Page 105 of It's Always Been You
A grin splits my face. I used to tease him about that cozy little tick, calling it “cricket feet.”
I miss him so much that I could cry.
“I know you’re watching me, sweetheart.”
My heart drops. I whirl away, hiding behind the wall as I stifle a stupid, girlish giggle.
“Get in here,” he rumbles.
I poke my head back around the doorway. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He cracks an eye open. “I haven’t slept.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” I walk into the room, hands clasped behind my back as I approach him. He sits up and scooches into the corner of the couch, lifting the blanket.
An invitation.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world to curl up next to him. He tucks the blanket around us tightly so we’re as snug as two bugs in a rug, wrapping his arm around my waist as I settle into him. We stare at the Christmas tree for a few moments, no doubt reflecting on yesterday’s series of unfortunate events.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Spitfire.”
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I echo, tilting my face up to study him. He drops his forehead to mine, and we gaze at one another. “I missed you.”
He sighs like someone has taken a significant load off his shoulders. “I missed you, too.” His voice is guarded, like he’s not sure this is real.
It doesn’t feel real.
“At the hospital, you promised everything was going to be okay,” I say, gazing at him. “With Grandma, I mean. Do you really believe that?”
He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “I know God works all things together for the good of those who love Him.”
I twist to face him, bringing my feet up beneath me so I’m sitting crisscross-applesauce style. I tuck my hair behind my ears, mentally preparing myself for this conversation. “How can you know that, though? You and Abi and every other Christian I know seem to have this . . . I don’t know. This absolute assurance that God loves you—almost like you can feel something I can’t. Why have I never felt this way?”
“It’s hard,” he replies slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I don’t necessarily alwaysfeelthat God loves me. I just know what His Word says—that Hediedfor me because He loves me so much. He took the punishment for my sins and spared my life. So, knowing that, everyday, I choose to walk by faith, not by sight. That means trusting He loves me and has my best interests at heart—even when it would be so easy to doubt Him.”
“So, it’s not a feeling.” My voice sounds as disappointed as I feel. “It’s just choosing to believe Him at His word.”
“Well,” he says, reaching up to cup my cheek. “I wouldn’t saythat, necessarily. I feel His love every day, in the smallest things. All good things come from above. All the beautiful things in life are a gift from Him. But I feel His love most intensely when I’m worshipping Him in prayer.”
I sigh. “It always circles back to prayer.” Jamie’s parting words at the hospital spring to mind.Cast that fear and anxiety on the Lord, sis.Is that what that verse means? Casting something on the Lord—like casting a fishing line—means bringing something to Him in prayer? Like casting a line of communication in God’s direction?
“What do you mean?” Brandon questions.
“God never answers my prayers. He’s either not listening or doesn’t care.”
Brandon gazes at the Christmas tree for the longest moment. “I remember you telling me once that God never answered your prayer to get your parents back together.”
I frown.
“Is that why you feel like God doesn’t care? Because . . . He hasn’t done that for you?”
“There are lots of small prayers He hasn’t answered,” I admit.
“God always answers our prayers, Evie.” He takes my hand in his, gently stroking my palm with his thumb. “Sometimes His answer is yes, sometimes it’s no, sometimes not right now. And sometimes, He has something far better in store for us. Our job is to be patient and rest assured that He’s sovereign and will work things out in His perfect timing, in His perfect way.”
I don’t like that answer, despite the obvious wisdom of his words. “Sometimes I want to give up on God, but I can’t. I . . . I keep waiting for Him to show up. To answer my prayers and prove that He really does love me.”
Brandon faces me, bringing his own legs up beneath him so he’s mirroring the way I’m sitting. He takes my face in his hands. “We’ve been through this before, Evie. Prayer isn’t about getting what we want from Him, like He’s Santa Claus. No matter how noble our prayers might seem.” I grimace. “It’s aboutcommunion. Prayer is about communicating with God because you desire to have a relationship with Him.”
