All of those Christian people with their thickly stacked together Holy Bibles have told me that God is a forgiving and loving God and that all He wants is for us to run to Him with open arms, and then He would take our pain and suffering away.

I spent my sleepless nights by praying, and often enough, my pillows would soak up tears until the cloth was soaked and I was laying my head in a soppy puddle of saltwater. Still, the few people I consulted, pastors and a couple of close friends, told me that I must have not been praying enough.

Nearly a week before the Christmas service, I had walked outside of the chapel where the gathering worshipped. It was one of the first times I’d exited the service feeling an ounce of hope in my heart for what seemed like an eternity. I had scribbled verses practically mechanically into a worn journal, and only that day did some of the message make sense to me:

“…the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us...”

I consulted one of my friends about the matter, assuming she would have an idea of where to take that hope and allow it to grow.

“May God forgive you for whatever you’ve done,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“What?” my mouth gaped open. “What are you talking about?”

“The pastor also said that we cannot cling to the flesh but lean on the Spirit. Those who are on the flesh cannot please God.”

“So?”

“There is a purpose for your pain. You must be holding something back and it is keeping you from finding healing. I suggest that you pray to God and ask for forgiveness.”

I walked away from her, holding back tears in my eyes. She retreated to a circle of her friends as they discussed church matters to themselves. I looked for my husband.

I found him hovering near a large group of men. They all faced one another in one of the many circled crowds of people near the entrance of the church.

When his eyes met mine, they filled with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I swallowed.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Well I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?” the tears tried to well into my eyes but I held them down. I needed to stay strong. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Okay.”

I felt their eyes on me. A couple of men and women from different groups turned from where they stood, no longer isolated in their huddles. Their glances were out of place.

As we walked, I held the pieces of myself together and gripped John’s hand as if it were my lifeline.

“Why did we have to park the car in the back of the parking lot?” I mumbled.

“There wasn’t room anywhere else, honey. Why does it matter?”

“Never mind. It doesn’t.”

He unlocked the doors of the car and opened the passenger’s side for me. Barb and Rob Gates walked past the car. Barb waved with a grim smile and the two of them exchanged looks of pity. I winced.

John seemed to not notice as he turned on the car and switched on the radio habitually. The speakers echoed a well-known chorus of an overplayed worship song. I cringed and pressed the power button. The music ceased.

“Okay, that’s it. What’s up with you these days?” he blurted. “You hardly talk. You hardly sleep. Every day that passes, your mood just gets darker and darker.”

I said nothing.

“There’s something you are not telling me—”

“Can we talk about this later? I don’t want to make a scene.”

“How are we going to make a scene? It’s just the two of us in here,” his voice remained calm.

“Everyone is watching us that passes by. I can see them.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I am really starting to get sick of sitting back and watching you turn into someone that I don’t even know anymore.”

“It’s nothing,” I grunted.

“It’s not nothing,” he argued, face crumpling like a dead leaf.

“God hasn’t saved me.”

“What?”

“I said…God hasn’t saved me.”

“Of course He has. One day all of this will be over—”

“and we will be all happy and carefree in heaven. La-dee-da!” my voice began to raise in tone.

“Honey…”

“I don’t want to go to church anymore, either.”

“What? Why?”

“How have you noticed nothing? My hair is falling out. My bones are weak. I am going to die within months. Your God still hasn’t saved me!”

“Medical bills are piling up. Do you not think that I haven’t noticed that?”

I said nothing.

“You are missing out on what God has to tell you by not going.”

“I will start going again when He stops the world from suffering. When He stands up from His kingly throne and helps the families that are being torn apart from grief. Why does He sit back, wait for us to run into His arms, and watch as disease is wrought upon the earth, tearing apart families and filling them with grief, rather than scooping us up into his arms right now? I will start going to church again when He comforts those who are suffering. When He heals them from their illnesses. And I will start going again when the community pulls themselves back together and helps those who are suffering rather than excluding them and turning their backs on them.”

I was sobbing now, uncontrollably.

John held out his arm and rested it along my shoulders. “Well, I want you to know that everything is going to be okay.”

I wiped my nose and groaned.

“Wait. You didn’t let me finish,” he said. “I am not going anywhere, okay? Let’s work something out. We can work together even after we find the answers you are looking for. God works in mysterious ways. Despite what people say, I cannot allow you to lose hope. Let’s fight this together. Okay?”

I sniffled, “Okay.”

stay tuned next week for the final part of the short story!

read part one and part two now!