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Dan’s smile faded. It was like the sun had disappeared behind clouds. “Complicated, but not impossible.”
Why did conversations with this man always leave her floundering, the minister’s kid treading water while the rich hockey star powered ahead? For that matter, why were they having such an intense conversation before she’d finished her breakfast? “Didn’t you sleep very well last night?”
He frowned. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.
His hesitancy sparked frustration. Didn’t he think she could handle what he had to say? “Go on. You might as well say what you think. You haven’t held back before.”
His gaze lowered to the scuffed boards of the deck, then met hers directly. “Look, I get it. Your fiancé died. And that’s really sad. But you didn’t. You should be thankful you’re alive.”
She gasped. He so didn’t understand. It wasn’t that simple at all. “What would you know?”
He glanced away, his scar dipping as his jaw clenched. “I’ve had my share of pain.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got no idea what I’ve been through. You could never understand—”
“So the only person to ever experience any problem in life is you?” His gaze swung back to her, sharp, poking past her defenses. “Sarah, when are you going to ask God to help you let it go? That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
Breath sucked in. Words couldn’t even form in her brain. She blinked back hot tears.
“There’s plenty to be thankful for, if you bother looking.” He scraped back the chair and stood. “When you’re tired of feeling sorry for yourself, let me know.”
Her jaw dropped. That wouldn’t be anytime soon. She clenched her fists as he disappeared through the trees, her heart writhing at his words.
How dare he?
She pushed from her seat, gathering the plate and cup with force, and moved inside. Irritation with her neighbor triggered a whirlwind of energy that soon saw the cottage sparkling from top to bottom. But that still wasn’t enough to release the pent-up emotion or the frustration that still lingered. Where had mild mannered Dan gone? How could he act like her friend, then say such things? His words still slithered inside.
A slight breeze shivered the silver-green leaves of a white poplar beyond the kitchen window. Did she feel sorry for herself? Well, if she was brutally honest, maybe she sometimes entertained theteensiestamount of self-pity. But wasn’t she entitled to? After all, her fiancé had died, and with him, any chance of ever having a family. Her eyes blurred, emotion cramping her throat. Couldn’t she regret that?
“God?”
There came no rushing wind of reply from heaven. Not even a tiny whisper. But her thoughts did flick back to the Bible verse she’d read earlier.
“‘Give thanks in all circumstances’?” What a crock. “How am I supposed to do that, God?”
Another verse flickered to mind, one that used to be one of her favorites:I can do all things through him who strengthens me.How long since she’d thought about it?
She moved outside and sank into the chair from earlier, the heat in her chest fading as the view soothed like balm on a burn. Yet her mind kept ticking, ticking, ticking. For too long she’d fought the way this chapter of her life had been written. Doctors, counselors, her parents—everyone—had urged her to accept things, and while at times she thought she’d reached acceptance, moments like this morning proved otherwise. And where had that left her? Isolated. Miserable. Lonely. Forever locked in the past.
And maybe she couldn’t thank God for Stephen’s death—as if God wanted her to, anyway—but with God’s strength, she could trust Him for her future. Couldn’t she?
Definitely, whispered a voice, as a refrain from a song penned long ago slid through her mind.We can trust Him, we can trust Him with it all.
Her insides tensed. How had she ever believed so blithely? But even here, now, the grit of experience didn’t change that truth. So maybe God did want her to see beyond the immediate and learn to thank Him for still being with her. For protecting her. For still loving her. She could still thank God in the midst of—evendespite—her circumstances.
She exhaled, liquid once more slipping from behind closed lids. “I’m sorry, God.” She heaved in a breath, conscious of her self-centeredness, conscious of her self-pity. “Thank You for all the good things You’ve done, like letting me live, letting me come here. Thank You for Ange and John.” She swallowed. “And for Dan.”
Be brave.
Sarah braced, grasped the plate carefully, and rang the doorbell.
No answer.
“Hello?” She twisted the door handle. The door swung open, but all remained silent. She stepped through the entryway into the big lounge. With its huge windows and feature fireplace complete with mounted deer head, this room looked like something in a magazine: welcoming, tranquil, relaxed. Her lips twitched. Well, relaxed except for the poor deer. Her smile faded. If only she could absorb some of the soothing atmosphere. She needed more peace.
“Hello?” Sarah padded through the thick cream carpet to place the plate on the dining table. She glanced around—still no sign of him. Went outside to the deck. Nothing.
“Hello! Dan? It’s Sarah.”
