Health, Hope, Sickness, Pain, Betrayal, Forgiveness, Want Sun not Rain

CHAPTER 4 Jen sat on her front porch and listened to the voice mail. She didn’t pick up when her dear, old, friend, Bob, had called. She was afraid her voice would crack. When she left a message for him earlier in the day, there was more than crack. She was trying to say that she was good, but, it didn’t come out that way. She was sorry she let her pain show through. He had enough of his own. His Peace Path was gone, too. She thought about their history and realized they had worked their special place together nearly since its inception.

In his eighties, Bob had lived through so much loss, yet he was warm and loving and full of gentle hearted laughter. His jokes were corny; she would laugh at them out loud. The unlikely pair shared an easy friendship, as they worked together, over the years. They discussed The Peace Path and how much it meant to them. They discussed the rest of the work on the grounds, and how they would do anything for their church. And that was about it, except for the times that he let it slip out, how deeply he missed his boys. And, how deeply he missed his boys. And, how deeply he missed his boys. Yes, lately he repeated himself a little bit. When he did, she smiled, knowing she would listen to the same story from him all day long. It just didn’t matter. She thought it was an honor to be there for him, with him. And, how deeply he did miss his boys.

But Bob had told her many times of the comfort he had found at The Path, too. A bench in the back, overlooking the rock lined stream in the distance was calming, serene. A rake through the gently, bending pathways was therapeutic. The names on the stone of the boys in his family whom he missed so terribly did not make him sad; somehow he felt like they were all together again. This was the one place that let his heart ache a little less for the loss of his son and of his grandson. She never completely understood how The Path could ease such pain, for anyone, but she knew it did work. Notes upon notes were left in the little wooden box explaining how much it all meant, to stranger after stranger, who stumbled upon their work.

Jen was a coward for not calling him back, and she knew it. This place was all about healing and if it did that, why was it like an open wound now? Did she learn nothing from all the years of working toward peace? Then she wondered, was all this happening so she would finally sit, to write down the stories? Then, surely, anyone who could see, what she had seen, would help them get the work brought back to life. Right?

Her throat was so close to closing all the way. The damn tears, if she’d just let them go, would sooth her pressure. But, how was Bob?

As she sat in the quiet, she winced, as she shifted the ice bag that was on her wrist. Yes, it was really sore this afternoon. Her little, tan, friend, Penny Lane, in excitement over a chippy, ran and yanked the leash that she was on the other side of, just that morning. They had been taking a walk down the wooded trails behind her house, through her new Peace Path connection. But, down went Jen, directly onto the heel of her mending wing. At first, she thought that it was fine. As the morning progressed, though, she knew that she had set herself back. Yes, that old expression applied, kick a girl when she’s down.

But how was Bob?

She opened the voice mail message again.

“Hello Jen. This is Bob calling ya' back. Uh… Only reason I’m calling you again is to see what you want to do about all of the Christmas decorations in the church cellar. Because it seems like no one can go into The Peace Path. But… I don’t know if that’s true, because I haven’t asked Father if it’s true. I’m afraid to, I don’t want to get into an argument with him…. And… If you need help, there are people who will help you… many people will help you.” A pause, then, he continued, “What a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful set-up we used to have.”

She stopped listening. She couldn’t take the sadness in his voice. She had said to herself that it was an honor to be there for him. So why wasn't she with him now? Surely, she could at least eek out a message of cheerfulness, but Jen knew that was probably all she could muster. She picked up the phone and dialed, hoping to have him not pick up.

“Hello, Jen,” he said to her, kindly, as the ringing stopped.

“Oh, Bob…” was all she could get out when the tears burst. “I’m so sorry, my friend, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no, my dear,” was his reply. “Don’t apologize.”

“But I’ve been a terrible friend to you. I’ve not been able to answer you.”

“You’re back now though, Jen. You’re back now.”

Collecting herself, she admitted that, yes, she was hurting, that she had made it back to church twice since it all had happened, but that her church now just caused tears. So, she stopped going. She swallowed hard and told him that she would not be able to sing with them in the chorus, either, this weekend. He told her he understood, but he was thankful that she was with him now.

The two talked about what happened to them; it was their first talk since the news came down from the top, that their special place was closed. Neither could understand why a tree falling down at The Path’s entrance would end up closing it. But, the more they chatted, the more their sadness lifted. “Father never told me I couldn’t go,” he said with a chuckle. “I won’t if I’m not supposed to, but I was there last week.”

