,” Ava said almost laughing, caught off guard, then briefly glancing at her eldest, she thought, I’ll have to finish this answer later. I can’t leave this story . . . dangling. But how much more should I tell Bethie. The complete story of that decision? At her age? Maybe this start is enough. Maybe, Maggie and Joe came in at the perfect time.

Ava held up the finished dress for a quick approval. “All right, Maggie. Time to see how this looks on my little redhead.”

Vision of the Falls

Elizabeth O’Brien, known as Beth and to those closest as Bethie, was still weeks from casting her surname to the winds. She hadn’t the slightest notion that, in only a few months, she would rechristen herself with the single name of Batya. At this moment, she sat quietly under a row of towering tulip trees waiting the reunion with her brother and his girlfriend she hadn’t met. Two years had passed since Bethie had last seen her brother. Two years of two different grade schools in two different cities that had led her to question if her long-held passion to teach was grounded in the ability to do so. And if not, what then, she asked herself more than once. An answer had come unexpectedly in the last few weeks, with a new direction, maybe even an entirely new world now at her feet. When Joe had called halfway on their drive up the coast, Bethie hesitantly suggested meeting where she now sat in Spokane. When to meet was barely a guess and therefore, she had made sure to remember her small copy of the New Testament for companionship. Though truth be told, this companion was now always in her cloth satchel, where it belonged.

Bethie closed her eyes and let the verse just finished rest like a leaf on a still pond. And peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Asher suggested to her just yesterday to read Paul’s letter to the Philippians. Bethie wondered, is Asher a new brother, a spiritual brother? She listened to the summer wind swirl high in the trees, echoing the message she just read. She let understanding lie quiet, not ignored, but separate, something to return to at some future time. Now she simply felt the peace of God filling an emptiness that had deepened the past two years. She slowed her breath to the rhythm above and for now, at this moment, felt held within two worlds – her rendezvous with Joe in the earthly realm, and a spiritual reality to which she recently had been introduced.

The recent weeks had also introduced the connection between these worlds. First, the surprise of an idea from Joe to meet in Spokane, at the World’s Fair and then to drive north into Canada. That the two of them should finally visit, for the first time, the small mining town deep within the Canadian Rockies where their mother had been born and raised. The home to countless stories that had danced from her loving lips. Stories that captivated, but also underneath had taught that lifelong passion could lead to lifelong action. And then to not only miraculously meet the ministry of Christians in Billingham, but to begin to be guided by them, Asher, Ariella, and the loving others. This juxtaposition of happenstance seemed too perfect to ignore, for behold, these new brothers and sisters were also headed to Spokane – to deliver the gospel to the multitudes, at a World’s Fair no less. And here I sit, Bethie almost whispered, having met a heavenly family, waiting to rejoin my earthly one.

Distant from the fair’s main island, Bethie watched the endless parade of humanity cross the walking bridges. Such a transformation of such a small city from when she attended college, less than a mile from where she now sat. A circle indeed, she said to herself and briefly returned to those four long years, and then four even longer. That year in Chicago itself seemed four years. Her lifelong goal of teaching children, of making small differences by sharing her love of learning, had been so much more about her learning, or not learning, or more, her weaknesses, or possibly worse, unexpectedly vulnerable to the mistakes of others. And as her passion for teaching was challenged then battered, an emptiness had slowly found its way inside. But now to be filled, Bethie reminded herself. She wondered what her loving mentor in Chicago, dear Mother Marie, would say. Would she still look down kindly from above, now that Bethie’s answer seemed to be leaving Mother Marie’s church for a different spirituality. But Bethie quickly responded to this moment of doubt, true spirituality must be the same no matter what the name.

Even in the distance, the energy of the fair was palpable. Both from what Bethie had seen and felt an hour before passing near the fairgrounds, but also from listening to Asher and Ariella describe their preaching the day before. She would soon stand with them to spread the Word. Am I ready, Bethie questioned. To stand uninvited as witness? Before strangers? Her teaching, especially of children so young, wasn’t the same. And she had made so many mistakes. Especially her impulse to teach from her heart, to be too in love with the specific subject she was striving to present. Her emotions had been too much for her young students, and it was unlikely such passion alone would convince a doubting nonbeliever. She raised the small book to her lips to steady even thinking of this new challenge.

Bethie turned her gaze in the direction she expected Joe might appear, then asked herself, would she be surprised by his appearance, not even recognize her earthly brother. Am I already too high in the clouds, she wondered. Oh well, God will lead us to each other. She turned her attention back to Paul to be soothed again by what she carefully read, pausing at each verse, until she came to, I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Bethie rested the book on her lap, sensing the meaning, but not certain. She would need her new spiritual family to explain such faraway words from the Bible. She looked up into the moment to focus on what she could see of the fair, then unconsciously turned her head to see two figures approaching. Unsure for a moment, Bethie stepped from the shadows, first shyly raising one hand, then, when she was positive it was Joe, waving both hands high in the air. The distant figures waved back. and she rushed up the slight grade to greet them.

“Bethie,” Joe said opening his arms wide, “my big sister.”

“Joseph, I can’t believe you’re here,” Bethie replied with a split-second gaze into his eyes, and thought, they haven’t changed. Closing her eyes, she entered his loving hug.

Pulling back but still holding his sister, Joe smiled. “We most definitely are. Right here. But Joseph? Mom doesn’t even call me that anymore. Sounds so . . . biblical.”

“It’s my new. . .  Oh, enough. Introduce me.” Bethie turned with a smile toward the young woman standing close.

“Oh, that’s right, you haven’t met. This is Samantha, my . . . jeez, still don’t have the right word. Even after living together over a year. Samantha, my big sister, Bethie. Or guess if we’re being formal, Elizabeth.”

“No, silly, still Bethie,” she said laughing, though thinking, for now, earthly and spiritually, still Bethie. She reached out both hands toward Samantha.

“Joe’s told me so much about you,” the young woman said, squeezing Bethie’s hands. “I feel we’ve already met.” Samantha stepped back half a step, studying a face aglow. “I’m trying to see who you look like, your mother or father. Such a perfect mix. Though, you know, maybe I see your mother’s sister, Joe. Your Aunt Catherine.”

“Sam’s forever focused on family traits. Drives me crazy. But I have to say, she’s always right.”

“I don’t mind,” Bethie replied. “No one’s ever said I look like Aunt Catherine. I love that. And it fits more of a . . . connection I have with Mom’s side. Joseph, I can’t wait to see her hometown. What a wonderfully perfect idea.”

“Not sure where it came from. Wanting to see you of course. And at a World’s Fair? Then, when Sam and I were staring at the map, Fernie just wasn’t that far. No further than the drive we just did.”

