Page 91 of The Voice We Find

“Unfortunately, I did. I sprayed them with fabric glue, then sprinkled them with all the iridescent craft glitter I could find in our art closet.”

“Did it work?”

“Sure, if you countworkto mean something that resembled a wingless fairy wearing a toga that was obviously still a fitted sheet.” I shake my head. “That’s the night I gave up my dreams in fashion design.”

Her laugh is so unexpected, I jump a little, which causes her to laugh all the more. And soon, I’m laughing with her. The more we fight for control, the more we continue to erupt.

“I haven’t laughed like that in...” Her words trail off as she swipes a finger under her eyes. “A really long time.”

“Eighth-grade Sophie would have been thrilled to be your comic relief. Honestly, she would have been thrilled just to sit in the same room as you.” The words come out before I can properly calculate how pathetic they sound.

Her smile dips half a degree, and her tone sobers. “I thought I knew everything when I was eighteen—and whatever I didn’t know, I relied on Jasper to fill in the blanks for me.”

I try to laugh this off, but there’s little humor to be found when it comes to my childhood. “Let me guess, he told you I was a drama queen and that you should stay clear of me?”

She doesn’t need to confirm my suspicion with a verbal reply. Her eyes say it all.

I clear my throat. “Well, I won’t pretend I didn’t have a flair for the dramatic. But I certainly never wanted to be in the spotlight in this home.”

She rubs her lips together. “So where do you go when you’re not here? I mean, outside of your boyfriend’s studio. Unless that’s the only place you go.”

I shake my head at her implication. “On Tuesday nights I go to the Twilight Theater. I’m taking an American Sign Language class with some friends from church.”

Clearly, she wasn’t expecting this. She starts to ask several different questions at once only to land on “Why?”

“The short answer? August’s sister lost her hearing a couple years ago, and I want to support her as best I can. The longer answer is a bit more involved.” One I’m still figuring out, in fact. “But ultimately, I’ve loved being part of such a beautiful community. And since I’m being honest, I’m going to be praying about making a more permanent commitment there in the future.”

She studies me, her expression too mixed for me to read. “It’s real then? The whole church stuff you mentioned at family brunch that day? That wasn’t just to get a rise out of your folks?”

“It’s real,” I say simply.

Natalie blinks, and I swear I see tears in her eyes before she looks up at the full moon. “I don’t think I’d ever be welcome in a church.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve made a lot of poor choices I can’t ever take back.”

Her words double-tap against my heart. “So have I.”

“Not like me,” she retorts. “I’m pretty sure my heart is half rotted from the things I’ve done.”

I lean back onto my palms. “Not even the most perfect person on earth is perfect enough to save themselves. That’s the irony of grace. We all need a savior, and yet none of us can ever earn what He’s already given to us for free.” I keep my focus on the moon, even as I feel hers shift to me. I don’t add more.

I think of the many Tuesday evenings before class when Portia’s only answer to my questions about the Bible were to point me to Scriptures where I could find the truth I sought. At first it frustrated me, especially when some of the verses didn’t seem as black-and-white as I wanted them to be. But Portia’s job wasn’t tosupply me with her opinions. Rather, it was to point me back to the God who promises to meet me exactly where I am and love me unconditionally.

Natalie zips up her sweatshirt. “I haven’t been sleeping well for a while now. There’s been a lot on my mind.”

I lean in, hoping she’ll confide more, but she stays quiet.

“Want to talk about it?”

She looks at me, considering. “Can I take a raincheck on that offer?”

“Of course,” I say. “In the meantime, I’ll be praying for you.”

This time, when her eyes fill with tears, she simply says, “Thank you.”

Voice Memo

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