Page 20 of It Started With a Scarf

I laughed a little as I continued to wipe my cheeks. "He would say that," I said.

"Suffering, endurance, character, hope… that's the order… it's a verse, too, so you know it's true."

"But this doesn't count as that kind of suffering," I said.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, staring at me.

"It means that I'm not going through Bible suffering. It's a scarf. And it's my own self. It's not like God's going to produce character and hope over petty stuff like that. He's probably like 'stop crying, Marley. It's not that big of a deal. There are starving children in Africa'."

"God is not saying that at all, Marley Jane, and you stop putting words into His mouth. He cares about your problems, and it's not silly just because it's a scarf. That scarf meant a lot to you. We both know it did. It's okay to cry about it." She hugged me. "And this is the type of suffering that counts towards endurance and hope, my baby. Don't lie to yourself and say it isn't. Suffering is suffering. Don't sell yourself short."

"Yeah, but what if it's self-induced?"

She let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "I remember one time Frank was on the phone with his oldest son, Randy. He had been going through some problems, and he was just trying to get his life turned around. Anyway, Randy started this new job, and he called his dad one night after he worked a long shift. He was talking about how he was going to get overtime, but that his feet and his back were killing him from working such a long day. He and his dad had an exchange about how good a shower would feel, and then Frank got off the phone wearing this huge grin. He was so happy, and he looked at me and said, 'his back and feet are aching from working all day!' He was all excited about it." Nessa tilted her head at me. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No, I don't."

"Frank, he wasn't excited that Randy's feet hurt, or his back. He loves Randy. That's his son, and he loves him with all his heart. Frank would never wish pain on his son. It didn't give him pleasure to hear that Randy was in pain. He knew it was good because he knew from experience that a hard day's work, and all the bumps and bruises that come with it, builds character. It doesn't give God pleasure to see you going through stuff, but He lets you do it sometimes because it will build character in you, Marley. It's the same as Frank saying he was happy Randy's feet were sore. He wasn't happy about the pain, he just cherished the end result."

"So, you're saying it's good that I'm sitting here bawling in a restaurant?"

"No, but yes. You're going to make it through this, Mar. And God cares about everything. Even the small stuff. He cares about your anxiety. It's all Biblical suffering, if you want to call it that."

"Thank you, Nessa. I feel like a fool that I'm all torn up over this."

"That's not foolishness, Marley. That scarf was important to you."

I felt hot tears sting my eyes again when she said that. I swallowed hard, concentrating on holding them back.

Lunch.

I sighed and sat up straighter. I blinked at the now-blurry menu that was sitting in front of me on the table.

"I'll be praying for you, and you let me know if it ever gets to where you need to talk to someone like a counselor. Have you been talking to anyone at church?"

"No, and I didn't go by there last week." I took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder. "Here comes Pa Frank. Let's just eat lunch and not mention it, if you don’t mind, so I don't get started again."

"You got it," she said. I took a deep breath, getting it together and telling myself that I had told Nessa the truth about it and the hard part was over.

Our server must've been waiting for Frank to get there because they both approached the table at the same time.

Chapter 7

Three months later

As much as I hated to admit it, Nessa was right about the whole idea of trials building character. I could look back at the last few months and see that there had been development in my character.

I was doing new things.

I took matters into my own hands with the scarf and learned to knit so that I could try to make another one. I was still working on the skills and knowledge it would take to replicate my old scarf, but I was making progress. I had already knitted three different scarves, all of which were progressively better than the last. I had pictures of myself wearing the one Mariam had knitted, and I was getting advice from the ladies at the yarn store about the pattern, needles, and types of yarn I needed to replicate it. They said that it would take multiple attempts and some trial and error to work it all out.

Knitting was a much bigger thing in Chicago than it was in Texas. The yarn store was huge with a vast selection of yarns—all textures and colors. I was learning that yarn looked and felt different in the ball than it did after you had knitted it into a garment. This made it more interesting when trying to replicate something I could only see in old photos and feel in my memories. The lady at the store said that even if we could replicate the very same yarn Mariam used, which was impossible, it would feel different because of how old the scarf was.

I was still disappointed about the scarf, but enough time had passed that the bitter taste had faded. I would make a new one that was almost as good, and I would have learned to knit because of it.

I was thinking about my latest project right then because I wished I had it with me at the moment. Waiting rooms were the perfect place for knitting, and I was currently in one, waiting for Joan to finish at the dentist. Ever since I took up the hobby of knitting, I had spent less time on my phone, which I was coming to enjoy. I didn't even take it out of my purse when I sat down. I was bored now, though, and tempted to get on it.

The dentist had sports memorabilia displayed in the office, and my eyes fell on a football that was not far from me. It was on a stand and in a glass case with a plaque. It was close enough that when I leaned in I could read the name engraved on it. Eddie Decker. It was the man they had been talking about at Thanksgiving. I had been so out of it, but it was coming back to me now. He was really famous and he was related to that guy I had met at the restaurant. Dominic.

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