“Not sure why I never thought of that. I mean when I was here at college. For four years!” Bethie laughed quietly. “Well, guess not having a car.”

“God, Bethie, you look great. Dare I say . . . radiant. We have so much to catch up.”

As the three made their way toward the river, Bethie marveled at her brother walking by her side, so close to be almost touching. And at times, her brother reached out to momentarily hold her hand. But below her thoughts of closeness swirled the confusion of how to bridge her earthly family with a new spiritual one. She felt lightheaded, almost off balance. But then Bethie took a deep breath and ever so slightly scolded herself, enough, Bethie, that’s enough. Today is today, it’s not tomorrow. She took Joe’s hand, interlacing fingers for the rest of the walk down the hill.

After rest stops, ticket booths, and a slow-moving entrance, they crossed the nearest bridge to the main island. At the bridge’s end, Samantha exclaimed while pointing, “Let’s do this entrance justice. The two of you, over there. A picture on the bridge of brother and sister, with that ridiculously big tent thing in the background.”

“Oh, that’s the U.S. Pavilion,” Bethie said. She took Joseph’s hand again and led the way to the far railing. Bethie stood facing Samantha, her satchel tucked under her arm where she could feel her small book inside. She moved even closer to her brother in response to his wrapping an arm around her as he said, “Guess you’re no longer my big sister.” Bethie could almost feel how bright her face shone in the sunlight and heard again what Joseph had said. Yes, she admitted to herself, I do feel radiant.

“Perfect. Everything, even the color of your clothes is perfect. Your white shirt, Joe, with Bethie’s dark blue top and red skirt. The colors of the flag.”

“That certainly wasn’t planned, Sam,” Joe quickly deadpanned. “I heard there was quite a protest when the prez opened the fair. You know, this might be the first world’s fair opened by one leader of a country, only to be closed a few months later by another. The guy’s toast. Good riddance!”

Bethie changed the subject. “Someone’s missing, Joseph. Margaret should be here. Between us. I need to call her.”

“Me, too. Though mom calls Maggie enough for the two of us. Sounds like her training’s almost over. And,” Joe paused with a large grin and raised eyebrows, “she’s met someone. No, more than met.”

“Oh, goodness,” Bethie said with a smile. “We have even more to talk about.”

The three walked off the bridge and onto the main island, each dazed by the size of the crowds and the overwhelming number of exhibits. Samantha muttered, “Not sure where to start, but one request for sure – no more slow-moving lines.”

“I should have done my homework,” Joe added.

“Not a problem – my friends gave me plenty of ideas,” Bethie said. “Including the best way to start – a skyride! The entire fair from above as a preview. And then, of course, there are the falls.” She opened her map and quickly found the boarding platform, then pointed. “Okay?”

“Oh, we must see your falls, Bethie. I still remember your letters from college,” Joe said, then hesitated. “The cars aren’t too high, are they?” he paused. “No idea how or why, but I’ve developed a . . . well, not a fear, but I kind of avoid heights. Any height. It’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” Samantha interjected, “he won’t drive over the Golden Gate bridge, even in the middle lane.”

“Really, Joseph? That must be new. Look, over there. Those cars aren’t too high, are they?”

“I think that’s okay. From here. Like I said, no idea how it started. Nothing traumatic. I mean I didn’t fall off a cliff.”

They came around the other side of the U.S. Pavilion and saw the tramway platform. The line seemed long, but people were steadily snaking back and forth inside the entrance ropes.

“This is really quite amazing, the transformation. Do you remember how it was, Joseph? That huge old falling-down train station . . . that was right here. I think right where we’re standing.”

“Never been here, Bethie. Never even been to Spokane before.”

“Of course, you have. The whole family came up when I started college. Eight years ago. You were old enough to remember.”

“No, it was just you and dad. You had to fit all your stuff in the car. No way the whole family could have come. It was just the two of you.”

Bethie hesitated. “Oh, well, now I’m completely confused. Anyway, I know how this area looked. Passed whenever I walked downtown.” She shook her head, barely smiling. “Not sure where that memory came from.”

They entered the line that moved more than it paused. Bethie was still deep in thought when Joe nudged her. “Gotta keep moving, girl. This line doesn’t stay still for a second. Say, how far downriver are those falls of yours?”

Bethie quickly forgot her puzzlement and turned, excitedly, pointing. “Not that far. You see the overpass, and that large brick building underneath? That’s the electric company. The falls begin just beyond.”

“You mean they’re big enough for electricity!” Joe said quickly, then paused. “Must be one serious waterfall.”

Bethie could see the concern on her brother’s face. “The falls aren’t that steep. I mean, this isn’t Yosemite.” She could see that didn’t help. “Nowhere close. Anyway, you can always close your eyes. They’ll simply disappear.”

“And I’ll hold your hand,” Samantha added, teasing.

“Thanks for the sympathy, you two. It was just a couple of years ago I did hike up Yosemite Falls. And then leaned over that almost nonexistent railing. Two thousand feet straight down! Now I’m worried about some little gondola car twenty feet in the air.”

“Oh, I think it must be at least thirty, Joe,” Samantha said.

“You’re merciless. Anyway, it’s not the height here. It’s that plus the drop at the falls.” They had reached the ticket booth, and Joe took one final look downriver. “You’re right. This is silly. How bad could falling out of the car be.”

“Atta boy,” Samantha said. “Bethie and I’ll make sure you don’t jump.”

“Better be careful, Sam, or I might have to grab you as I fall out.”

As the three walked up the stairs to the loading deck, Bethie was taken back to her childhood. It had been forever since she had shared such banter, and she now heard her father’s voice in what her brother just said. How her father loved to tease. Never-ending and, yes, mercilessly. But he always added, Just my way of showing my love, Bethie. Guided by this memory, Bethie focused on what she could readily see – deep affection between her brother and Samantha. Holding hands. Endlessly whispering to each other. Before she knew it, an empty gondola car stood waiting, and she followed her brother and Samantha inside. The memory of her father and the closeness between Joseph and Samantha carried her even closer to her earthly family. But this in turn led her back to the challenge of the verse Asher read to her and that had stubbornly remained in the back of her mind. Go forth from your country. And from your relatives. And from your father’s house. That could mean many things, Bethie had thought. But Asher made clear the brethren’s interpretation. Nothing can interfere with your relationship with Elohim. You must prepare yourself, Beth, to abandon all earthly things. And then, Ariella added, Your Catholic faith may say to follow Yeshua, but our belief is different. Following Him is not enough. You’ll never fill that emptiness you speak of until you completely  surrender yourself to Meshiach Yeshua.

