Page 25 of To the Moon and Back
She could never know if that was the night before the bombing or not. But it was close. Sometime during their last week. Jenna knew because they had gone to the zoo that weekend. Her grandma always told her the story. How her dad had Saturday work to do, but he said it could wait. The weather was nice and he wanted to take Jenna to the zoo.
Jenna’s grandma had gone, too. She took pictures. The ones Jenna kept in a book by her bed. Proof that she’d had the most wonderful parents and that they had spent their last weekend on earth with her. Watching lions and tigers and laughing at the long-necked giraffes.
Like always, at 8:30 the morning of April 19, Jenna’s mom dropped her off at her grandmother’s house, just a few blocks away. And like every morning, Jenna’s mom got down on her level and kissed her cheek. Then she put her hands on both sides of Jenna’s face and they rubbed noses.
“How much do I love you?” Her mom’s eyes had sparkled that day. At least that’s the way Jenna recalled them.
“To the moon and back.” Jenna remembered smiling. Remembered thinking that her mommy must be queen of the whole building where she worked.
Half an hour later Jenna was still at her grandma’s when something happened. A call came in and when her grandma answered it, she suddenly let out the loudest cry. Like someone had kicked her leg. That’s what Jenna thought at the time. She could still see her grandma’s face, the look of raw terror.
Jenna got up from the couch and backed as far away as she could, until her feet bumped into the wall. Her grandmother rushed to the TV and turned it on. And the news filled the screen, fire and smoke and people crying out.
Then in an instant, her grandma seemed to remember Jenna. She gasped and turned off the television. “Jenna!” And suddenly Jenna was in her grandma’s arms. “I’m sorry, Jenna . . . I’m sorry. We need to pray, baby.”
We need to pray.
They were the words Jenna remembered most from that morning. Her next memories were a blur. All except the funeral. Two caskets. And more tears than any princess should ever have to cry.
That day Princess Jenna died.
In her place was a little girl whose mommy would never hold her again, whose daddy would never give her a piggyback ride. She was just Jenna after that.
The memories faded. A cool breeze seemed to heighten the bright stars, making the night feel special. Which it was. The anniversary always felt different. Like God was meeting her in this place. The memories weren’t too sad or painful. They were beautiful. All she had of the parents she loved so much.
Jenna narrowed her eyes and tried again to see back to that time. Her parents had been on different floors, but they had gone home to heaven together that morning. And Jenna had moved in with her grandmother, where she stayed until she left for college. Jenna’s grandpa had been dead for a decade by then. And in Jenna’s sophomore year, her grandma passed, too.
No matter how distant Jenna grew from God after her parents died, she never told her grandmother. Through middle school and high school Jenna went with her grandma to church and together they read the Bible every Sunday afternoon.
Jenna knew the answer to every Christian question. But the whole time she didn’t want anything to do with God. He could’ve spared her parents, but He didn’t. Didn’t He know? Jenna needed her parents far more than He did. Her parents were praying people, people who believed in Him. So why hadn’t He answered them?
For Jenna, the answer was obvious: God didn’t love her.
That’s what she told herself, anyway. It wasn’t until college that Jenna attended church with a friend. The message that day was about why bad things happen to good people. Jenna would always remember the pastor’s words. “God isn’t the reason bad things happen. He’s the rescue.”
God was the rescue.
It was something Jenna hadn’t considered. After that, something changed in her heart. She began to see things differently. Her heart softened and she realized the pastor was right. God wasn’t the cause of her loss. He was the solution. Because of Him, Jenna would see her parents again one day.
She moved to Columbus after graduation, where the teaching job at Martin Luther King Junior Elementary was her first. By then she was even closer to God, so when her church hosted a financial planning meeting, Jenna attended. That’s when she met Dan Davis. International businessman. Financial entrepreneur. They had their first date that Friday. Six months later they were married.
In the beginning they attended church together, and Dan seemed to believe in God the way she did. She made an assumption that would haunt her later. She figured since she’d met Dan at church, he must be a Christian. He must want to live his life according to the Bible. Looking back, she could see that every conversation they ever had about faith was started by her.
They celebrated their first anniversary with news that she was pregnant. She was ten weeks along when she miscarried. In the months after that loss, Jenna would spend hours reading her Bible, memorizing Scripture. She would cry out to God and He would remind her of His promises.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. . . . Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
And so many others.
Dan said something to her during that time that should’ve alerted her to what was coming. He walked into their bedroom and found her in the rocking chair reading the Bible. He stopped and lowered his brow. “Really, Jenna? The Bible? Again?” He laughed, but the sound was mean. “You need more books.”
She looked at him, trying to figure out if he was kidding. “Dan . . . I couldn’t get through this if I didn’t read the Bible.”
“Sure, but you’ve read it.” He laughed again. “Three times, right?”
Concern came over her even before she knew what was coming. “It’s not like that . . . With the Bible, it’s different. It’s like God’s talking to me.” She paused. Dan should’ve understood that. “It’s alive and real.”
He looked at her for a long few seconds, and then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
