Season of Blessing Page 29

  But she was gone.

  Sylvia had gone home to be with Jesus, with a prayer for her loved ones still on her lips.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Six

  Silence hung over the Dodd house as they got dressed the morning of the funeral. Brenda moved by rote, ironing shirts and preparing breakfast. But her mind remained in that bedroom at the Bryans’ house, all of them crowded around Sylvia’s bed, receiving a prayer of blessing before she passed into eternity.

  Sylvia had prayed that they would see the joy in this, but so far, Brenda only saw the tragedy of losing her mentor and closest friend.

  What would she do without Sylvia? Who would teach her? Whose wisdom would she call on?

  She took the boys’ shirts to their room. Daniel stood in front of the mirror, combing his hair. He’d been crying, she could tell. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, but he would have denied it if she’d acknowledged it.

  He took the shirt, stared down at it.

  She stood in the doorway, and remembered when Joseph hung between life and death, how Sylvia had come to stay with Daniel and the girls. She’d told Brenda how Daniel had done the only thing he’d known to do. He’d come down in the middle of the night to wash his own sneakers, so he could take them to Joseph the next day. The child’s feet had been too swollen for his own shoes, and Daniel imagined that his feet were cold.

  She knew that he had bonded with Sylvia that night, and was running those moments through his mind. What had once been a sweet memory now burned with the bitterness of death.

  She took the other shirt and headed to Joseph’s room. Leah and Rachel were coming out of theirs, their eyes swollen and pink.

  “Mama, tell Rachel she’s supposed to wear black. It’s rude to wear color to a funeral.”

  Brenda looked at Rachel’s choice of the yellow dress she’d worn on Easter. “Mama, do I have to?”

  Brenda forced a smile. “I think it’s fine for you to wear yellow, honey. Miss Sylvia wanted us to see the joy in this. Yellow is a joyful color, don’t you think?”

  Leah crossed her arms. “Well, should I change into a color?”

  “You look beautiful.” She kissed Leah’s forehead, then Rachel’s. “Both of you do. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  She took the shirt into Joseph’s room, and saw him sitting cross-legged on his bed in his T-shirt and pants, the Bible open on his lap.

  He looked up when she came in. “Mama, look. The gates of heaven are made of one gigantic pearl on each gate. And there’s a sea of glass, and there’s no need for light, because God is so bright.”

  She put her fingertips over her mouth, and nodded.

  “And the disciples are there, and the apostle Paul, and Moses and Abraham…Do you think Sylvia’s had the chance to ask them questions yet?”

  Brenda forced her voice to remain steady. “What questions?”

  “Like what Paul’s thorn in the flesh was, and what Jesus wrote in the sand, and what was going through Abraham’s mind when he went to sacrifice Isaac.”

  Brenda pictured Sylvia at the feet of the fathers of their faith, getting the story behind the story. The thought made her smile. “I think she probably has.”

  Joseph nodded. “Because it says that right now we see through a mirror darkly, but someday we’ll see face-to-face. Seems like everything should be clear to her by now, huh?”

  Brenda wished her youngest son could have been the one to preach Sylvia’s funeral. He seemed to have the most perfect perspective of all of them.

  She gave him his shirt, then went to finish getting ready.

  David was putting on his tie. His hands trembled as he did, and she caught his reflection in the mirror. The lines around his eyes were deep. He hadn’t slept much the last two nights. Last night she’d heard him get up in the wee hours of morning, and he had never come back to bed.

  He was taking Sylvia’s death harder than she’d expected. She thought of that prayer that Sylvia had prayed some time ago, for David’s salvation.

  It had not been answered, and the pain of that rose up high in Brenda’s chest, twisting her grief and bringing her close to despair.

  But she had no choice but to trust that God had heard that prayer, and had every intention of answering it…someday.

  She wondered if Sylvia still prayed from heaven.

  She went into the bathroom and sprayed her hair, put on earrings and her watch. Then she checked the time, and saw that they needed to go.

  It was time to lay Sylvia’s body to rest.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Seven

  Next door, Tory tried valiantly to get her family ready. She had taken Hannah in to the school this morning, to be cared for while she attended the funeral. The faces of all the teachers had been grim, but the children, who had been told yesterday, played as though nothing had happened. They didn’t understand, she thought. How could they?

  When she spoke to Bo, he looked up at her with a smile. “Miva in heben,” he told her matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, she is,” Tory said. “She’s in heaven, all right.”

  “Bo see her dere.”

  “That’s right. Someday you’ll see her there.”

  There was no grief on his face, no crushing sense of loss. Only joy, pure and undefiled, as he imagined Sylvia’s new situation. Time had little meaning to him. As far as he knew, he’d see Sylvia tomorrow, when Jesus returned for him.

  As she left the school and headed back home, she realized that Bo had it right. There was no need for grief. Sylvia wasn’t suffering. She probably had great hair in heaven, and a twentyfive-year-old body, and a brain sharper than it had ever been.

  Still, the grief pulled at Tory like quicksand.

  As she got Spencer and Brittany ready for the service, she struggled to keep from letting that grief suck her under.

  “I’m choking,” Spencer said as she knotted his tie. “I can’t stand this.”