The gondola bumped into motion and jolted Bethie from these thoughts. As the car slowly moved over the fair suspended from the hum of the wire above, the three looked down on the expansive island, fascinated not only by the number of the exhibits, but by the countless people filling every nook and cranny below.

“Your friends were right, Bethie. A perfect postcard introduction. One could spend days seeing everything that’s below,” Joe said. “Maybe we should spend more time here, Sam? After we’re back from Fernie.”

“More time? You still want to see your aunt and uncle, don’t you? Vancouver Island’s a long trip from here, with the ferry ride and all.”

With the words Vancouver Island, Bethie let their conversation fade into the background as she thought of her Aunt and Uncle. Aunt Catherine, she thought, do I really look like her? Bethie had lived in Bellingham for a year but had never even once made time to visit her relatives. Never took advantage of that lovely ride across the Sound. Though, to be honest, it wasn’t as simple as finding time. Her yearlong struggle with keeping her self-worth intact had held her tight, stopping her from even considering a visit with her family.

As their car approached the large brick building, Bethie glanced up and noticed her brother staring downstream and knew he could see what she did – that the river held a distinctly sharp edge in the near distance, spanning its entire width. As they came nearer, the water quickened toward this long straight ledge. But then, they came to a pause, the car slightly swinging, too far to see over the approaching precipice.

“You don’t have to twist the railing off the wall, you know.” Bethie heard Samantha quietly tease then gently cover her brother’s hand, whispering, “Just take a peek, Joe. When we start again. It’ll be more than worth it.”

“Easy for you to say,” her brother muttered.

Bethie gazed at Samantha’s hand covering her brother’s. Her impulse was to add her hand, but quickly told herself, not your job anymore, Elizabeth. The closeness between the two reminded her of what she did not have, the intimacy of the human touch. No chance of that surrounded by grade school children, she thought cynically, with the only adults, sisters and priests. Then, unexpectedly, Bethie’s thoughts jumped to her brother’s fear of heights, and wondered, is it a fear of falling? Or was it instead, a fear of jumping? Bethie looked ahead to where the river all but vanished. Jumping into the unknown. Or worse, the abyss. Then an odd thought followed, am I about to jump into the abyss? Shaking her head emphatically, she answered herself, no, I am not jumping. And certainly not into the abyss. I am entering into the loving arms of Jesus. Though another question followed almost underneath, but do I really know what that means?

Then, a slight jerk set the car in motion, and Bethie immediately turned to the coming edge of the falls. She felt the car slightly bump as it passed the support pillar to begin the abrupt descent. Through the open gondola windows, the spray from the falls nearly filled the car. Even through the mist, Bethie could see the dramatic plunge downward, taking her breath away. She turned toward her brother. Not only were his eyes still closed tight, but he had stepped further from the open window.

The sound of the falls was near deafening and brought Bethie quickly back to her college days, to her countless visits to these falls. She thought, yes, Joseph, to my falls. Though never this close. Never, my goodness, right on top. The upper half, a vertical sheet, a shimmering wall of free-falling water. The lower half, a torrent rush – above, under, almost through rocks and boulders. Then somehow, the water being guided, then channeled into smaller, countless falls. Bethie thought, what’s the word? Yes, cascade. Such a beautiful sound, such a beautiful word. Then gradually slowing, flattening, the water almost being held, then partially calming. Then finally again, simply a river, flowing through a city park. Now, almost to the bottom, the car stopped again. Instinctually, Bethie turned to look back and upward, to be held in breathtaking wonder, immediately thinking, Oh, Joseph, open your eyes! Looking down may be impossible. But up? Can’t fall up. Can’t jump up. She turned to see Joe still facing forward, eyes still firmly shut.

Their car started again, completed its descent, then circled the final support to begin its slow climb to the top. The sight and sound of the falls once more immediate, once more immense, glorious in its skyward view. Bethie gazed mesmerized, almost hypnotized by being held by two visions at once – the static overall picture of the falls and the downward plunge of water, and from this duality, a thought, or more a feeling, materialized. That the fixed wider view of the falls represented the physical world and the kinetic downward rush of water the spiritual, and when viewed together, showed the two worlds intertwined as one. She took this vision to be a gift from God, and for the briefest moment, added a soft plea, that earthly and spiritual families also existed separate yet equal.

This spell was broken when she heard Samantha’s voice, convincing Joe to finally open his eyes and look upward. It took only a second for him to turn to his sister, his eyes reflecting the wonder before them. “Now I see. Now I know why you always wrote of your falls. I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Oh, Joseph, I always wanted all our family here to share this,” Bethie said while holding his gaze as if holding the entirety of their long-ago childhood. “Tell me, did you see any of the falls going down?”

Joe’s smile grew full. “Not a damn thing. Samantha tried, but . . . not even a peek.”

“Joseph, you’re not teasing me about never having been here, are you? You’re not teasing me, like Dad always did? I don’t understand how my memory could be so wrong.”

“Not at all,” Joe said, then wondered. “Maybe you’re confusing that trip with our epic trip to Canada? Way, way back.”

“No, that was a long time ago,” Bethie said, frowning. “Plus, we went straight up the coast that trip. Straight to Vancouver Island, then that wonderful train ride to Lake Louise. Nowhere near Spokane.”

As the car climbed the full height of the falls, each of them was silent, entranced by the vision so close. As the car began to level at the top, Bethie noticed her brother ever so slightly glancing back and downward.

“Inspiring, isn’t it,” she said softly, then paused and added, “Speaking of inspiration, are you still writing? The poems of van Gogh’s paintings you sent were lovely.”

Joe was caught by surprise. “I forgot I sent those. Did you have a favorite?”

Bethie looked at her brother, his love of writing bright on his face while she thought back to the poems she read months before. “Oh, yes, the triplet of triplets. The three haikus stacked one on top of the other on why the almond tree is so amazingly beautiful. I loved the last haiku describing the branches. More important than the blossoms or that incredible blue of the background. Or branches within, a firmness of touch. . .”

Joe interrupted his sister, “It wasn’t until I wrote that poem that I realized I was writing near haikus every poem. It’s the only one I consciously kept the syllable count.”

“You must be close to finishing. Not the poems, I mean to graduating.”

“Well, I was saving that for tomorrow . . . sadly not close at all. Oh Bethie, I have to confess, my life is a bit of mess. Not a mess, I’m just really confused. I actually changed my major. Dropped creative writing. Still writing for sure, just . . .” Joe looked away from his sister for a moment. “Hate to say it. Harder to admit. But no writing path forward. I love writing, but a career? No idea what that road looks like.”

The ephemeral voice from a song a few years back broke into Bethie’s thoughts. I am on a lonely road, and I am travelling, travelling, travelling . . . “What’s your new major? Or is that what you mean, no idea.”

