Chapter
14, The Visitor
“So, this is the book?” Stella was
sitting on the couch next to me in the cabin. We each had a mug of coffee,
steam swirling in lovely whimsy. I had a decorative pillow in my lap, playing
with the fringe, as my other hand was bordering on burnt from the scorching hot
mug. I breathed in the aroma of freshly brewed dark roast, with a splash of Irish
cream creamer. Stella’s mug was currently residing on a coaster atop the coffee
table, Lillian Sander’s book in hand.
It was late. Darkness had encased the earth
some hours ago, bringing Stella with it. The sound of her car door slamming
shut, followed by the clicking of her skipping up the stairs to the porch, was
a sigh of relief from heaven. She welcomed herself in yelling, “Hey love! Momma
is here,” the moment the front door swung open. She was adorable in a blue
dress, falling mid-thigh, with ruffles around the collar, meeting in a V just
above the natural waist. Under the palest yellow sweater I have ever
encountered, a thick brown belt cinched it all together. Her hair fell to her
shoulders, an interesting strawberry blonde.
I met her in the hall, sporting
sweatpants, which came just below the knee, and a hoody. My brown hair pulled
up in a messy bun. In five minutes, her glamour was gone, replaced with natural
beauty in comfort, matching messy bun and all.
“Yeah, that’s the book.” I felt empty.
No, confused numbness – too many conflicting emotions, the toll of discernment
an unbearable weight, leaving the only course of action to close in on itself –
is more appropriate. I feel that I am at a crossroads, only there is no road to
take. This map is a jumbled mess of inaccurate memories, facts that are vague,
and doubt becoming a very prevalent reality.
“Weird…” She said this so quietly, it
was as if she breathed the word in hopes of not waking the book.
Even though nothing has been solved, I
felt so much better having my other half with me. Stella has been my friend
since college. We grew up together, creating a bond many siblings dream of. I
thank God for this relationship, and in this moment I realize the gift He has
given me in this friendship. How many people would drop everything to come to a
friend’s vacation just to hold their hand while they maneuver their way through
an identity crisis?
My mug was empty. I rose to get a
refill, offering to do the same for Stella. She opted to follow. One of my
favorite things about Stella is that we don’t need words. She knows what’s
going on in my head. Questions do not need to be asked. Answers do not need to
be given. We can feel what is happening inside of the other. And not in the
same way I share silence with Todd. As I think about this, I realize that the
similarities and differences are so great, but the words to express exactly
what those differences are, well they don’t exist. How do you explain things
that are beyond words? Beyond understanding?
Then, for some reason, as I am pouring
coffee in Stella’s mug, my mind wanders, to how with a word, God created things
into being. He used words to bring things into existence. His word is truth. Is
this why I cannot find words to describe my inner self right now? Because I
don’t know what is true? Is there more searching that I must endure to receive
my answered prayer? What am I missing? What am I doing wrong? What am I doing
right? Or, am I exactly where I am supposed to be…waiting on God? I am
beginning to feel probed, not physically, but spiritually. I am not sure how I
feel about this, either. That’s not true. I love that I am learning the depths
of my soul, though I expect I will never fully understand myself entirely –
Be
still, and know that I am God.
The words were whispered to my heart, a
poem, a song. I felt like a child being reprimanded, only not that severely. A
better way to describe it, I am being steered. How do I heed this gentle
command? A command that is almost a request, only I know better than to think
that it is merely a request. How do I know this?
Be
still…
Tears roll down my face. I am reminded
that I am not alone. A pressure builds within my core, a light expanding. My
soul throbs, a hand on my heart. Overwhelming is not an accurate word, because
to be overwhelmed is to feel close to a breaking point. I do not feel close to
breaking. Stella reaches out, holding my right hand with her left. The warmth
emanating from her hand intensifies the presence within.
Before I realize what’s happening, I
have led Stella upstairs, into the locked room. The bible is in my left hand,
the right still clinging to Stella. I guide her to the bed, only now releasing
her, and flip to Psalm 46, verse 10:
"Be still, and know
that I am God! I am exalted among the nations; I am exalted in the
earth." The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our
refuge.
God is with me. I feel God.
My mind is finally still, no longer chasing after tangents and loose ends,
like a child chasing fireflies in the night, Mason jar at the ready. Calm
spread, breathing slowed, and thoughts cleared.
No longer of my own accord, I left
Stella on the bed to peruse the bookshelf. Without knowing, I knew what I was
looking for.
~~~
The dining room was finally being utilized
during my stay here: we had books spread out the entire length of the table. My
laptop was on and opened. Stella had started a fire. It was past midnight. A
fresh pot of coffee was brewing. I put together a snack tray of cheese,
crackers, and fruit. We were wide awake, determination pumping through our
veins, excitement perpetuated by our need to know more; a new sense of vigor
erasing all sense of doubt and confusion. We were on a mission.
And I was learning how to recognize
something incredibly crucial: how God chose to speak to me. It isn’t always
with words, or in the form of an image, but a feeling that can be entirely
encompassing there is no way to confuse what it is.
Finally set up, Stella joined me at the
table. “My mind is blown, Ivy.” Her face was lit, curiosity dancing in her
eyes, and a childlike smile graced her mouth. I smiled up at her, encouraging
her to continue her thoughts. “To think, all of this time, you were being led to find
your family’s story. You are being led to your family's story. How crazy is this?” She looked down at the quantity of
books decorating the table. “Your grandmother wrote all of these?”
“It appears so…what is utterly lost on
me, is why I never knew about this.” I picked up the books, placing them in
order of publishing date. “What a secretive family I seem to have come from…” As
I organized the books, Stella typed away at the computer, searching for the
author Lillian Sanders.
“What I find odd,” Stella said between
key strokes, “Is why that room up there was locked for all of this time while
the rest of the cabin was in use…I mean, if you bought this place to turn it
into a retreat, wouldn’t you want to go poking around in every nook and cranny
of the place? Why leave the door locked? Why never find out what was behind it?
I mean, even look at a monetary reason: this cabin could have been used as a
three bedroom retreat instead of a one bedroom…” And she trailed off.
“What did you find?”
“I’m not sure. Hold on…I need to check
something out further…” She was quiet for about five minutes, giving me enough
time to put the dozen books in chronological order. Next, I was going to see if
there was a theme of which I could trace any truth my grandmother pulled from
her life, as inspiration for the fictional worlds she created.
“Ivy…” I tensed at the way she said my
name; her voice slow, and drawn, with a touch of you’re not going to like this, but it is valuable information…like I
said, we don’t always need words to convey. I know Stella. “You are not going to believe–” And then there was a persistent knocking
on the door, cutting Stella short.
We looked at each other from across the
table. Slowly, I slid out of my chair, using the table to help me stand up. In
what I perceived to be still time, I somehow managed to make my way to the
front door. My heart began to pick up speed. I knew I had no right to be
feeling nervous, but I could not help but feel that I was not ready for whoever
was on the other side of that door.
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