Macy walked slowly down the beach, away from where Brenda, Buzz, and Emma—and now Max—were playing, thinking about the answers she’d gotten. Not one of her potential artists was the artist. It was over. She’d struck out.
Or had she?
She stopped, feeling her feet sink into the wet sand, as though the beach were pulling her in, just as it had always done. She’d felt connected to this place for as long as she could remember — even during the years she’d avoided it. She stared out at the ocean waves, thinking of the night she’d stood in darkness so thick she could barely make out the whitecaps and prayed her desperate prayer, letting herself believe that the God of the universe cared enough to see her, to hear her, to answer her, to wait for her all these years.
She sank down onto the wet sand, letting the incoming tide wash over her, not caring how silly she looked to the few people who were out walking. It felt like a baptism of sorts.
Do you trust Me? The question didn’t come from an audible voice but from an insistent tugging deep within her.
Maybe, she thought, it isn’t over after all. Maybe her searching had led her to this place, this time. She scanned the horizon, the vastness of the ocean, so much bigger than she was. So much bigger than Emma or Chase or Max or her mom or any of the three kind men she’d met here. Nate had warned her that all of this might just have been a way to lead her back to God. Could she be satisfied with that?
She sighed and looked up and down the beach, taking it all in—the sand and the shells and the seagulls and the surf. And as she looked, she understood. A smile played on her face, lighting it as surely as the sun lights the horizon. She had looked all over for the artist, certain that he would make her life complete, that he was the one who would love her as she wanted to be loved. She had asked God to show her who he was and — though she hadn’t found him as she expected — she had discovered something better. She had found The Artist. And He’d been drawing her pictures all her life.
A montage of images filled her mind: Brenda smiling as she danced with Buzz on the porch; her father’s eyes looking into hers in the rearview mirror; laughing with Emma as she held her in the waves; the look on Max’s face when he’d told her how he felt on the swings; the fragile, yet strong, butterfly shells; the vast ocean in front of her. They were all God’s pictures to Macy, painted with love and a deep understanding of the things that would bring her joy. She’d been looking for The Artist.
And she found Him.
She rose from her spot on the beach, not bothering to wipe the wet sand from her shorts. She didn’t care that she was a mess. For once she accepted that she could be a mess and God would love her anyway. He’d never stopped loving her, never stopped pursuing her. Tears filled her eyes as she whispered to the sky, “Thank You for waiting.” Whoever the artist was suddenly didn’t matter so much anymore. She wasn’t sure she was ever supposed to find him. And that was okay. She’d found Someone much better instead. Someone she could count on no matter what.
Outside the beach house, she washed her feet off, rinsing away the sand before she went inside. She could hear Brenda talking on the phone. When she walked into the house and met her mother’s eyes, her stomach clenched as her mom mouthed the word “Hank” and handed her the phone. She took the phone with a feeling of dread. She tried to hold on to the hope she’d had moments ago, but it seemed to have washed away, just like the sand from her feet.
“Hello, Hank,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“Uh-huh,” Hank answered. “I’m calling because I can’t find anyone to cover your shift tomorrow, which I told you might happen. So I hate to ask you to come back early, but you knew that was a risk, and I’m sure you want to keep your job. I told you to be prepared to be here tomorrow.”
She thought about Avis’s call. She had warned her it might happen, but Macy had decided not to worry about it, counting on Brenda and Avis to somehow smooth things out. She didn’t think God was going to let this happen. Did trusting Him mean she believed only the best would happen to her all the time? It was that kind of thinking that had caused her to turn away from Him when she’d lost her dad.
Do you trust Me? The question came again, this time without the benefit of a beautiful beachscape in front of her. Was it possible God was going to keep talking to her? She hoped so, and she hoped she wasn’t crazy for listening.
She held the phone for a moment, thinking about her revelation and how she’d felt so hopeful. Did going back mean she would lose that hope? Was the beach the only place she could feel close to God? It was time to find out.
“Macy? You there?” she heard Hank asking.
“Yes, sorry. I just … I thought my mom was going to give you a call.”
“Nope, haven’t heard a word from her. Is she going to volunteer to do your shift for ya?” Hank laughed at his own joke.
“No, I just thought she was going to … never mind.”
“Well? Can I expect you tomorrow morning for work?”
She sighed. God had brought her this far. He’d painted so many beautiful pictures for her these past two weeks. She had to trust that this was somehow going to be another one. “I’m sorry, Hank, but no. If it means I lose my job, I lose my job. I can’t come back early, not until we’ve finished this vacation.”
Her heart was pounding as she ended the call. She walked to her room and sat down, dropping the phone into her lap and staring at it for a moment. Then she reached for the guest book on the nightstand and flipped through it, stopping at the drawing of the little girl—of her—tossing crusts of bread at seagulls. She ran her fingers over the picture, feeling an odd mixture of joy and sadness, of letting go, and yet, in a whole new way, of holding on.