Joe paused, looking out the window. “It’s even worse. I’m thinking of doing something I shouldn’t. Like jumping into the unknown, or worse, the abyss.” Bethie was startled by her brother using the same description she thought just minutes before. Sister and brother looked intently at each other, Bethie amazed at the connection of family, Joe wondering how to describe his struggles finding a path forward. After a moment of indecision, Joe said sheepishly, “Making up my own major. State lets you do that, make such a dumb mistake. Create your own major and fill it with what. A curriculum to nowhere.”

Looking for something, oh what can that be . . .’ The song continued in Bethie’s head, and she thought, Oh, Joseph, I’ve thought of this song so often the past year. She reached out to take her brother’s hand. “Tomorrow, we can help each other. Figure out career paths. At least, a few steps. Or maybe the first.”

“Tomorrow! The future, on the way to the past.”

“It’s funny,” Bethie said. “You mentioned our epic family trip to Canada. I wonder why we didn’t go the extra mile back then. Why didn’t we see Fernie on that trip?”

“Well,” Joe said. “The short answer is that we were on a train. To Banff and Lake Louise. Fernie’s too far off the beaten track. Still is. Need that car.”

“Yes, of course,” Bethie agreed. “Yes, that must be it.” Though Bethie thought, there’s a longer answer. Fernie was too difficult for her. Too hard for mother to go back. To her childhood. Her father had died by then, and none of her family lived there anymore. And her mother? Her mother was . . . well, her mother was always “gone,” wasn’t she. Always, never there.

Bethie turned her thoughts away from this complicated story and again to her brother and Samantha once more whispering and pointing toward the fairgrounds below. Their gondola car, now back above the crowds, paused one last time before returning to its platform. Elizabeth O’Brien, known as Beth, known to those closest as Bethie, looked beyond the island, back to where she had earlier sat, by herself, waiting, her small book in her quiet hands. Back to the peace of God under those majestic trees. Yes, His peace still holds, she thought. Tomorrow, Fernie. And then? After Joe and Samantha say goodbye, a new family? Certainly, a new life. As the car once more moved forward, she saw her brother wrap his arm tight around Samantha, which again returned Bethie to the question she had to ask Asher, do I truly need to leave for good, forever? To leave behind my oh-so-earthly family. Can Our Lord ask such an unearthly sacrifice? Was the vision of the falls I just saw true or only a wishful thought? Bethie shifted her attention to the loading platform now visible in the closing distance, her focus fixed to keep her doubts at bay until their car came to a stop, once more slightly swinging. Joe pushed open the door for Samantha who reached back to take Bethie’s hand as the two exited first, her brother close behind, saying as he stepped out, “Back from the heavens, back on terra firma.” Bethie was adamant in her response, Elizabeth, you must keep to both heaven and earth. But try as she might, she couldn’t help but continue, or is such a simple goal just wishful thinking?

An Early Morning Walk

Ashira was not surprised to finally find her companion once again in the middle of a field, this one a mix of prairie grass and wildflowers, singing her praises to the heavens. Before calling to her, Ashira took time to quietly enjoy Batya in prayer, her voice both quiet and strong, with her hands raised, head lifted, and body swaying. Not only her voice but also a deep belief in the meaning of what she sang filled the air. Ashira rejoiced in Batya’s happiness, and thanked Elohim once again for giving her the guidance of this sister, this woman six years older than herself. She thought, it’s been four years since we met, and if Elohim allows, forever more will follow.

“Batya!” Ashira finally called out. Batya immediately turned, waved, and then held out her long flowing skirt as she ran to greet her friend.

“Sister, I have to tell you,” Batya said with a sparkle in her eyes, “what I just felt in singing to Yeshua. A revelation from His Holy Spirit reminding me of Chicago, of my hardships that long year.” Batya reached out to take Ashira’s hands. “I was singing to the Savior just now exactly how I was singing to the children in my classroom! Singing with the same abandonment. It wasn’t right to sing that way to my students. But now? It’s simply how I sing to Yeshua. Forever and always.” Batya emphasized these last three words with a loving up and down shake of her friend’s hands. “But tell me, have the brothers and sisters found our new direction? Or do we stay longer in this beautiful country, in Elohim’s country.”

“We stay for now,” Ashira replied. The two dropped hands and started their long walk back to their encampment nearly two miles down the country road they had often shared the past few weeks. Ashira continued, “The Almighty has not yet spoken. So we stay here, our daily labors and services here. And spreading the gospel.” Ashira turned her head as she looked into the quiet fields. “Though not sure who will listen so deep in this farmland.”

The two walked side by side, close to each other in the summer early morning. It was not cold, but neither was it warm yet. As they walked briskly down the two-lane road, sometimes paved, sometimes not, an immense field of soybeans stretched far to the left, the end lost in the distance, and to the right, the large state park that held their campground much farther. Occasionally, a car would pass, but mostly, they walked surrounded by peaceful silence.

“Batya, you mention Chicago. You’ve told me a little about that year, but never any details. Always alluding to your struggles. Can you share them?” When Batya didn’t answer quickly, Ashira turned her head to peek if her friend’s face showed any response. But Batya remained looking ahead, and Ashira added, “I’d like to know. Maybe I could learn from them,  as you did.”

At first, Batya stayed silent. From her peripheral vision, she could see her sister glancing every few steps, but Batya kept her gaze forward, first vaguely returning to her year in Chicago, then feeling overwhelmed by how challenging it had been. But Batya had heard her younger sister wanting to learn and realized, Ashira’s almost the age I was that year. Maybe some of this can help. Though which of the hardships? There were so many.

“I must tell you, Sister, many of those details are deep inside. Deep enough to take time to remember and longer than this walk.” Batya looked at her companion for a long second. “But not all. Some of the challenges I remember quite well.” She took a slow breath to focus on those memories, but then realized even these trials were complicated, with their beginnings not in Chicago but much earlier. “But where to begin? Maybe the most profound struggle was understanding my life as a teacher, and I’m not sure where that story begins.” Batya glanced at the endless rows of bushes curving into the distance. “It would be like finding the start to these fields when you can’t see that far. My wanting to be a teacher might have started with my mother. With her stories of her lifelong passions.” Oh Batya, she scolded herself, Ashira asked about Chicago. Keep your story to that.

“Let’s just say the biggest challenge, the most difficult lesson in Chicago, was realizing that a lifelong passion, even one with years of college and a teaching degree, does not a career make. Yeshua made sure that lesson was well taught. His Holy Spirit tested me at every turn, and at the same time, lead me . . . well, lead me eventually to here.” Batya paused to think how much to delve into specifics, and which to begin with. After a walking in silence, Ashira misinterpreted and thought her friend needed prodding.

