“Is Satan real?” Little Harry’s almond-shaped eyes were uncertain.
Annie nodded solemnly. “Yes, he is real. I’m not making any of this up, Do Weon. Everything I’m telling you is the truth. Satan isn’t a devil with horns wearing a red suit and carrying a pitchfork. He’s a real spirit being, who roams the world like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. And his demons help him. Satan is the father of lies and a murderer. No good comes from him.”
Lin Sansan looked distressed, and poor little Kim, her daughter, looked ready to cry. She got up from the floor and crawled into her mother’s lap. Lin Sansan glanced at Juanita and Arba and then at Leota, clearly uncertain as to what she should do—stay and listen, or leave. Leota figured it was the constraints of politeness that kept her in her seat. The woman seemed very shy, and Leota doubted the little lady could stand to bring attention to herself. So she sat, clutching her daughter to her, listening to Annie talk about things that clearly frightened the woman.
Do Weon leaned forward. “What happened when God found out?”
“He was very sad and very angry. But He still loved Adam and Eve. So He made the first blood sacrifice. He killed an animal and made clothing from its skin for Adam and Eve. Then He made them leave the Garden. Ever since that time people have had to work very hard to make a living. We have pain and sorrow. We’re afraid. We hurt one another in all kinds of terrible ways. We’re all just like Adam and Eve. We have a sin nature now. Even when we know what’s right, sometimes we do wrong. And it only takes one little sin to make you a sinner. Adam and Eve couldn’t be with God anymore, not like they had been in the Garden when He walked and talked with them face-to-face.”
Kim snuggled closer to her mother. “Does God hate us, too?”
“Oh, no, sweetheart. God loved them still and He loves us, too. He’s our Father, and He wants us back again very much. Right from the beginning, God knew we would make bad choices. So He had already made a plan to provide us with a way back to Him. And He promised that to Adam and Eve after they sinned. He would give us a Messiah.”
Leota loved the way Annie said the word Messiah. She made it sound mysterious and wondrous. With Annie’s encouragement, the children repeated it. “Messiah,” they said in the same tone as Annie. The clock chimed seven, but none of the children noticed. They edged closer, listening as Annie told them about Cain murdering his brother, Abel . . . how evil became rampant in the world until God decided to destroy everyone but Noah and his family. She told them about Abraham and his sons, then about Joseph in Egypt. They sat quietly through Moses and the deliverance of the Israelites and the giving of the law.
“The law was good and perfect and given by God, but it was also a terrible burden. People needed the law to learn to obey God again, but the law also taught the men, women, and children they couldn’t obey every one of them. There were so many laws about so many things, no one, not a single person, could keep them all. Some didn’t care, but others wanted to please God. The problem was, if you broke one law, that made you a lawbreaker and a sinner. And the punishment for sin is . . .”
“Death,” the children said when she pointed to the pumpkin she had lit illuminating a skull and crossbones.
“And the people cried out, ‘Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?’” She smiled at the children. “Say that with me . . .”
“Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?” the children echoed, following her lead as she pointed to another pumpkin illuminating her carving of a man with his hands raised to the heavens.
“Hundreds of years passed by, and there were terrible wars and famines and droughts. Death and Satan never take a holiday. The people would follow the laws and try to be good, and then they would forget again and be very, very bad. God would send men called prophets to call them back to Him. I am your Father. I love you. Come to Me. Come to Me. Sometimes the people would listen and repent. When they didn’t, their enemies would come and take them captive and drag them away from their homes and make them slaves. And then the people would cry out again.”
“Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?”
Leota noticed Lin Sansan was even saying it now, right along with her daughter, and Arba and Juanita.
“A thousand years passed. And another thousand. And more. When God knew it was exactly the right time, He sent an angel named Gabriel to a young girl named Mary and told her she was going to have a baby and that baby was going to be God’s only begotten Son, Jesus, the Messiah.”
“What’s begotten mean?” Kim peered out at Annie from the safety of her mother’s arms.