She laughed, “So glad to hear, Bob. Tell me what did it look like.”

“Well, an odd thing happened. You know the stone I had written the boys’ names on? It was broken into bits. I think it must have happened when the big tree fell down. But right beneath it, someone made me a new one. It was…” Now it was his turn to hold in emotion. “It was beautiful.” A pause, and then he continued, “Did you do that?”

“Yes, friend, I’m happy you found it.”

They chatted some more. He told Jen how a new couple, who had just moved in down the street, met him there one day last week, and that they loved it there. They could see past the fallen branches. They could see past the un-raked leaves. They felt peace. And they told him they had been walking it almost every day. Then, much to Jen’s joy, Bob told her about twinkling little lights that they had thrown down all over The Path’s floor. They were sprinkled by the thousands and shimmered in the night’s darkness.

Jen pictured The Path being lit up at night, when no one would be around to deny entry. And, her heart beat happily again. She told him she would go and check it out. He jokingly told her their connection was breaking up, and that he did not hear what she had just said.

They said their goodbyes and said more goodbyes, then finally said goodbye. Neither had been too ready to end their comfort.

Twinkling lights? Only to be seen at night? This, she had to see. So, off with Penny Lane, she went back to The Peace Path. Feeling armed with defiance, she brought a rake, her phone for a picture if need be, and her laptop, if she was so inspired to write. She would be prepared for anything!

Arriving at the uncared-for entrance, she was pleasantly surprised how the orange day-lilies had spread, and were in full bloom. Walking a few more steps in, she recalled the day she had built “PAIN.” One of the young Peace Path Gardeners, whom she had worked with for several years, lost her mother to cancer. Jen went to the service on a Wednesday. On a Thursday, she went to Peace Path. At the time, the entrance was full of blossoms and manicured well; it all looked beautiful. But beautiful was the last thing she felt, so desperately trying to wrap her brain around the devastating loss the teenager, her family and the community was experiencing. The word ‘pain’ kept shouting from her mind. Pain, she heard again and again. So, PAIN she built.

The walk through the beautiful entrance, was used to set the stage. She pictured walking along as if there wasn’t a care in the world, smiling at all the goodness, then, around a bend, without warning, PAIN! Something happens to change everything. As The Path split into two directions, one way lead to comfort, but the second way described how she felt. She had built an intense and startling, gnarly wall out of inter-tangled branches and vines. She piled high the decaying wood. She crisscrossed the limbs up and over it, and created the hurting, raw and sharp edges of pain.

Forgetting she ever was asked to leave her place of comfort, Jen wandered The Peace Path. And, just as she was beginning to feel more like her old self again, she walked closer to PAIN, and immediately knew that this day she would add to it. It felt like The Peace Path was asking her to. But stopping in her tracks, she was shocked by what her eyes took in. From the uprooted base of the huge fallen tree, the tree which had caused so much damage, was a pile of uplifted soil, with a mass of bright, green clover growing out of it. She absorbed the scene. This particular tree was responsible for crashing into The Path’s entrance back in the spring. This particular tree was dead and came down, which in turn resulted in thousands of dollars spent in its removal and the removal of other trees like it. The new priest did take the time to explain that their church did NOT have the funds for this. And, he further explained, the woods were not safe. It all was a liability issue. It was pastoral duty.

But here it was, this particular tree was producing the richest soil which invited a new story, a beautiful pile of new life, called clover. She was thankful for being a good Student all those years. For, she knew well the story of Saint Patrick, of Ireland. As he traveled the countryside, he used the clover to show the meaning of the Holy Trinity. Three parts, one body. And here, at her feet, was the sign she was waiting for. The Path invited her to join back in. “Where have you been?” It asked her.

She swiftly got to work as if nothing was more natural or more wonderful or more the perfect solution to all that was wrong.

Branches that had fallen and that were left in the way were picked up and stacked higher in PAIN. Bigger branches that had been moved aside over the years were dragged over, dropped in and angled up, in more crisscrossing patterns. The remnants of a vine was stretched and wound over and around the dead limbs. A couple of the “family trees” that had been tossed aside were now missing their little flowers. They were tossed on the heap. As much as she could find was piled high.

As she worked, she realized one good windstorm would knock it all down. As it should be, she knew. Teacher-Turned-Student was back and was learning that pain isn’t permanent, but it is here and is an important gift from God, and it would be her job to figure out what to do with it next.