“Was teaching harder than you expected? Or did something happen?”

“Oh, Sister, everything in life is so connected. It’s never only one thing. All of Chicago was connected. Yes, teaching was harder than I was ready for. And yes, something happened. Too many things. The first was tied to what I mentioned when you found me just now. Being too in love with what I taught. I’ve always known I can be emotional, but I was told by my students I was too emotional. That it made them uncomfortable. So uncomfortable they asked the school to remove me as their teacher! And then, oh my goodness, the trials were never-ending. But the whole perfect Chicago storm of ‘something happened’ was more than balanced in the end by the eventual changes in my life. The changes that first lead to the holy Scriptures, then to embrace Yeshua, who then led me to His fellowship. And all of this to the peace now inside me. To be walking with my spiritual sister and on such a beautiful road.” As Batya said this, she reached to take her companion’s hand. “Thank you for coming to find me, Ashira. And thank you for asking to share my struggles. Not sure they can help, but reliving them is a blessing. They remind me how far I’ve come.”

A large farm truck kicking up a cloud of dust approached, much faster than the few previous cars. Separating hands, they quickly stepped off the road. Batya smiled and waved to the driver, but he did not acknowledge them, only stared down the road. The sisters turned to each other, shrugged their shoulders as if “oh well” and rejoined hands as they continued their walk.

“Ashira, you never know where the next gift will come from. There was a sister, a nun at the school who . . . well let’s just say we didn’t get along. I can’t remember her name, but she was a piece of the strange puzzle that led to my being removed from the sixth grade. Actually, now that I say it, she made that decision, to move me to the second grade. I might as well have been moved to a different planet. But as the Scriptures teach, we should forgive each other as Yeshua forgives us. And by the end of my Chicago story, she was the one with the surprise gift. She was the one who convinced me to read the Scriptures. For comfort, but also for guidance. Though, she referred to her holy book as the Bible. As I did too at the time.” Batya hesitated. “I don’t remember when I started to call it the Scriptures. Silly, same book, same words. Though not the same interpretation. Our breathren find such different meanings. From how I was taught in grade school. And also my mother, who was quite religious.”

Just then, a piercing cry filled the air, and looking up, they saw a large bird high above the trees. “Not big enough for an eagle,” Ashira guessed. “And not the cry,” added Batya. “I would say a red-tailed hawk. Making those wide circles they love to make. Ashira, I’ve never asked you, how were you raised, I mean in what religion?”

“Southern Baptist, ma’am,” Ashira said, exaggerating a drawl. “Not as different from the Fellowship as you being raised Catholic. Main difference for me was the leadership was just too caught up in themselves. To me, that’s the problem with all those big old religions. The ones on top are too removed from those of us underneath. And then, sometimes worse. Get rid of the big wigs, I say.”

“So the Scriptures were called the Scriptures?”

“Absolutely. Very much the Word is the Word.”

“You know, Sister, I’ve started to copy the Scriptures into my little black book. I’ve written out several. It forces me to truly reflect on the words as I write them down. Like a meditation. And then, when I’m done writing, I sometimes highlight particular words or sentences that move me the most, using colored pencils. It’s quite healing. Quite calming.”

Ashira gazed thoughtfully at her companion and softly said, “You are special, Batya. You inspire me so much. Whatever transition that Chicago laid out for you, Hallelujah! And praise the Almighty.”

“The Almighty, praise Him indeed, sister of mine. You know that don’t you, Ashira. You are my sister through and through.” Suddenly, saying this to Ashira brought Batya’s earthly sister Maggie to mind, and then into her heart. So much so, it startled Batya. She hadn’t thought of Maggie for weeks, maybe months, just as she rarely thought of the rest of her earthly family. Her mother maybe a bit more. Though most of these moments were just that, too quick to even call thoughts, not dwelling on any particular memory or feeling. Now she had to admit, so unexpectedly, she was feeling Maggie’s absence. She stopped, dropping Ashira’s hand and asked, “Do you mind if we sit a few minutes? There’s no rush to get back, is there?”

“Not for a short rest. But are you all right, Sister?”

“Yes, I’m fine. An image just . . . It almost overpowered me and I want to understand it.” Batya quickly looked both sides of the road. To the left, row upon row of soybeans, with no large stones, not even grass to sit on. To the other side, the State Park seemed more appealing, but no resting place quickly showed itself. Then Ashira pointed further down the road toward the crown of a large oak.

“Where’s there a large crown, Elohim will make sure there’s a large trunk to sit against.” And when they reached the tree, they were greeted by side-by-side backrests in the trunk seemingly carved just for them.

“Sometimes these long skirts are a gift from the Savior,” Ashira said as she tucked her skirt neatly underneath for extra padding. “So tell me, Batya, what was this image that came to you?”

“Who came to me. It was my earthly sister, Maggie. I’ve told you my brother was the last of my earthly family I saw. Right after I first met our fellowship. I hadn’t seen Maggie for two or three years before that. So, nearly ten years since I’ve seen her.” Batya had picked up a sturdy stick while she talked and was absent-mindedly drawing curves connecting tree roots showing above the hard-packed soil. She now laid the stick horizontal, carefully erasing the lines she had drawn. “Sister, you’ve told me you stay connected with your earthly family. I’ve never felt comfortable to ask, but Asher preaches that, to truly belong to our spiritual family, we must abandon all earthly things. Including our earthly family. At first, I tried to keep both worlds . . . to keep connected to both. But I couldn’t do it, couldn’t balance the two. I’m still connected to my family, but it’s . . . it’s at a distance. More like a memory. My connection with the spiritual world is so much stronger, much more real. Every second of every day.”

Ashira sat cross-legged with her back straight against the oak, her eyes closed and hands resting on her knees in meditation while Batya spoke. She remained silent for several seconds after her friend had finished, then opened her eyes to answer the question behind Batya’s words. “You mean why don’t I follow Asher’s guidance? Yes, I do stay connected with my mother. Not so much my father, and I have no siblings. I guess my answer has two parts, Sister. First is straight forward. I know the Scripture that Asher quotes, and I don’t agree with his interpretation. ‘Leave your father’s house’ is taken from Genesis and it’s Abraham being told to go and establish a new homeland. So, apples and oranges. Or maybe even, apples and . . . bread? That passage simply has nothing to do with us.” Ashira than looked at Batya. “The second reason is more important to me. What’s essential in my relationship with Elohim, what is holier than holy, is my total commitment to Him. I am completely and totally committed to Him, and to His commandments. And I know myself. I know deep in my heart I can juggle spiritual and earthly balls in the air at the same time. No, that’s not right. I can simply hold them in my hand at the same time. Not only are they mutually separate, they are, to me, mutually connected. All of us here on earth are children of Elohim. Parents and children. Spiritual and earthly. As evidence, one of His commandments is to honor your father and your mother. Now how of earth, or I guess in heaven too, how can you honor them if you abandon them?”