  “Spencer, you need to wear it. Now don’t give me a hard time.”

  Barry stepped into the room and touched her shoulder. “Here, let me.”

  She stepped back, and watched her husband sit on the bed in front of the boy. “We want you to wear a tie today, Spence, because it’s an important time, and we want you to look like the little man that you are.”

  Spencer seemed to stand taller. “And because Miss Sylvia might be able to see me?”

  Barry met Tory’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really think so. The Bible says there are no tears in heaven. If she could see how sad Dr. Harry is, she might cry. So I doubt that she can watch.”

  “Yeah.” Spencer stuck his chin out as his father straightened his tie. “She probably has too much to do, anyway. Checking out her new mansion, and talking to Jesus, and all that stuff.”

  Tory stood back at the door, listening to the quiet conversation. God was using the mouths of babes today, to show her the joy in Sylvia’s passing.

  Just as she’d prayed before her spirit left her body.

  Come to me as little children, the Lord seemed to remind her. See what they see. Understand as they do.

  She went to Brittany’s room and saw her eleven-year-old, already fully dressed, struggling with her hair in front of the mirror. She’d grown so beautiful in the last year…still a child, but almost a woman.

  Tory came to her rescue. “Let me help.”

  She pulled her hair up out of her face.

  “What’s gonna happen, Mom?” she asked. “Will we see Miss Sylvia?”

  Tory shook her head. “No, honey. She asked Dr. Harry to have a closed casket. She wanted us to remember her as she used to be.”

  “She was always beautiful on the inside,” Brittany said. “I think we can remember her all the ways that she was, even when she was sick.”

  Tory turned her daughter around and hugged her. “I’m glad you understand that, sweetie. Sylvia was never more beautiful than she was at the very end. Skinny and sick and bald…she
was the most beautiful woman I knew.”

  “She’s even more beautiful now,” Brittany whispered.

  Again, from the mouths of babes…

  Barry stuck his head in the room. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

  Tory nodded, but wasn’t able to speak as she got her purse and headed out to the car.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Eight

  At the Bennett house, Cathy tried to console her daughter.

  Annie was already dressed, but her eyes were so swollen and wet that Cathy had brought her ice packs in hopes of making her look more normal at the funeral. But the girl couldn’t stop crying.

  “Mom, why did they ask me to speak, of all people? There’s no way I can do it. Look at me. I’ll fall apart.”

  Cathy shook her head. “Annie, you spent a year with Sylvia, doing what she loved most in the world. Who better to tell about her?”

  “But I just don’t get it.” Annie held the pack against one eye, but her tears countered the work it did. “Why did she have to die? Aren’t we all here to bear fruit? Why would God take somebody who bore more than anybody else I know?”

  Cathy drew in a deep breath. “Last night I was reading my Bible and trying to find peace…and I read something that Jesus said. He said, ‘Unless a seed falls in the ground and dies, it cannot bear fruit.’ I don’t think he meant that you can’t bear fruit when you’re alive, obviously, but I do think he was saying that sometimes death brings even more fruit.”

  “How?”

  Cathy stroked Annie’s hair. “Honey, there will be a lot of people at that funeral today. Harry’s even having it videotaped for the memorial service they’re having for her in León. Think of all the unbelievers who will hear the testimony of Sylvia’s life, and embrace Jesus for the first time. Then they’ll tell people, and they’ll tell people…her fruit could keep reproducing for years.”

  Annie nodded and brought the ice pack down. “Generations even.”

  “That’s right.”

  Her face twisted again. “But what if I let Dr. Harry down? What if I mess this up and make him more upset than he already is?”

  “You won’t, honey. Just read what you’ve prepared. If you cry, that’s all right. We’ll all be crying with you.”

  She left Annie alone to get her bearings, then checked on Rick. He had come home for the funeral, and stood in his room now, staring out the window at Sylvia’s house next door. She stepped into his room. “You almost ready, honey?”

  He turned around. “Yeah, Mom. How are you?”

  The sweet question brought tears to her eyes, and she nodded. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.”

  “You okay with being a pallbearer?”

  He nodded. “I think so. I’m a little nervous. This isn’t the kind of thing they teach in college.”

  “You’ll do fine.” She walked into the room and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you. Dr. Harry chose his pallbearers well.”

  Rick shrugged. “I can see him picking David and Barry and Steve. But me and Mark and Daniel?”

  “You’re the men of Cedar Circle,” she said. “Why not you?”

  When she’d left him alone, she went to Mark’s room and saw that he was already dressed. His cheeks were mottled pink, as they always were when he was nervous or upset.

  “You ready, Mark?”

  “Yeah.” He looked up at her. “Mom?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I know the Bible says that we’re not supposed to grieve as those who have no hope. But do you think it’s a bad witness if we cry at the funeral?”

  Cathy breathed a sad laugh. “Of course not, sweetheart. Jesus wept at Lazarus’s funeral, even though he knew that he was going to raise him from the dead.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “I’ve wondered about that. Why do you think he cried if he knew it was going to have a happy ending?”

