“Yes. In a minute.”
“Okay. See you in there.”
“Alright, honey.” She watched her daughter disappear into the powder room, then saw Tabitha come out of her office and head for the therapy room. “Hey, Tabs?”
She stopped and turned. “Oh, hey, Savannah. You ready?”
“Just about. I’m going to check dinner one more time. Just… do me a favor and pray for Jessie? And Shaun, too. I’ll tell you about it all later, but… life is catching up with us and the unknown is scary.”
Tabitha nodded, instantly sober. “Of course, Van. I’m honored to pray for your family.” She gave Savannah a hug. “See you in a few?”
“Yes. I’ll be right there.”
She returned to the kitchen and went over her checklist one more time. Then, after setting a timer for the bread and clipping it to her jeans pocket, she joined the others in the therapy room.
Tabitha had already started and was giving them the background story on Savannah’s heart transplant. “… which occurred about five months ago, right Savannah?”
“My transplant? Yes. End of August.”
“After the surgery her heart worked fine in the physical sense, but other things were not as they had been before. Savannah has agreed to share that story with us today. Savannah?”
She couldn’t believe she used to make a living standing in front of hundreds of people, sometimes thousands, and talking to them as though it was just her and one person having coffee. She rubbed her damp palms on her jeans and gave them all a nervous smile, then began to recount her story.
It was only the second time she’d strung it all together and told it, beginning to end, and the first time she’d told a bunch of strangers. To her own ears it sounded incredulous, and she’d worried they’d all think she was a head case, but the faces of the Refugees told her they were at least willing to believe it had all happened the way she claimed it did.
She gave them an embarrassed smile as her story came to a close. “The bottom line is that God is becoming more real and more relational to me every day, so I’m going to keep working the same way I’ve been working and just hope-and pray, when I can – that I’m able to get back to the relationship he and I once had.”
She shrugged a little, signaling the end of her testimony, and received a round of applause. She ducked her head as she felt her face heat, and when the applause died down Tabitha began to lead them in a discussion. Keeping the promise she’d made to Jessie, Savannah slipped out and eventually sat in the foyer. Her mind was wandering, thinking about the feeling she’d had as she’d spoken to their little group. She truly couldn’t imagine going back to those huge auditoriums and women’s retreats, but she could imagine talking with small groups like she just had, trying to share some hope with people who were struggling to find some. It was the same way she felt about her job at The Refuge, serving people by filling their stomachs with the fortifying meals Aniyah had taught her to make. Providing someone with a meal was more than just providing them with their daily allotment of calories. It was a chance to show them love, to comfort them, to soothe them. To be able to sit at the long, rough-hewn dining room table after an emotional therapy session and enjoy a home-cooked meal could fill the soul as well as the stomach.
The timer went off, and Savannah returned to the kitchen. The scent of the gumbo and fresh bread made her mouth water and reminded her of Aniyah, who had written twice to assuage their concerns for her. After removing the loaves from the oven, she opened the pass-through between the kitchen and the dining room. The heavenly aromas wafted from one space to the other as she set the dishes and silverware, buffet-style, on the pass-through counter. She had just finished laying out the napkins and side plates on the table when the door opened and the first of the Refugees entered. “Oh, my gosh,” an ex-pastor said. “That has got to be the best thing I’ve ever smelled.”
“It’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted in about five minutes,” she said with a grin.
The others were close behind, and soon the hall was filled with the community she had come to love. Ever changing as people left and arrived, but bound by a shared experience of pain and disappointment and the shared hope of recovery, the community had come to be more than just a recovery group to Savannah. It represented a new chapter in her life. Before, she had maintained a certain distance, kept herself from getting too emotionally involved, even with one-on-one encounters. Now she labored to supply people with something that would nourish them for the journey ahead, getting her hands dirty and her clothes stained, and then sitting with them, eating with them, sharing with them.
She went through the line last, then took a seat beside Jessie as Tabitha stood and held a slice of French bread aloft. “Friends,” she said, “let us give thanks, and eat.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MANY THANKS AND MUCH GRATITUDE to:
My ever-amazing husband, Daniel, for all the ways he makes it possible for me to write. It never goes unnoticed and I’ll never take it for granted. I love you so much, babe.
My generous parents, Lee and Leslie, for the myriad ways they support and encourage not just me, but my whole family.
Meagan Casimir, Jim Gleason, Eric Goberman, and Don Peshek, for sharing their heart transplant stories and helping me with the accuracy of the medical side of the story.
Dr. Kate Hrach, for sharing her time and knowledge and reading my manuscript to make sure my medical ignorance didn’t show.
Dudley Delffs, for getting me such amazing book covers!
Sarah Fields, for providing Marisa with the perfect name.
Miriam, April, Jessica, Ruth, Heather, Linda, Debbie, and Maggie, for stepping in when my creativity cut out. (Thank heavens for Facebook!)
My Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for showing me His heart and redeeming my own.
About the Author
ALISON STROBEL writes novels that explore life, love, and faith. She lives in Colorado with her husband and two daughters. Visit her at www.AlisonStrobel.com.