Batya let Ashira’s words float in the air. She imagined that rather than falling to the ground, they slowly dissolved into air, becoming the air itself. She took a long and deep breath as if she could breathe the words into her lungs, and that blood would carry them from her lungs into her heart. And then onward into every part of her. However, try as she might, she could not feel Ashira’s words inside.

“I know, Ashira, you and I, we are the same in our commitment to Mashiach Yeshua,” Batya said with conviction. “I know that you have surrendered to Him as completely as I have. But somehow we must feel the consequence of that differently. My commitment leaves no room for anything but that surrender. Separating myself from my earthly family might have begun with Asher’s interpretation, but now I think that surrendering is different. It’s not giving anything up. It’s receiving. It means to me . . . a fullness. Ashira, I’ve waited all my life for that fullness. I struggled so long to find what was missing inside. The fullness of Elohim is astonishing. It is beyond sacred.”

Batya’s words were beautiful to Ashira, but they still left questions. Although for now, she was content for them to slowly fade into the sounds above, the music made by the slight breeze brushing through the countless leaves above. Then, the high pitch of the red-tailed hawk again pierced the air.

“Guess he hasn’t found his breakfast yet,” Ashira laughed softly.

“Speaking of breakfast. . .” Batya continued, “It’s probably time we go and help our brethren.”

“Yes. And for us to eat,” Ashira added.

They rose, stretched, and brushed off their skirts before stepping from the shade onto the road again. Both felt the warmth of the sun, warmer than when they had started their walk. Batya gazed at the expansive fields of soybeans, the many rows of countless bushes neatly parallel to each other. She was reminded of a painting by van Gogh. The Harvest, she thought, I think that’s the name. And with this painting, she thought of her brother and the poems he had written about van Gogh’s art. Was one of them The Harvest? she asked herself.

“You know, Ashira, I really haven’t abandoned my earthly family. They are still with me. Still in my heart and soul. And my thoughts. I still write to them when I can. Though I admit, not often. My little book is always my first priority when putting pen to paper.” Batya paused in saying this. “Pen to paper, that’s the words my father always used to describe when he wrote. So, you see Ashira, my family is truly with me. And you’ll be happy to know I just mailed a letter the other day.” After a short lapse into the struggles she had with these letters, Batya said, “I wonder how many letters they send back actually reach me? I always use General Delivery as the return address. Our fellowship could be long gone to the next call of the Holy Spirit before their letters arrive.”

Ashira briefly debated whether to add to Batya’s comments. Oh, I should, she thought, Batya needs some guidance from her younger sister. “And then there’s always a short phone call, Sister. Takes away any uncertainty of sending and receiving mail.”

“Oh, Ashira,” Batya began, but could only shake her head slightly from side to side.

Ashira felt a distance in her sister’s hesitating to respond. She wanted to bridge this gap, to better understand Batya’s view of her earthly family. “So, Sister, I understand, but not fully. You obviously still love your mother and father, your sister and brother. And I understand that your spiritual family, Elohim and the brethren, fill your body and soul completely. But then what? There’s no room for your earthly family? Sister, you know that Elohim’s love has no bound. And that He made us in His image. You can’t mean that your capacity to love has limits, do you?”

Batya immediately thought to herself, no, absolutely not! Love is limitless. To both give and to receive. Always and forever. Batya stopped in the middle of the road and turned to her sister, not upset with Ashira’s probing, but thinking, I must better explain myself.

“I deeply know, and feel, that love has no bounds. That our capacity to love and be loved reflects Our Savior’s capacity.” Batya took a breath to collect her thoughts. “The fullness I feel does come from Yeshua. From His love, His almighty mercy, His righteous truth. But the fullness also comes from me. From my filling every moment, every second of my day in prayer, in worship, in writing in my book, in my services to the brethren and strangers. That’s why I said that I am that fullness, and the fullness is me. Ashira, that fullness is Elohim Himself.”

Ashira brought her hand up against Batya’s cheek, her eyes fixed on her friend’s. “What you say is beautiful. How you live your life is beautiful. But I know from my mother how important it is for me to stay connected with her. You do know I call her, don’t you. I was only partly teasing about you calling your parents.” Ashira took her hand from Batya’s cheek to then hold her hand. “But you do write to them. Maybe for now that’s enough. And, sorry to say, we do need to get back.” Once more, they returned to their walk, this time with a quicker pace. “But to finish Chicago, or maybe that’s not possible, but tell me, whatever happened to your desire to teach. You didn’t go into that detail. You know that some fellowships have teachers for the children who are born within their community. Or maybe your fullness in Yeshua would make that difficult also.”

“Well, I haven’t given that any thought. I mean teaching now, within our fellowship. No children here, and none I know of coming. Or maybe there’s something you know I don’t?” Batya asked, her eyebrows raised in jest.

“No, no, it was more a theoretical question. More wondering what happened to such an important part of your life.”

“Yes, you’re right, it was important. At one time, the most important. I have wondered how that changed. How so many years of dreaming and planning, so many years of school simply disappeared. You know, Ashira, I thanked you earlier for asking your questions, that they’ve made me think about my past life. I think this question about teaching is another opportunity. That teaching was similar to my family, in that teaching was my earthly ‘career.’ After two years of trying to teach, in Chicago and then in Billingham, did I somehow realize my teaching interfered with committing myself to Our Savior? It was the very next day after finishing in Billingham that I met our brethren.”

“But Sister, there must be thousands of good Christians who are wonderful teachers, who do Elohim’s service teaching children. And your earthly career is just like your earthly family. You can do both. Maybe not easily, but we all have some control over how we manage our time.”

Batya quickly laughed. “I’m not quite sure about that. For me at least. When I throw myself into what I love, time goes out the window. I’d still be praying to Yeshua just now if you hadn’t found me. I truly live in the moment. And every moment belongs to Mashiach Yeshua.” Batya’s gaze had been downward, on her steps and the few feet beyond, listening to the sound of her step on the dusty pavement. When she looked up, she saw the formal entrance to the state park only a few hundred yards away, where their fellowship had set up yet another temporary home. She again stopped Ashira and turned to face her sister. Batya gently took hold of her shoulders and kissed first her right cheek and then her left before lowering her hands to take Ashira’s, just as she had held her hands before their walk started. “Thank you, Ashira. For being my sister, my friend, and most of all, my companion in Yeshua. And thank you for such good questions, such hard ones. That takes love and kindness. And a bit of courage. I should take your example and reciprocate, take my role as your older sister more into my heart.”