She continued to add to the piles then found herself back at the car, grabbing the rake. Father had asked her not to “garden” there, so she did not “garden.” It took three different dictionaries to get the definition that pleased her, but she found it:

verb

1 Garden means to take care of or tend plants. An example of garden is to pull out weeds from a patch of strawberries.

She did not garden. She raked. Forcefully, at first, she cleaned up The Path, along side her PAIN. Raking big piles of leaves into the adjacent Table Garden, as an area rug for it, she smiled to herself. The Table Garden was a special Mini-Garden, complete with more stories down memory lane than she would let herself venture. The main lesson she always carried deep in her heart, though, was… when in pain, drop to knee, at The Alter, and seek His help. This lesson she knew well. Passerby would not know the symbolism of the round board perched on top of the cut off tree trunk. How could they? Nor could they know the numbers of times, when hearing the explanation of this Mini-Garden, visitors dropped to their knees, in the area rug of leaves. They had been ready to do just this, but until the invitation came, they seemed to forget how. A kneeling bench was dragged into The Peace Path one season, but carefully brought back into the church cellar in the fall. Humbly kneeling was an incredibly powerful thing to do for her. It was the one way to completely let go of her own will; there was power in being submissive. It took strength to give up control.

But she diverted. Again. She smiled. It was about Pain, now. But even though that was the plan, the mood changed just in knowing The Table was beside it. They went hand-in-hand.

As she raked some more, scooping up the little pieces of leaves that were tucked in and along the edges of the walkway, she felt relief, peace. Now her rake was careful and gentle, cleaning up the last of the woodland orts. Slowing her work more, she carefully watched the woods’ floor turn deep brown, and she watched the rake create gentle lines in its wake.

And, she did in fact see the little sparkles as she worked. It was not what she had expected when she had heard Bob describe it, they didn’t look like lights, they looked like bits of glitter, almost like the kind children build crafts with, from the dollar store. But, it was sparkling, none-the-less. And how she loved the idea that it would be twinkling in the nighttime. She wondered what it was, how to Google some kind of glow-in-the-dark magic? She’d have to come back at night.

And, she did in fact see little piles of clover growing, not just in the rich soil clump, but right in the walkways, at every turn, too. She stepped carefully, to not damage the little plants. When she had gotten there earlier, she had walked past them, not noticing their tiny beginnings. Bending down to look more closely at each miraculous bunch of clover, she breathed in deeply.

Teacher-Turned-Student walked to where Bob’s boys were. She moved away some pine needles, gently with her quite obviously, swollen fingers. She placed three glass-like stones she had found while raking, more remnants from projects of the past. She knew this would be pleasing to her friend. That was all he would have wanted. The Path was truly meant to be used in private. How he gained peace there was his business, only.

She looked across The Path and was startled; she had forgotten she had brought along her trusted friend, whose leash was tethered to a stump. Penny Lane sat, watching her work. Teacher-Turned-Student walked toward her little love and pulled the pup’s face into her own. “Thanks for being with me, Pen.”

She and her pup left The Path and headed home.

Unsure of what her defiance would lead to made her laugh. Would it lead to anything else productive or would it lead to an arrest for trespassing? She laughed again in the quiet car, remembering that Bob had told her to call anytime she needed, even if it was a call from a jail cell.

Deep in her quandry, Teacher-Turned-Student called her ultimate friend. This time, the words, “Thy Kingdom Come,” seemed to be holding the key. She said the lines of the prayer over and over, “They Kingdom Come, Thy Will be Done…” but couldn’t figure out why. When back home, back on her front porch, she decided to go “new-school” and searched on the internet for the Lord’s Prayer’s meaning. It wasn’t the first time she asked Google to enlighten her, she smiled.

To her great surprise, a long list of sources all separated out the first line from the second, and showed her exactly what she needed to see:

Thy Kingdom Come

This petition has a two-fold meaning. First, we are asking that God’s kingdom (where there’s only goodness, honesty, and love for one another) surround us in our everyday life. Secondly, we are praying for the fulfillment of the Lord’s promise that He will return at the end of time and grant us eternal life.

End times topics and eternal life always seemed to be topics quite "beyond her pay grade;" she thought that expression perfect, but, the first piece? The piece where we are asking that God’s kingdom, where there’s only goodness, honesty and love for one another surround us in our everyday life, that, she knew was the first step to understanding it all.

Amazed, she realized she had always interpreted the prayer with the two phrases connected together: Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done. But this gave an entirely different message. With the rhyme connecting those two, the wrong meaning was taken: you get to heaven if you do what He says.

