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“AND THAT,” I SAY, AS I tuck the bedcovers around my young children while they lie in their small beds, “is Daddy’s story, about how he not only found truth, and how he found Mommy, but also how he fell in love with her again and again and again, and how he fell in love with so much more.”
Their eyes flutter shut as I kiss them goodnight. I realize how much time had passed, and it was much later than I thought. But I let it go. Some stories are well worth the time they take, both in the making and in the telling.
Soon after I turn off the lights, I hear Lyra’s gentle breathing and Lucas’ quiet snoring, and I know sleep has taken ahold of them.
“Don’t you think you overdramatized it just a little?”
I turn back to see my beloved as she leans against the door to the kids’ room. I know Raiya had been standing there for a good while as I told our kids their favorite bedtime story, the one which happened to be my own.
I grin at her. “Come on, you enjoyed it. And what’s wrong with a little poetic license here and there?”
There is a small pause before she answers. “I suppose I’m the last person who should be saying something about that,” she finally says.
“I love it when you argue against yourself,” I tell her, heading over to kiss her forehead and hug her. “Anyway, they’re young. I don’t think they’re ready for the more graphic version at their ages. Two and four are a bit young for all the violence.”
“I thought you did pretty well with that part.”
“Then what was the overly dramatic part?”
She puts her arms around me, welcoming me with the same rush of affection she always had. “We knew—we know—everything is going to be okay in the end. There was no need to make it sound so dark and hopeless at some points.”
“It’s close enough,” I say. “Remember? ‘You just can’t live with some decisions?’”
“It might scare them. I don’t want them to have nightmares.”
“Fear is the beginning of wisdom,” I remind her.
“Fear of the right things, Hamilton,” she says. “The right kind of fear only comes when we understand it properly.”
“We may never understand the prince properly.”
Raiya frowns, but when she remains silent I know I’ve scored a point.
I laugh. “You can tell the story next time. Or you can take that one up with the prince if you’re worried about it.”
“I have nothing to be worried about,” she says as she leans in and kisses me. I pull her in close, breathing in the smell of her hair as my hands run down her back. Beneath her nightgown, I can feel the strength of her heart above the softness of her belly, where the marks my children have left on her remain, making her all the more strong, all the more beautiful—all the more mine.
“It’s late, and we have a busy day tomorrow,” she says. “Your parents are expecting us for dinner. Adam’s going to be there with his new girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I know. Mikey and I are going to meet up later on, too,” I say. “He has some big news, apparently.”
“Hopefully, it has nothing to do with his father,” Raiya mutters, and I heartily agree. Dante, along with SWORD, had dropped off the map, and we were nothing short of grateful for that.
Pushing the matter aside, I reach over and kiss her, and then kiss her again. “Let’s go to bed,” I say.
She smirks at me as she takes my hand. Without another word—shocker, I know—I follow her.
*☼*
Years Later ...
The tender morning light echoes off her face as I silently, peacefully watch. All these years, and I still wonder at the thought that she belongs to me.
I’ve watched her as she walked down the aisle on our wedding day; as she graduated from college; as her belly swelled with our children, first Lyra and then Lucas; at every Christmas, where she laughingly makes cookies with the kids and me; as the silver fairylights pop up in her gingerbread hair, even as my own begins to gray.
It’s hard for me to believe she’s the same girl I hated, sitting behind me all those years ago in Mrs. Smithe’s class.
After everything that has happened, I wonder at all the normal routines of our life. How she yells at me for leaving my socks on the floor. How I growl at her for leaving the toothpaste cap off. How she reads to the kids every night before bed. How I kiss her deeply each morning before work.
When she farts I laugh at her, and when I pick my nose she scolds me.
We give to charity. We pay our taxes. We have a house near the ‘Burgh, and I find it’s nice to know my neighbors and have their kids play with mine.
Raiya goes to work at the nearby hospital—fitting for her, a natural healer. I teach law at the university, always careful to emphasize ethics and morality, though even they are not popular.
I periodically recognize my own depravity. What I would’ve missed if I’d stayed in a world dedicated only to myself. I think of how life is so awfully wonderful, and how I don’t deserve anything I have.
