Page 116 of A Whim and a Prayer

“Charity, we don’t know that,” Daddy insisted, his tone harsh at the very idea.

Her mother’s heavy exhale fluttered Winnie’s curls. “No, Mitch, we don’t, but like Winnie, I strongly suspect it.”

Winnie crumpled on the sofa in a sob, putting her face in her hands. “Which means I probably have the taint of that evil man in my veins,” she cried, body shaking as Mama held her once more, “which makes me feel so dirty inside, a product of his evil and sin.”

“No, sweetheart, that’s not true!” Mama said, “you are ‘fearfully and wonderfully made,’ Winnie, no matter who or what your father was—that’s what God’s Word says! ‘Marvelous are Thy works … my substance was not hid from Thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.’”

Mama gripped her arms, pulling away to beseech her with red-rimmed eyes. “You need to know that as well, Winnie, to see yourself through God’s eyes instead of your own.”

Winnie blinked, Beck’s words from so long ago suddenly coming back ...

“You’re not ugly, Winnie—you’re beautiful.”

“Then why don’t I feel that way?”

“Because, Winifred Doe,” he’d said softly, leaning to press the gentlest of kisses to her head, “you’re listening to people instead of to God.”

She caught her breath at the beautiful memory, hand clutching her chest.

Beck. The hand of God in her life when she’d needed it most.

And still did …

“What is it, darling?” Mama brushed more curls from her eyes.

“Something Beck once said,” she whispered, “that I’ve been listening to lies all this time, seeing myself through my eyes instead of through God’s, just like you said, Mama.”

Alex quietly rose from his seat to approach Winnie, squatting down in front of her with that patient smile that always reminded her so much of Beck. “They’re right, you know. When it comes to your worth in God’s eyes, Winnie, none of it matters—not a whit. Not the fact you were left on the orphanage steps, or the abuse you may have suffered as a child and the ridicule over crossed eyes, or even that your father may have been a godless bum.”

Expelling a quiet sigh, he lifted her chin with his finger. “All of those things were only lies the devil used to rob you of the freedom God meant for you to have. The freedom that comes from seeing yourself through His eyes instead of the world’s. Freedom to live life to the fullest in Him,” he said with a light tap of her nose as his mouth tipped in a gentle smile. “And like we discussed in many of the sessions you, Gabe, and I had that you never truly believed, “the freedom to love the soulmate He created just for you.” He dipped his head to pin her with a potent look. And you know who I mean.”

Winnie stared as moisture blurred in her eyes, her heart taking off in a sprint because she knew exactly who Alex was referring to.

Beck.

“Because, young lady,” he continued with all the confidence of a psychiatrist whose true knowledge came from God instead of from a school. “He who the Son has set free, Winifred Dennehy, is free indeed.”

Chapter Eighty

Winnie had been so exhausted from the gamut of emotions she’d gone through after Mrs. C left, that Mama had insisted she get some rest before the family arrived at three o’clock. And although she slept like a baby for the first time in a long time—nightmare free!—she didn’t sleep long.

She was far too excited!

Free indeed.

Between Mama, Daddy, Gabe, and Alex—and most importantly, God—for the first time in her young life, she felt like Winifred Marie Dennehy should have felt all along.

Joyful, peaceful, and so incredibly grateful for a holy God who had completely severed the chains of shame and unworthiness from her soul. Not a worthiness that depended on who she was or ever would be, but on Who God was.

The Lover and Savior of my soul!

Bouncing up from the bed with a wide stretch, she halted midway to her dressing table when a hard cramp roiled in her stomach, paralyzing her to the floor. “Oh, Lord, let it be …” she whispered as she hurried to the bathroom, hand to her stomach. Laughter rolled from her lips when she realized her dreaded time of the month had finally come, only this time it wasn’t dreaded at all—just one more thing to thank God for!

Moments later, grinning in the bathroom mirror, she ran a comb through her hair, finally dabbing on a touch of lipstick before tearing downstairs to barrel through the swinging door into the kitchen. “How can I help?” she said as she skidded to a stop behind Mama at the sink, hooking arms around her waist before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You are supposed to be asleep, young lady,” Mama said, spinning around with a wet pan while Julia stood there wide-eyed with a dishtowel in her hands.

“I slept the sleep of the dead for two whole hours, Mama, and now I want to help.” She gave Julia a wink. “Can’t let Ju-ju-bug always be the apple-polisher, can I?”