But that wasn’t it. At all. Was Google wrong? She looked again. Hmmm, Google said that’s what the Vatican thinks. And then, BibleStudyTools.com, a blogger on the Huffington Post agreed, every link she opened after that, agreed. They all agreed. She had it wrong. This wasn’t a prayer threatening her to behave. It was a prayer asking her to have God’s goodness here with her now. Yes! Yes! She loved her new understanding.

As she read more and more affirmations of her ah-hah moment, the rain storm, that until then had been on break, opened up on the yard, the woods, the house, all around her. In a big way. The pouring rains made such a trumpeting noise. The sheets of pouring waters pounded down on their earth.

Ironically, she had been so programmed to know that rains meant her family’s tourist business would suffer, she always dreaded rain like it was the enemy. And this season was one of those years where the shear amount of it would be hurting many businesses, the ice cream shop, the garden shop, the outdoor cafe, the drive-in theater!

But what about Rains bringing life, though? Rains bringing beauty? Rains bringing greenery, cleansing and renewal? So, why, did the title of the chapter beg for Sunshine, not Rain?

THE RECOVERY GARDEN

She wondered if it had something to do with last summer at The Path, when there was no rain, and she had unstoppable determination to get an irrigation system added. Last summer was the opposite of this one; not a drop fell it seemed, drought meant plants starved, animals depending on them starved. Jen had begged and begged for irrigation to help The Path stay green, and when she was given the okay to build it herself, she attacked the job like a pro. Timers and underground sprinklers were purchased, trenches through rock were begun. A labor of love kept her at this venture.

A group of children came in and upon hearing of the sprinklers and waterworks brainstormed to create a “Recovery Garden.” It seemed perfect, cleansing waters, growth, renewal, like a baptismal font for The Path.

Her class, next, placed little, blue, glass bottles along The Recovery Garden’s way, with a little plastic flower in each. The idea was, as the irrigation was being built, these little bottles would fill with rainwater and passerby could water the tiny plants being brought in. And it worked, for a time. As the water collected in the bottles, weekly visitors enjoyed pouring it on the new life. And the underground irrigation system was begun.

But, as it turned out, even a rock with the message written on it, “THIS WILL TAKE TIME,” time was not what the Peace Path Gardeners had enough of. Nor, did enough rain come to sustain their work. Before the season was over, the plastic flowers lost their meaning and the system was not finished. The idea of working toward recovery was one that remained aloof. Teacher-Turned-Student knew the project’s progress was as symbolic as its plan. Her own family had been praying for a member to recover from addiction, and one step forward, four or five back, were the norm. Four or Five steps forward threathened nine back, what a roller coaster recovery was. Teacher-Turned-Student knew the Recovery Garden would, indeed, take time. Her own personal therapy was digging in the trenches as she watched her niece dig to get out of her own trenches. But that was a story for another day.

Teacher-Turned-Student, as her wandering mind came back from the unresolved Recovery Garden work, looked up at the little clock on the microwave. She realized she had no time to write; she had scheduled a nerve test for her troubled wing. Sleepless nights of numbness in her hand was causing her to seek more help. She brought her laptop, though, thinking she could tap out notes as they tapped on her nerves.

NERVES and FATHER BERNIE

The, tap, tap, tap of the electrodes almost amused her, each one stronger than the last. This isn’t actually pain, she realized and heard herself saying so out loud. Little volts jumping her arm around were not what she was prepared for. She was told there would be needles. She hated needles. After the tests were done, she exclaimed, “Seriously? That’s it?” With a laugh, she relaxed, knowing the hype was way worse than mark.

“Oh, no.” the sweet, young blond woman in the blue uniform said to her, “The doctor will be in shortly to do the next piece.”

Needles.

Yup. She hated needles.

Laying on the table, with one leg crossed over the next, with laptop perched on her middle, her only prescription to pain was to write about it. And she came armed and dangerous. She let her mind wander back to her visitor from last night, as she waited for the doctor. It was such a ridiculously complicated night, she couldn’t rest for hours after he left. Did what happen really just happen? Or was it the complete opposite? Not many times those two thoughts come along in the same breath. But there she lay, knowing she could feed either wolf. But the only way to choose a side was to explore each.

The doctor came in and proceeded to his needle work. She left the room and went back to the night before. An old, friend, a priest, Father Bernie, dropped in. It was her defiant Facebook post, the picture of the bright, green clover of The Peace Path that got his attention. She had commented, “Sorry not sorry, but The Path is calling me back.”