“It means that God was going to place that child inside Mary. Instead of a man being the father of Jesus, God was going to be His Father. Mary was confused, too, Kim. She asked Gabriel how she could have a child when she had never been with a man, and Gabriel told her that God Himself, the Holy Spirit, was going to overshadow her, and she would become pregnant. And that’s what happened. God saw to everything, even to providing Mary with a godly husband named Joseph. He was a carpenter.”
Leota leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Maybe it was helping Annie carve so many pumpkins, or the excitement of having company fill the house. Still, it felt good to have the house full of children. Children had seldom come to the house when Eleanor and George were young. Mother Reinhardt had never encouraged it, feeling two were enough for her to handle. This was the way Leota had dreamed her house would be. Filled with friends and neighbors.
“When Joseph and Mary reached Bethlehem, Mary was ready to have Jesus,” Annie went on. “They couldn’t find a place to stay. They finally had to go out to a stable, which was probably nothing more than a cave in a hillside outside the town. Mary and Joseph were so poor all they could do when Jesus was born was wrap Him in some cloths and tuck Him into some hay in an animal’s feeding trough.”
She lit another pumpkin. “But an amazing thing happened as soon as Jesus was born. A new star shone in the heavens. It was a sign from God, who had made everything in the universe, that He had sent the Messiah at last. Sadly, not very many people even noticed that star. Maybe they were inside their houses and didn’t pay any attention. But men who studied the stars noticed it in the heavens. In fact, some of them followed that star right out of their own country. They knew it meant that someone of great significance had been born, a king or a god, and they wanted to find him and worship him. They didn’t know Jesus was the King of kings and the God, the only God, the one who had created everything that ever was or ever would be. . . .”
Leota leaned back, listening to Annie’s voice as she talked about the angel’s visit, about King Herod butchering babies, about Mary and Joseph fleeing to Egypt . . .
Egypt. The land of sorrows.
“Out of Egypt God would call the Messiah.”
Is Egypt only a country, Lord? Or a state of mind? How long was I in Egypt before You sent Annie to bring me over the rivers of self-pity into the Promised Land of plenty? I am so full, Jesus. Too full some days with the house overrun by children. And yet, I still crave more. I long for my own children to come home to me. Is this how You’ve felt all through the centuries since the beginning of time? I want to cry out to Eleanor and George and weep. Why are they so stubborn? Why won’t they turn to me? Why won’t they seek the truth about anything?
Sometimes—though she hated to admit it—Leota wished she’d never had children. Do You ever feel like that, Lord? And yet, if I hadn’t had Eleanor, I wouldn’t have this sweet, unsullied young woman in my life now. I wouldn’t be able to sit and hear Your story told all over again from the lips of someone who adores You. I’d be all alone, waiting to die. Maybe all the sorrow was worth this bit of precious time. Leota had a daughter who despised her, but from Eleanor came this granddaughter who had become the apple of Leota’s eye, her comfort in her old age.
But for how long, Lord? She’s so young and so beautiful. I’ve seen the way Sam looks at her. And even Corban is beginning to have t
hat look in his eyes, despite his attachment to another. How long before Annie becomes bored with an old lady who is getting more decrepit by the day?
“‘Crucify Him!’ they all shouted.” Annie’s raised voice made Leota start. “The disciples ran away in fear for their lives. The Jewish leaders were afraid of losing their positions of power in the church. The Jewish people were angry because Jesus wasn’t the warrior Messiah they wanted. The Romans were afraid they would lose control of the world they had conquered. They wanted to keep peace at any price, even if it meant killing an innocent man. Everyone took part. Even you and me, though we weren’t there. We sin just as they all sinned. Satan must have thought he had won the battle when Jesus died on the cross that day. He must’ve celebrated when they took Jesus’ body down and took Him away to be buried. Jesus was a young man, only thirty-three, and He didn’t have a tomb prepared for Him. They had to lay the only begotten Son of God in a borrowed tomb. And those who had loved Him lost all hope. They hid themselves away and wept. Oh, how Satan must have danced at Jesus’ grave.”
