I lugged the front door open and saw Emily waiting at the ticket booth, as we’d agreed. She’d called earlier that morning. “Are you available to see an exhibit of contemporary Japanese prints and paintings?” she’d asked in a voice I found impossible to refuse.
Emily’s silver hair glimmered like a halo under the overhead lights. “I’m glad you could come,” she said as I approached her.
“Thank you, it was nice of you to think of me.” I opened my billfold and handed three dollars to the woman collecting admission. It was a nominal amount, I thought, and I decided to start visiting a different museum each month. Why not?
Emily and I ascended several steps and entered the first room as a couple was exiting through the passageway at the far end, leaving us alone.
On the near wall hung a sign, Reflections of Water: Japanese Modern Prints and Paintings, and I surmised the works all possessed an aquatic theme.
“It’s a shame you missed the last class,” Emily said. “A young woman from New Delhi dressed in a sari posed for us.” She stopped before a print of four wooden skiffs moored on the banks of the Tone River. “Henry asked Laurie and me if we knew why you weren’t there. He seemed concerned.”
“A conflict came up that made it impossible.”
We moved to the next piece, a pen and ink drawing of a mist-enshrouded waterfall.
“Are you going to keep drawing?” she asked.
“I hope to. I painted something since we saw each other last.”
“Good for you.”
We migrated a few feet to view a print of rain slanting down upon a darkened Tokyo street.
My mind spun to my new marketing strategies: to send clients calendars at Christmas featuring remodeled homes with before and after photos, and a newsletter mentioning my latest sales and listings, and offering tips on creating intimate interior spaces using a coat of paint, existing furniture, and accessories.
“I’m not sure I’ll have time to paint again until after Christmas,” I added.
“I hope you will. You were doing something important. The way I see it, God gave us our talents to use whenever we can. He loves to watch us create.”
I’ve got to tell you, her words sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn’t see what God had to do with anything.
We continued into the next room to find a dozen high-school-aged students taking notes as their teacher explained a series of ten prints of Mount Fuji. We stayed a few minutes, then moved on to the next room, which housed a collection of kimonos affixed to the wall. Again, Emily and I stood alone.
“Exquisite,” she said. Her eyes embraced the sapphire blue-and-caramel-colored geometric patterns of the fabric.
She turned to me. “Did I mention that I first met Henry at church? Over twenty years ago. I got to know his precious family, and my heart ached for everything he and his girls endured. I don’t see him there anymore, but once you know the Lord, the relationship can never be severed.”
I could understand how an old-fashioned woman might adopt such outmoded notions. It would be comforting to believe in a big father figure watching out for her, especially as she got on in years. But I had proof that fathers couldn’t be trusted.
”Do you know Jesus?” she said.
All I could think about was ending this dreadful conversation. I thought about saying I needed to use the restroom and then never coming back. But I liked Emily too much to run out on her like that. I pretended to examine another kimono while my mind searched for a polite answer. “I went to church when I was young, but I haven’t set foot in one for years—except when someone’s getting married or buried. God and I don’t get along all that well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Sounds like you feel he let you down?”
“Let’s just say I gave the God thing a shot, and it didn’t work out.”
“There were times when I rejected God too. But he didn’t give up on me.” Her voice rang with certainty, as if she were citing a mathematical theorem, when in truth her beliefs were based on speculation. Fantasy, really. “He hasn’t forgotten you either,” she said. “You might give him another try.”
“How can you be sure about something you can’t even see?” I knew it sounded rude, but I was growing weary of this discussion.
Her eyes sparkled like a young girl’s. “The same way I can be sure the sun’s up in the sky even though I can’t find it at night. I can see its light reflecting off the surface of the moon just as I see the Lord’s reflected love shining in the lives of my friends, even if I can’t observe it in my own.”
The room felt suddenly cold; I hugged myself. “There was a time when I believed all things worked together for good for those who love God,” I said. “But good things didn’t come my way. And no matter how hard I try, bad things keep happening.”
“Bad things do happen to good people,” she agreed. “We’ll have to wait until we get to heaven to ask God why he allows us to experience some hardships. Until then we must keep trusting him and asking for his wisdom and guidance.”
“I stopped asking God for favors a long time ago, and it’s been easier that way—one less thing to be disappointed about.” I took a step toward the next room, but Emily remained where she was.
“God’s timing isn’t the same as ours, but he always has a reason for what he does,” she said. “Even his allowing my Al to be taken away so soon. It’s easy to become discouraged when he doesn’t answer our prayers in a few days,
