Page 36 of Muskoka Miracle

Ange laughed. “They’re doing much better than when you first came.”

“Good.” That was the point, wasn’t it? To build something that persisted even when she was gone. Her parents’ lives as missionaries in Papua New Guinea then as pastors in a church in Sydney had showed that ministry in the kingdom of God could have seasons. Her time with Heartsong, both before the accident and then after, had also showed that laying something down didn’t mean it would be forever. People could plan their lives, but God ultimately directed their paths.

“So, how are you doing?” Her aunt’s expression held tender concern. “Really?”

Her eyes pricked. God bless Ange for her way of asking that instantly drew Sarah’s tears. She’d always had that knack, just like Sarah’s mum, of asking in a way that probed below the surface and made the truth—and her tears—leak.

Ange handed her a tissue. “It’s sometimes easier to be honest when we don’t feel like we have to protect the other person.”

Sarah mopped away the latest spill of emotion. “I don’t know why this keeps happening. I keep thinking I’m getting better, then something sets me off again.”

“Grief isn’t something we can package up into a box and say, ‘that’s done, I’ve dealt with it’. You know, more than most people do, that grief isn’t a linear thing.”

So true. Sometimes she still felt a pang of sorrow for Stephen, even though she was married to Dan, and for the most part was blissfully happy. Overcoming grief wasn’t necessarily a case of moving on but moving forward, aware that experience had shaped and molded a new reality, as much as one might have once wanted things to stay the same. But stepping forward, trying to trust God with the future, meant one had to keep walking. Staying locked in denial was a prison. She’d been there, done that, got the t-shirt, and couldn’t live trapped like that again.

Sarah sipped her tea, and eyed her aunt over the rim. “I know it doesn’t it look like it, but I really am doing okay. Most of the time, anyway,” she admitted.

“I thought you seemed better.”

“I’m trying to remember that I’m loved by God, and staying there. And even though it feels like grief still sneaks up and grabs me sometimes, I feel like I’m doing so much better than when Stephen died.” She pressed a finger on a scone crumb, swallowed it. “It’s just so hard, knowing that Dan is disappointed, and feeling like I’m the cause of his disappointment.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sar.”

“I know. And he says that, and I even mostly believe him.”

“Mostly?”

Sarah sighed. “He’s got to be more disappointed than he lets on.”

“But he’s also trying to not let you see that.”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “The doctor said he’d be sending our test results soon, to see if we’re chromosome compatible or not.”

Her aunt’s eyes widened. “I haven’t heard of that.”

“Because we’ve had three miscarriages in a row now.”

“Three?”

She nodded. See, secrets had a way of coming out. Especially when someone had a sieve for a mouth like she did.

“Oh, Sar. I’msosorry.” Ange’s eyes sparkled with tears. “That must’ve been so hard. I didn’t know.”

Sarah lowered her gaze, studying the William Morris design of her teacup, one of a set of four she’d given Ange for Christmas last year. “Dan didn’t want people to know.” A burst of additional honesty leaped on board the tell-the-truth train and added, “He accused me of wanting to tell people to get more followers.”

Ange gasped.

Oops. She hadn’t meant to expose him like that. Even if the memory still stung. “He did apologize though.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Well, Sarah sure hoped he didn’t mean it.

Ange sipped her tea, her blue eyes concerned. “We all know grief makes us say things and act in ways that we wouldn’t normally.”

For sure. Sarah’s previous experiences proved she was the queen of contradictions. The joyous extrovert who had frozen into depression and grief; the worship leader who’d forgotten how to praise. Her heart softened. Dan didn’t need her holding this against him. She knew he wasn’t that person. He was kind, patient, he loved her. Besides, she’d said she had forgiven him, so that meant not bringing it out for another shake of the dirty laundry again. Besides, forgiveness—hers and God’s—meant that laundry was now clean.

“So what else has the doctor said?” Ange asked.

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