Father Bernie’s comment was, “Stand your ground. What was his reason? That Path has brought so much enjoyment to those involved.”

The conversation between the two, on comment lines under her picture, detailed liability concerns, questions and answers, and finally an invitation to meet and talk. He had told her to stand her ground. He was reading a report of some kind and was clarifying in his mind, the situation. "Was their hope?" She let herself ask. Her heart soared.

The comment lines of the post gave reason for hope:

“Soft ground… of danger to visitor?” Bernie asked.

“Absolutely not. “

“How did the signage or arbor create danger?”

“It didn’t. There was not danger. They were removed - to remove the invitation to enter the grounds.”

“Was the tree a danger, after it fell?”

“The tree was removed. And others were as well, that were also at risk. No danger.”

“Was Father in support of The Peace Path before the tree went down?”

“No. Well, yes, at first, he had told me he wanted to bring in a landscaper to make it better.”

She had been over-joyed at the prospect; it was what she had dreamed of for years. Professional irrigation that would not be dependent on her digging through the rocks. She recalled how overwhelmed with emotion she had become when the new priest had shown his support.

“And then?” asked Bernie.

“Well, then, he changed the Faith Formation program and told us we’d not be using The Path for class anymore.” She was frustrated, but she knew his new program, in line with other churches in the area would be smart for the adjoining communities. Her hope would be to continue working on the Peace Path without the official class time, but through the summers, as how it all began.

Then, the tree fell and it was closed. Enter at your own risk: you may find peace or get hit in the head by a tree.

When Father Bernie arrived at her house that evening, passing through the area for his mother’s 90th birthday, she was thrilled to be able to talk to a supportive and caring friend, who hugged tightly as he found her at her address. As they got caught up, after many years apart, his advise most certainly startled her, though. “It was your baby, The Peace Path, and just like a mother sends her baby out after it’s grown, so must you. You have new babies, now right? Four?”

With tears in her eyes, she immediately found peace and comfort in his words. “Yes, I have four more new baby Paths that I am working on. And, yes, that was the original plan, to ask that they be spread.”

The children and she shared quite the imaginative and beautiful image of peace being spread throughout the word. Each visitor to The Path would be invited to go and make a Peace Path of their own and then tell two friends to do the same. In this pay-it-forward kind of way, the children whispered in awe, “Then, one day, there will be no room for anything but peace.”

Teacher-Turned-Student thought it impossible to say ‘no’ to their beautiful concept and said ‘yes’ ever since. She echoed the concept for all the years that she worked. And, indeed, it did work. There were Peace Paths from Canada to Florida. She would have loved to have known of every one, but she had come to terms with the prayer that peace was being spread, even without her eye on it.

The more Father Bernie and she spoke, the more she realized how much pain he was in, spiritual pain, as he longed to gain an active-duty position amongst the priesthood, again, and physical pain, from a stabbing muscle ache in his side. Asthma, he had told her had caused him to cough so, and just the night before he must have pulled a muscle. It seemed every time he laughed, he held his side, grimacing. What could she do for him, she asked, as she refreshed his cold beverage.

Into the night, they talked. He told her of his work with Circle B, a nature preserve in Florida and told her in detail of his new found appreciation of the Episcopalian Church. So much had happened, he filled her in with all the details. She told him she knew he needed to have his voice be heard again; she remembered fondly his homilies. Why would he not be a good fit in Florida? It did not make sense to her. Yet, the powers of the church were never ones she understood. At times, she wondered about some of her views differing from those of her, Catholic Church. Yet, as a catechist, her job was to echo their faith. So, that is what she did. Thankfully, there was only one time when she remembered being in conflict over it with a student. She learned to keep her politics of tolerance away from the public eye.

It was almost midnight when her husband’s long work day was over, when he joined Jen and her old, friend, the priest. The reunion must have seemed strange at that hour; it’s not every day that a wife and a priest spend hours in kitchen chairs, figuring out life’s dilemmas. Jen’s husband knew though, that Jen wasn’t really able to surprise him anymore. Almost anything could be on the table, next!

The conversation seemed to get a touch more politically correct when her husband arrived, though, and at one point, Jen exclaimed to her old, friend, “You’re not going to back peddle on me, are you?!”

“He’s not a bad man, Jen,” Father defended her current priest, “He was doing everything pastoral to make everyone safe, as I would have done.”