  “Because his heart broke for Mary and Martha…just like it’s probably breaking for us.” Her voice broke off, and her own tears rushed to her eyes. She tried to hold them back.

  Mark hugged her, and she clung to him, so proud that he had become a young man who cared about God’s Word.

  “Mom, I know this is gonna be hard for you,” he said as he held her. “Miss Sylvia meant so much to you.”

  She swallowed. “I owe her a lot.” She pulled back and wiped her tears. She had to get herself together. With Annie as upset as she was, one of them was going to have to be strong.

  “I’m worried about your sister. She’s so upset.”

  “I could go in there and torture her a little bit. Make her forget her troubles.”

  “Generous offer.” Cathy laughed softly. “But I don’t think so.”

  He looked at his watch. “We’d better get going.”

  Cathy drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  She went down the stairs, and found Tracy in the kitchen, loading the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Tracy, look what you’ve done. Thank you, sweetie.”

  Tracy got a sponge and began wiping the counter. “I got ready early. It was something I could do.”

  Cathy kissed her cheek. “That was very thoughtful.”

  The girl turned her face up to Cathy, and gazed at her with big, round eyes. “I’m sorry you’re sad, Cathy. I wish I could make it better.”

  “You just did,” she said.

  She found Steve in their bedroom, sitting in the rocker with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, his eyes closed.

  She knew he was praying, so she stood quietly in the room, watching him, so thankful that she had married a godly man who knew where to turn when he hurt.

  After a moment, he looked up at her. “You ready?”

  She nodded, but those tears rushed her again. He stood and took her into his arms, held her for a long moment.

  “I miss her,” she whispered. “I miss her so much.”

  “Me too.” She felt his tears on her neck, and clung tighter to him.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Annie stepped into the doorway. “I’m ready, Mom,” she said.

  Cathy wiped her face. “All right then. Let’s do this.”

  And quietly the family piled into the car.

  CHAPTER

  Seventy-Nine

  The casket at the front of the church was closed, and on top of it sat a lovely picture of Sylvia, before she’d gotten sick. Her eyes laughed in the framed photograph, and her smile spoke of love and joy. A bright spray of autumn flowers lay across the casket, proclaiming life rather than death. It was just as Harry had ordered it.

  The neighbors of Cedar Circle gathered with the family in a back room as the church filled with mourners. Harry led them in prayer, and asked that this funeral minister in her death just as Sylvia had ministered in her life.

  “Lord,” he prayed, “let this funeral not be a time of glorifying Sylvia. She wouldn’t have wanted that. Let it glorify you, from its beginning until its end.”

  His voice broke off, and for a moment he struggled to get the knot out of his throat and finish the prayer.

  “Lord, we have so much to be thankful for. Thank you for healing Sylvia in the most complete way possible. Thank you for all the years we had with her. Thank you for what she taught us, how she loved us, the way she modeled you. Thank you for letting her touch our lives. And thank you for assuring us that we will see her again, when we see you in all your glory, and we’re all finally home.”

  Harry waited as the family and neighbors filed into the first few rows of the church. All three of Sylvia’s closest friends huddled close together, holding hands. Their husbands and sons who would serve as pallbearers sat in the front row, their faces grim.

  As Harry walked in, he met David’s eyes. He was the only one among the pallbearers who didn’t believe. How sad, how crushing that grief must be, Harry thought. And as he took his seat, he prayed the prayer that Sylvia had prayed until her dying day.<
br />
  Lord, save him.

  CHAPTER

  Eighty

  As the funeral began, and the full choir of the church sang “Because He Lives,” anger swirled up in David’s heart. The funeral was supposed to be about Sylvia, a woman so many in this room mourned. He couldn’t fathom why they would put so much emphasis on Jesus. The fact that Harry had prayed for that very thing baffled him.

  When Annie got up to speak, his anger faded. He knew that she would talk about Sylvia rather than the God she believed in.

  She looked as if she’d been crying for days, but as she got behind the podium, she stood like a portrait of poise and maturity.

  “I spent a year with Miss Sylvia and Dr. Harry in Nicaragua,” Annie began, her voice wobbling. “And as I was trying to decide which things to tell you about her, and which to leave out, I realized that there was too much for me to choose. We’d be here all day. So instead I e-mailed León, and asked that the children of the Missionary Children’s Home, the orphanage where she worked, e-mail me back with the things they wanted you to know about the woman they called Mama Sylvia. Here’s what they said.”

  She began to read the heartfelt notes—translated into English—from children of all ages, telling how Mama Sylvia had taken them in when they were alone and frightened, how she’d loved them when they grieved over parents killed in the hurricane, how she’d taught them and nurtured them. Every single note spoke of how she had led them to Jesus, and how they knew they would see her again. The final note, dictated by a six-year-old boy named Juan, came like a blow to David’s heart.

  “All I can say now is, ‘Please, Jesus. Hurry up and come. Take me there, too, so I can see Mama Sylvia’s smile again. And you, because you’re the reason for her smile.’”

  Tears stung David’s eyes, and he looked back at his wife. Brenda sat between Tory and Cathy, holding their hands and weeping. Her heart was broken, but the tears weren’t angry or bitter. She grieved without despair, just as Harry did.