She walked out to the porch and gripped the railing, taking deep breaths as she thought of what she’d just done. She’d effectively just told Hank to stick it. She’d just quit her job in spite of the bills she had to pay, in spite of the child who depended on her. This time the word that came to mind wasn’t exceptional. It was irresponsible. She heard the sliding glass door glide along the track and footsteps coming up behind her. “Don’t tell me everything’s going to be okay,” she said. She spun around, expecting to see her mom.
“Okay, I won’t,” Buzz said.
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Thought you were Mom.”
“She wanted to come out here, but I asked her if I could instead.”
Macy raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“So you quit?” he asked, taking a seat at the rickety picnic table that had been on the back porch for as long as she could remember. It wobbled under his weight and Macy elected not to join him.
She leaned against the porch railing instead, her hands gripping it tightly. “Yep. Stupid, huh?”
“Not at all.”
“How can you say that? I don’t have a job, and I’ve got a child to support.”
“The guy’s way off base, expecting you to come back from vacation at a moment’s notice. He doesn’t deserve to have you working for him.”
Macy shook her head. “Be that as it may, I need that job.”
Buzz held up his hand. “You know how I met Nate?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What does Nate have to do with this?”
He smiled. “Just go with it.”
“Okay, no. Nate didn’t share that information with me.”
“Well, if you remember from when you were a little girl, I didn’t have anything to do with God. Darren and I used to have these … debates about it.”
“I remember that was the only thing you and my dad didn’t agree on. But as I recall, it still gave you plenty to argue about.”
“Yeah.” He laughed at what Macy could only guess was a private memory. “He used to get so mad at me. Told me that if I died, I wouldn’t go to heaven because I hadn’t prayed to accept Jesus. It all sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me.”
“You called it hocus-pocus.”
“And then he died.” Even now, Macy could hear sadness lacing her words.
“And then he died.” His voice echoed her sadness.
They both said nothing for a moment, each one reflecting on what that statement meant for them.
“And after he died,” Buzz finally continued, “I got really bad off. I was about to lose everything because of the choices I was making. I was drunk all the time, kept getting hauled in for drunk driving, drunk and disorderly conduct, public drunkenness … you get the picture.”
“You were a mess.”
“A mess is a kind term for what I was. I’d depended on my friendship with Darren as being some kind of insurance against the very thing that happened to him. If he wasn’t safe then … what would happen to me? I guess I was just hoping to end it all if it was going to end anyway. And then you and your mom and brother stopped coming and … It took years to come to the end of myself, but eventually I did.” He grinned. “The police had something to do with that, I’ll admit.”
“So that’s how you knew what to do the other night with Max.”
“And who to call. Nate wasn’t always the pastor here. He was a volunteer at the church before he became the pastor. And he helped me a lot. His dad was a drunk, and he was … pretty messed up for a while because of it. So now he reaches out to people who are struggling with substance abuse. It’s one of his many talents.” He chuckled. “But he taught me that I didn’t have to let my past define me. And he showed me where I could go for the hope I needed. I loved your dad, but my hope couldn’t be in Darren. Because people just can’t do that for us.”
She thought about her walk on the beach, her discovery of The Artist. “I know that,” she said quietly.
“Then I guess I just want you to know I’m not trying to be your savior. I can’t be. But I can be His hands and feet in your life. I can help you.” He stood up and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I want to be that. If for nothing else than because it’s what your dad would do. So if you need money to make it through while you find another job or if you need a place to stay or … whatever, I just want to offer that to you.” He dropped his hands but his eyes held hers. “I owe Darren a lot. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know that I would be where I am now.”
Brenda slipped out onto the porch and came to stand beside Buzz. “Just think about it,” he said.
Macy nodded. As the first grateful tear leaked from her eye, she felt Buzz’s arms wrap around her. She pictured this moment of the two of them comforting one another. It was yet another picture drawn just for her by The Artist.
“Okay, Avis. I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything, but I have something to tell you, and I didn’t want you to hear it from Hank.”
“Oh, this sounds good,” Avis said, her voice going up an octave. Macy hadn’t heard her so excited since Alexander left Tatiana on her favorite soap opera. Avis loved a good story; that was for sure. “Do tell.”
“Well, I quit. Hank wanted me to come back in time for the morning shift tomorrow, and I told him no.” A burst of nervous laughter escaped from her lips. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Well, I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re not exactly the type to throw caution to the wind. But I think it’s just great, honey. Hank needed to be told no.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know this is what I had to do.”
“Then you did the right thing. Just have faith and keep doing the right thing.”
“I just worry that I don’t know what that is,” Macy said.
“Honey, you know. The trick is to not be afraid of it. And remember, Someone upstairs is watching out for you.”
“Thanks, Avis. What would I do without you?”
“Girl, you don’t want to find out.” Avis cackled. “You tell him he better take care of you. Whoever he turns out to be.” The call ended with Avis still cackling on the other end. Macy thought about what she’d said: “Someone upstairs is watching out for you.” She believed that was true.