“You do already, Sister. You are my pillar. My rock. You teach me humility. I see you struggle against pride, and how meekness adorns you. More and more.” Ashira squeezed Batya’s hands before letting go. “And I would welcome any question or suggestion you had for me.”

Joining hands again side by side, the two headed toward the park’s entrance. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning.

“Another day begins,” Ashira said quietly.

“And another day continues,” replied Batya.

Three Pieces for Blues Band and Symphony

The plaintive call of harmonica was immediately echoed by the melancholic answer of strings. Ava O’Brien stood listening to the symphony’s introductory notes, leaning slightly for support on the bar counter, having carefully placed the small cut-glass tumbler of crème de menthe near enough to reach but far enough not to easily knock over. She remained stationary for only a minute before she lit another cigarette and returned to her slow and hesitant walk around the large downstairs social room. She laughed bitterly to herself, social room? Not for years. She paused at each of the ashtrays placed around the perimeter of the room as she tried to remember the last gathering she and John had hosted. Eventually, she returned to the bar for another long sip of sweet mint. She then remembered that years ago, the room had been usurped for more than a year by her son Joe. For his bedroom “removed from the rest of the house,” during his first years of college. How Joe had set up the tuner and turntable in the back of the bar and somehow wired the speakers through the ceiling. John was more than annoyed at first but eventually impressed when he finished. Ava still used the stereo the nights when she was lost, when the heartaches and disappointments conspired to dull her resolve, try as she might to keep her world upright.

Tonight, Three Pieces for Blues Band and Symphony spun on the turntable. Corky and Seiji. She and Joe had gone to that concert. Then Ava also remembered Joe had also gone to the Siegel concert later that night at the Fillmore. How excited he was to tell her the next day. How infinitely promising those years were. For all her family. John had taken the gamble of sole ownership of his medical practice. Maggie finally solved the puzzle of how her college major could dovetail into her minor. Joe had travelled Europe earlier that summer, back and forth, up and down the continent, his wonderful postcards faithfully arriving from every major city. Even Beth. Even after those countless challenges that first year teaching, she had seemingly persevered, receiving an offer from Bellingham at the last minute. Ava remembered for a brief second, how proud she had felt. But that memory quickly faded into Ava again wondering if that year in Chicago was the beginning of Beth’s slow disappearance from their family. The image of her eldest now fading into the smoke she blew out long and hard in her growing hopelessness.

Back at the bar, Ava poured another small tumbler of liqueur. In her focus not to overpour, she stopped too soon. When she tried to quickly top off, and distracted by the music’s loud jumble of orchestra and blues, Ava poured too much, leaving a pool of green spreading across the bar top.

“Oh swell,” Ava mumbled, doubly annoyed because the outside of the glass would now be covered with sticky sweet. Having to not only clean the spill but transfer the crème de mint into a new larger glass, the size she never liked to use, she complained aloud, “Can’t even get drunk properly.” Instead, Ava poured the liqueur down the sink before cleaning the counter. “One more cigarette, then bed,” she muttered.

Ava stood against the bar counter as she slowly smoke, enumerating once again the litany of grievances she now used to paint the portrait of her family – the endless financial stress of her husband’s practice, Joe’s marriage with Samantha now maybe gone, Maggie and Richard not getting married, the impact of all reminding Ava how much her teamwork with John had almost disappeared. The loving spirit force that their marriage had given birth to and long a source of support, where was it hiding? Or had it left as Beth appeared to have. Beth. Elizabeth. Her little ball of emotions, Bethie. Her disappearance by far the largest struggle to understand. Ava longed for their simple family, living in their first simple house. “This house is too damn big for the two of us,” Ava cursed to no one but herself. “Too big and too many memories.” And then she remembered what had been the last large gathering. The last time this too big of a room was joyously filled with friends and family. Joe’s and Samantha’s wedding. Wedding and reception all in one. And how on earth had Joe convinced Father Doyle to perform a non-religious wedding. No Mass? Ava laughed harshly. How about hardly any mention of God. Questions she had recently returned to more than once and usually not in a kind way. As now, at this moment, when it was intertwined with her resentment that Samantha had up and left their marriage. It’s like a slap in the face. Such a generous act by Father to be rewarded by a marriage falling apart so soon. And not only Father Doyle, but a slap in the face to John and her. They had taken Samantha in as if she was their daughter.

By now, her string of grievances had grown into a thick rope, and it pulled her back to her eldest, back to the now five years of fewer and fewer letters in the mail. The crème de menthe down-the-sink and her vow of one last cigarette were overwhelmed by the swirl of unknowns mixing with too few facts. Ava reached into the back of the bar for a larger glass, preferences be damn. She lit another cigarette and placed it in the ashtray to fill the glass. She took a very full sip and let it stay in her mouth for a long second, swallowed, and then immediately took a deep draw from the cigarette to let the divergent tastes of sweet and bitter mix on her tongue. These sensations distracted Ava, but for less than a minute before her pessimistic meditation on Beth’s letters reappeared. Perfectly timed to the symphonic dirge now filling the air. The last letter was over a year ago. As always, John and she were beyond excited to see her handwriting on the envelope, to wait for each to open, the first read simply to take in their daughter’s words, then the rereads less and less rewarding. The letters rarely told them what they desperately wanted to know. How her days were spent, what plans did she have, or what plans did any of her fellow, brethren she called them, have. And why was every letter from a different city. But maybe worse, the multiple endless scriptures she always included. I mean, Ava thought, I know in my soul the Bible is a sacred book, but they’re all too much. And why in heaven’s name did she change her name. She had three to choose from, Ava cynically thought. And Elizabeth is a biblical name! My poor daughter, it’s like she was brainwashed.

John and she didn’t trust whoever was in charge. John was adamant in his distrust, ever since a short p.s. mentioned the Pontiac had been handed over to him, whatever his name was. That was when John went to talk with Father Dan. To find out what was known of these evangelical extremists by a priest, by the closest religious professional they knew. Yes, the term brainwashing was mentioned. And cult. That loved ones left behind had few options, mostly prayer and patience. There were indeed examples of the cult petering out, but on the other side of hope, sometimes the larger group simply splintered into smaller bands, with some even more radical in their alliance with the spiritual world.  When John reported back to Ava, this was only fuel for the fire of her doubt. “Our circle of family broken,” Ava now muttered taking an even longer pull off her cigarette.