When I have fears at the thought of losing Raiya again, or even my children, now that I see how reckless they truly are—I think of the one who reigns over all the realms, how he both subdues and transcends death. He promised to keep me safe when I promised to trust him, and I make sure I keep believing that he will. In the many conversations we have, this is a reoccurring theme.
My life has been speckled by the supernatural, and on this world I will get both the good and the bad. But I am able to see beyond this life’s troubles to the overhanging picture of grace, love, and joy which awaits my fuller scrutiny on the other side of Time.
This doesn’t mean I have an easy life, or even a normal one.
“Hey.” She looks at me now, her violet eyes glowing like springtime violets.
“Hey,” I say back, smiling.
“It’s too early to be that contemplative,” Raiya tells me with a teasing smile. “What’re you thinking about?”
“How our crazy children are going to ruin the pretty morning picture you make,” I say matter-of-factly. I hush Raiya’s whispery giggle with a kiss. She snuggles in closer to me and takes my hand.
As if on cue, something smashes to the floor, and the pitter-patter of our offspring can be heard running in the opposite direction. We laugh, even though we know we will both be yelling shortly.
“Shall we face this fate together then, my love?” she asks me quietly.
My answer is ironic and immediate, born out of habit and continually renewed by love. “My pleasure.”
C. S. Johnson is the author of several young adult sci-fi and fantasy novels, including The Starlight Chronicles series, the Once Upon a Princess saga, and the Divine Space Pirates trilogy. With a gift for sarcasm and an apologetic heart, she currently lives in Atlanta with her family.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
Praise the Lord, the God of our fathers, and his son Jesus Christ, in whom we find everlasting redemption. As this series comes to a close, I pray you will see that it never truly ends.
Redemption and fatherly love are no small matters in this book. I started writing this book series as a way to channel my pain over my high school experiences. I wanted revenge when I left. Now, only a clearer vision of redemption remains. I was an innocent idealist, and then a failed idealist, and now I am a redeemed idealist. What had hurt me, I now see led me to great healing. Where I saw pain, great pleasure now flourishes. The scars on my heart have become symbols, both of the past and providence, pointing to a greater story even as it tells my own.
I can see more clearly than ever that God truly does work all things for good for those who truly seek him (or maybe in my case, those who can’t avoid him). It is not a happy thought, truly, but a staying one. It is a reality that will guide me through the ups and downs and all arounds this life has to offer. In accordance with this, I fail to see the irrelevance of fatherly love to redemption, especially since I live in a world where such humanly love seems to have failed us.
Someone once told me that God revealed himself as the father, rather than the mother, to show there was nothing natural about his love. It is all supernatural, superseding this world and the limits of this life. In fact, I do believe that this force, this love, is the very thing that will carry you to your final home.
In the believer’s journey, home is our final destination. We need to keep the focus on that more than we might think. The Bible’s story is all about that: God does what it takes to get his family home. My stories, on the other hand, are more on the other side of the relationship DNA; we are called to head out for home, seeking out truth and reaching out in love, despite pain, despite joy, despite all things.
I hope that you have enjoyed this series. I have not always enjoyed writing it, but it is a part of my life I could never, would never, separate from my soul or my self.
My thanks continually goes it to Jennifer, for her patience in editing my work, and for being nice about correcting me, even when I insist on getting it wrong. I am also indebted to Amy, for her friendship first and her work second. Such beauty can only come from a beautiful soul like yours.
Other names will top my list. My mother, Ryan, and my family; but most of all, I need to thank Sam. Ever since high school, I have smuggled you into my imaginary audience, and I have never let you leave. I am a fallen, imperfect, sputtering soul, always second-guessing myself (or trying not to), and this book has taught me that all over again. It is my second greatest wish to meet you again one day (I suspect you know the first).
Lastly, I need to thank you, beloved reader. While I do not have another book in this series planned, I do hope to see you again in my other work (read on for a sample from The Heights of Perdition, the first book in a new series I’m working on).
I write with God, but I write for myself, and now for you. As ever, I will continue to trust him to do what he thinks is good.
Until We Meet Again in Paradise,
C. S. Johnson
AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
EDITOR