Leota closed her eyes against sudden tears. Is that what’s happened to me, Lord? Have I lost hope? Have I lost sight of who You are? Was I beguiled away from believing that You love me and all Your promises remain? I have felt so abandoned, but did that mean I was? I look at Annie now and know You heard every prayer I ever said. Not that You answered many. At least, not where Eleanor is concerned. Then again, I suppose she has something to say about how she lives her life.
Lord, why did You curse us with free will? Why didn’t You strike down Adam and Eve and start over with another perfect pair? Or would it have ended the same way yet again? We always seem to make wrong choices, then have to live with the misery of them. I tried to do what was right. Oh, God, I did. You know how hard I tried. Was I wrong? If I was right, why can’t my children see it? And if I was wrong, why can’t I?
The old clock on the mantel chimed once. Eight thirty. Annie was acting out a lament, her voice filled with all the desolation of an old prophet: “When, oh Lord, when will You send us a Savior?”
Leota’s heart echoed the cry. I know You are the Savior, Lord. But, oh, Father, the enemy is so strong. He chips away at my armor, looking for chinks, for just enough space for a fiery dart to slip through and send me crashing down again into the pit of despair. He tore my family asunder before I was aware, and by the time I was, their hearts were so hardened I couldn’t reach them. Maybe if she’d fought harder and longer, but she was hurt and angry and withdrew, like a dog licking its wounds. Just like the disciples before God breathed the Holy Spirit on them. Oh, God, that You would give me the confidence to speak truth! Maybe if they knew the whys and wherefores of my choices, they might have compassion. Eleanor is caught in a web of lies. And I’m sick of it, sick unto death of the recriminations. It was Bernard’s story to tell, but he was too ashamed to speak. Or was it pride that kept him silent, Lord? Is that what binds us tighter than chains? Cursed pride. My own most of all.
“Jesus arose!” Annie’s voice was infused with joyful excitement, and the children clapped. “Death could not hold Him in the grave. Satan and all his demons could not destroy Him. He arose! And He is still alive to this very day! Anyone who believes in Jesus will never perish, but have everlasting life with Him. Those who believe will shed their bodies and join Him in paradise.”
Death, the grand adventure. Easy for the young to think that when the years stretched out ahead of them. The young felt they had all the time in the world. They felt immortal. Leota turned her face away. Death drew closer each day. She could feel it approaching. Sometimes she was so afraid, her heart would pound. Other times, she felt perfectly at peace with it. Not that there was much she could do to stop its arrival. The unknown was so disturbing; it was all well and good to know the promises, but the uncertainty remained. What would it be like to die?
It reminded Leota of being pregnant with George. She knew the inevitable end: she would have a baby. There was no escaping. She was on a train going full speed ahead. Waiting and wondering about the destination had frightened her. Bernard had reminded her of how many millions of babies had been born before theirs was conceived. What good was that sort of comfort? She had never had a baby. Would she suffer terribly and scream and cry and make a complete fool of herself? Would she die?
And so it was now in her old age, with time speeding on. Maybe she would go to sleep in her bed one night and wake up somewhere else come morning. Wouldn’t that be nice? To die in her sleep, unaware of what was happening.
Yet she knew that kind of death wasn’t for her. She sensed it. Was it the increasing pain that warned her death wasn’t going to be so easy? Or was it the result of all the wasted years of waiting and hoping? She had the feeling God was going to make her face the grim reaper head-on.
She let her mind drift back to the day when George was placed in her arms. Oh, how her breasts had hurt those first weeks he had nursed and she had bonded with him. The mere sound of his cry would bring her milk in. She would hold him close and gaze at him as his small mouth worked, drawing his nourishment from her body. And it had been the same with Eleanor. How Leota had loved dressing her daughter up and showing her off to the world. Before Bernard went off to war, they’d bring the children into bed with them in the morning. Oh, how they’d all played and laughed, snuggling close together.