“Oh Ava,” she whispered, “this bitterness is no good.” She took a deep breath and roughly crushed out the cigarette, poured the small bit of liqueur left in her glass down the drain, turned off the tuner, and flipped the switch to the bar light. Then with her hand on the banister the entire way, Ava wobbly climbed the two flights of steps to the bedroom where she knew her husband lay asleep on the far side of their too large bed.

Christmas in Puerto Morales

“How did I get to Puerto Morales?” The teacher quickly thought, that would take almost as long as it took to get here. Maybe a simple answer will do. “By the grace of Dios, Susana. His Spirit came to me in a dream and then led me the entire journey.”

“But how did you actually get here, Señorita Batya,” Susana demanded, assuming her teacher was patronizing her. “I know you didn’t fly.”

Batya smiled as she said to herself, But Susana, I did fly. On the wings of the Holy Spirit. “That’s a muy larga answer, how my brethren and I traveled so far. Someone told me the other day how many kilometers from Texas. Almost 2500.” She paused, hoping this vast number would suffice, but immediately knew it did not. “How did we travel that forever distance? First,  we took an autobús to Monterrey. Very long and muy caluroso. Then after a week of giving service and receiving generous returns, we took a tren to Mexico City. But only a few days in such a grande city. Demasiado grande, we were overwhelmed. From there? Muchas, muchas starts and stops to Cancun, mostly by bus, a few times blessed by a Samaritan with an auto. And a few times, Susana, caminamos. One time, Rina and I walked tres dias, guided by the Holy Spirit, and fed by the kindness of strangers. That was in Pueblo. Mostly through those glorious fields of maíz. Such beauty.” Batya looked into a face full of fascination, large dark eyes, framed by her slightly rounded face and long black hair pulled into braids. Batya thought, this child is the image of Yeshua. “You know, Susana, our earth is a perfect image of Jesús. His beauty is reflected in our earth’s beauty.”

Susana had never heard a journey like this and didn’t want it to end. As if a part of the story, she softly continued, “And the end? Why not stop in Cancún?”

“Susana, el Espíritu de Dios. His holy Spirit always leads me where I go. It led us the entire journey, even from Cancún to here. Dios knew the hurricane a few months ago had caused so much damage and called to us, ‘Go and help My children.’ I didn’t know the journey’s end until I came to Puerto Morales.” Her teacher stopped herself. “No, that’s not quite right. I didn’t know the end until I learned your teacher had died in the storm. That the school had not yet found the right someone to take her place. That was why the Spirit held my hand the entire trip, from Texas to Puerto Morales. For 2500 kilometers.”

The two sat with their feet dangling off the edge of the town pier that reached out into the Caribe. At the end of the pier, several men sat on folding chairs, their fishing lines cast into the water. The sea was calm that day, and Batya tried to imagine what it could have been like that day in mid-September. She thought back on the severe storms she had experienced the countless years traveling through the heartland of the United States. The most powerful was a tornado she was close enough to see its full force, touching ground and rising to the top of the sky. But by the grace of Elohim, Batya thought, far enough away from me. And though the damage she saw later was terrible, it was nothing like what she saw now, three full months after the hurricane had viciously torn through the Yucatán. The town was still overwhelmed by the destruction and some of the debris had yet to be cleared. Which led her to appreciate yet again the wisdom of Elohim and thought, He knew who to send. Rina the builder and me the teacher. And my little Spanish goes well with how fluent the children are in English.

“Susana, I hear your mother and you will be in the Las Posadas procession Christmas eve.”

“Oh, sí! My mother will be María, and I will be an ángel and carry the poinsettias.”

“The procession begins at Parroquia San José Obrero?”

“Sí, at the doorsteps.”

“And then? Where do Maria y José y the ángels go.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just follow. An older ángel will lead.”

“But you must know somewhat. You must have seen the procession before. Every Christmas I would think.”

“Oh, you mean what is . . . typical. They try to find la posadas, the inn, where to stay for the niño Jesús to come.”

“And do they find the inn?”

“Oh, sí, always.”

“And the procession, it must be bello.”

“Sí, yes, yes, muh beautiful. Candles and music and everyone so happy. And such good food when we find the inn.”

All that Susana described sounded lovely, but Batya had mixed feelings. Even though Christmas told the story of the birth of Yeshua, she knew the holiday originated as a pagan celebration of winter, telling herself, this holiday of Christmas is not once mentioned in the Scriptures. But how can I not be charmed by this child. “If I remember, Susana, you have brothers and sisters. How were you chosen to be an angel?”

“Oh, my madre, but it was easy. I am the oldest. Next time our family is lucky, it will be my hermano. He is two years younger.”

The two fell into silence, held by the view of the boundless sea and the sound of the soft waves against the pier. Batya wondered where Rina was working today, and then drifted into a larger question – where were her other brothers and sisters who had started out from Texas. Batya then focused on just one for the briefest moment, asking herself, where is my sweet Ashira. All six had been on that never-ending bus ride to Monterrey. But upon arrival, the Holy Spirit changed the one course into three different stories and made three pairs of brethren to complete these tales. The other tales she knew she would hear one day, knowing in her heart she would again be with Ashira.

Susana could see her teacher deep in thought, see her eyes stare beyond the waters. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she was already late for her chores and gently touched her teacher’s arm. “Señorita Batya, I am so sorry, but I need to be home.”

“Oh, my dear. I should pay more attention to time. Do you need me to walk with you?”

“Oh, no. It is very close. Muy cerca,” Susana smiled. “I see you Monday? For our school’s viaje, our trip to Chichén Itzá.”

“Si, oh si. Yes, our viaje! I’m so excited.” Batya reached out her hands to grasp Susana’s. “And thank you for making sure I answered you question.”

Susana smiled shyly,  then nodded goodbye and headed toward the town square that bordered the entrance to the pier. Batya watched her every step as if this child was her daughter, until she disappeared at the far end of the square, just before the church where Christmas ornaments were already hanging. As her gaze fell unfocused upon the church, Batya returned to her thoughts of Ashira, again wondering where she might be. Then drifting further back into their long companionship, she remembered Ashira saying that she would teach again. She knew, Batya whispered, Ashira had more faith in my desire to teach than I did.

And with this reflection, without rhyme or reason, her mother’s face appeared, and then her voice. She was telling young Bethie the story of that winter. The story of how she had been introduced to the possibility of service, to the life of Florence Nightingale. Then it dawned on Batya, I was the same age then as Susana is today. I was the student, but today the teacher. Oh my sweet Yeshua, she thought, how the circle is unbroken. We give and then we receive. We receive and then we give, how forever is Your gift. Batya closed her eyes and drifted into prayer. For Susana in her procession. For Ashira in her service wherever she was. And for her mother and their twisted but unbroken circle, having faith that this prayer would be delivered on the wings of the Spirit.