“Excuse me?” she was shocked at what seemed like a reversal in his attitude. “What about the comment you made, ‘Stand your ground!?’”

He answered, and then asked if she knew what she meant. She was actually more confused than when he had first got there.

“Your baby is free to go, remember?” he added.

She had in fact found comfort in picturing The Peace Path moving on, but so much of their chatter also bounced around how unfair it was that the original was closed and how it was closed. Jen was tired. It was late. She knew circling back around to the beginning of their talk was not in anyone’s best interest, so she stretched and gently as she could, referred to the late hour.

They agreed it was a wonderful night of reconnecting, all wished each other the very best, and off went her old, friend, the priest.

As she lay on her pillow, hours later, still rehashing their conversation, she had blasts of ideas shouting at her. She almost jumped out of bed when she thought, “The new life, called clover! St. Patrick toured the countryside with his teaching! He didn’t stay in one place!!” In her mind was the bright green clover growing out from the devastation at the Path.

She had misunderstood The Path’s calling to build more pain, and work those grounds, The Path was inviting her to go forward.

She reached for her phone, and under the covers let anyone who had been following her saga on-line know that she thought that she had “missed the point… St. Patrick travelled.” Another late owl friend of hers clicked, like, on her comment as soon as she posted it.

But then, the dark wolf thoughts took over. And she removed the post. As she lay on her pillow with more thoughts yelling at her, she heard literal shouts for an answer, “Why did her old, friend, the priest, back peddle?” She followed him as he walked his way back from support of her goals, as she pictured how their conversation began with “Stand your ground.”

So confused. She tossed. And turned.

In their conversation, in detail, he let her know how he needed her diocese to help him get back to active priesthood. But, there were problems with getting it resolved. Why did this story matter? He had also specifically invited her to think about joining the Episcopalian Church, with its tolerant, welcoming and loving message. She quoted a conversation they had previously had, where her Catholic community was so very important to her. His reply was to take them to new paths with her.

Jen, without any control over it, fell into a rabbit hole, like Alice-in-Wonderland. She went down a conspiracy-theory-path where her old, friend, the priest, traded his loyalty to her for a new priest post. Did he agree to quiet her work at The Peace Path, as the current priest had insistently made clear was his decision, in exchange for his pathway to be cleared to active duty again?

She jumped out of bed this time. How could she think such an unforgivable thought? Too late an hour, too much confusion, too many swirling details and words and thoughts that just wouldn’t quiet. Did Father Bernie agree to see if he could convince her to move on? And, did he do so under the guise of friendship? How would she ever rectify this turmoil?

Shortly before 4AM, she told herself she’d quit trying to sleep and just get up, if she wasn’t asleep at the next hour. She knew she’d get nothing productive done, though, with a long held promise to self that she would only write when clear headed. Hah! Clear headed… that was the last thought she remembered having. The clock read 9:00 AM the next time her eyes looked at it.

Needles. Yes, how she hated needles. But, the last one was pulled out of her little wing, and she somehow knew she had survived it. She was told, yes, there was beginnings of nerve damage, but at least her team of doctors, now, would help her direction; if only, everything was so simple.

Several days later, after much business of the many jobs she had and of life’s many responsibilities, she let herself find the keyboard again, back at her coffee hour chair. Clear mind before writing. Forgiveness. She needed to forgive herself for letting herself think such unthinkable thoughts about her old, friend, the priest.

Thy Kingdom Come, His goodness, not a tired brain’s fret and strife would be her lead, Thy Kingdom Come. With a deep love of everything good in her life, she was at peace. Thy Kingdom Come would lead to health. She got up from the coffee hour chair and closed her laptop. Would her old, friend the priest forgive her, though? She had specifically asked permission to put him into chapter 4, but, how could she have known that she would have written about their night this way? Maybe she better call him.

Putting back the last sips of coffee, she looked to see if her elbow would ever let her arm be fully straight again. Jen held the grey, rubber band given to her by her physical therapist. Eyeing the stair banister, walking towards her work, she glanced at Penny Lane, asleep in a ball on the couch. She had preferred letting Penny pull her arm instead of the band, the way the pup did the day before, around the block, going for a glorious walk in the breezy, summer, air. She wrapped the band around the banister and let her weight pull her arm from her. Today it was grey and threatening rain again. Some days, she just wished for sunshine.

Nothing is simple, she prayed, as she stretched, Thy Kingdom Come, They Kingdom Come,Thy Kingdom Come. Just because she had written betrayal into the title, did not mean that it had happened.