Papa needs your help, Bernard had written. Would she have done differently if she had known how four words could change her life forever?
I wanted to do the right thing, Lord. I went in with rosy glasses, thinking we would all work together for the common good.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
The voice was as clear as the day Leota had heard it. It was Eleanor crying out, struggling in Mama Reinhardt’s arms. Her little arms stretched out to Leota, her eyes wide with fear. Mama Reinhardt had held little Eleanor firmly, glaring. She said something in German. Leota never knew what the words meant, but it had been enough to see the look in her mother-in-law’s eyes and be held to silence for the sake of Papa’s pride.
“I’ll be back this evening, Eleanor. Grandma Reinhardt will take good care of you.” Eleanor’s cries still rang in her ears.
“Mommy!”
Anguish had filled her until she thought the weight would crush her heart. She had wept all the way to work that morning—and every morning after that for the first month.
“Grandma?” Gentle fingers brushed her hair. Leota opened her eyes. The lamp was on. The room was empty.
Leota shifted in her chair. “The children are gone.” Oh, God, I’ve lost them. I lost them years ago, but it feels like yesterday.
“Yes. They left about an hour ago. They’ll be by tomorrow to say thank you. I think the evening was successful. Don’t you, Grandma?”
Tears blurred her vision. “I missed it all.” I missed all the important things in their lives because I had to work. I had to keep a roof over our heads and bread on the table. I missed going to my children’s school plays and baseball games and parents’ nights. I didn’t get to chaperone dances or sit in the auditorium for the band performances or stand on the street corner and watch them in the parades. I didn’t get to watch them grow up. Oh, Father, I missed everything.
You sacrificed out of love for them.
Annie knelt beside her chair and took her hand. “Are you feeling all right, Grandma?”
“I miss the children,” she said in a choked voice.
“They’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I miss them so . . .”
Annie looked so worried. Leota was annoyed with herself. She must sound like a demented old woman. Better to keep silent than concern her sweet granddaughter with things the dear girl couldn’t change. Better to push the pain down deep inside again and try to keep it where it wouldn’t show. Who wanted to be around someone who moaned and grieved over the past? Yet the anguish was so close beneath the surface. And she had so little time left.
Time enough to b
e alone again. Time enough to be abandoned one last time.
With a shuddering sigh, she sat up. “Well, now that I’ve had my nap, I guess I’d better transfer my old bones to bed.” She brought the recliner fully upright and allowed Annie to help her stand. “I’ll be fine now, dear. I can manage. I’ll see you in the morning.” She leaned heavily on the cane Annie had given her, trying not to wince as she walked slowly toward the hallway to the bathroom and her bedroom.
“Grandma?” Annie came to her. She put her arms around Leota and held her close for a long moment. When she drew back, there were tears in her eyes. “I love you, Grandma. You know that, don’t you? I love you very, very much.”
Oh, the sweet balm of those words. Grateful, Leota cupped Annie’s cheek and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Blue eyes, beautiful, baby-blue eyes, just like Eleanor’s. “I love you, too, my darling.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
Leota knew what she meant. “God sent you to me at just the right time.” She kissed her cheek.
“Everything will work out, Grandma. I know it. God won’t let us down.”
“No, He won’t.” Leota wanted to give back the same comfort Annie was trying to give her. Annie needed to know her words had made her feel better and that her grandmother’s faith was strong enough to withstand anything, whatever was to come. Leota did believe God wouldn’t let her down. For the time it took her to use the bathroom, change her clothes, and slip into her bed, she held tight to that promise. Then the darkness closed in, and the doubts danced on her heart, and the old sorrows welled up as she faced the truth.
God never lets you down.
But people do.
Corban entered the apartment, wondering why all the lights were out. Where was Ruth? She was always home by this time of the evening. He flicked the switch and crossed the room, putting his book bag beside his computer. He had a lot of reading to do if he was going to catch up. He had become so focused on reworking his paper on elder care that he was behind in philosophy. He’d have to work harder and stay up later for the next week to get back on track.