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The pageant practice that night was like a scene out of a bad family sitcom. Woong’s friend Becky spent the first half of the rehearsal crying because her hair had gotten so tangled Sandy had to cut some of it off. Woong was sulking because she refused to tell him she forgave him.
Finally the night was over, and Kennedy was waiting for Sandy to finish locking the church up before heading back to her parents’. Usually, she looked forward to Christmas break as a chance to relax, but between packing up her dorm room, shopping with her mom for new furniture for the guest bedroom, and helping Sandy tonight at the rehearsal, she hadn’t had a moment to herself. And tomorrow she’d fly out first thing to Washington to meet Ian’s grandmother for the prayer vigil.
“Hello?”
Kennedy glanced up at the familiar voice. It was Hannah, one of the North Korean refugees Kennedy’s parents had taken in years ago in China. She and her husband were now in Cambridge, where he was the pastor of St. Margaret’s Korean-speaking sister church.
Kennedy gave Hannah a hug. She felt guilty for not having spent more time with her. Hannah and Simon had adopted a little girl earlier in the year, and Kennedy hadn’t even met her yet.
“So this is little Emily?” Kennedy had never been all that good with children, let alone ones this little. She didn’t want to insult the child by speaking in that silly, high-pitched baby voice, but she did her best to smile at the bundled-up infant.
Hannah was beaming. “Yes, isn’t she perfect? I still thank God every single day for completing our family like this.”
Kennedy didn’t know how to respond. She thought she remembered her parents mentioning something about how Hannah struggled to conceive but couldn’t recall any details.
“Is Sandy still here?” Hannah asked. “She told me to stop by to pick up some tablecloths we could use for our church’s craft bazaar, but I’ve been running late.”
“She’s here somewhere.” Kennedy glanced around. “I’m not sure what she’s doing. But I can show you where they keep the tablecloths.”
“That would be wonderful.”
Kennedy still couldn’t explain why she felt so uncomfortable. Maybe because when they’d lived together in Yanji, Hannah was such a super-saint. Kennedy had certainly grown in her walk with the Lord over the past three and a half years at Harvard, but she would never measure up to someone like Hannah.
“I hear you’re leaving for Washington soon. Is that right?” Hannah asked as she followed Kennedy down the stairs to St. Margaret’s kitchen.
“Yeah, I fly out tomorrow.”
“I heard Pastor Carl mention something about an update. Did you hear anything about your friend?”
Kennedy nodded. “The Secretary of State’s scheduled to visit Pyongyang. Some people think it ...” She stopped herself. There was nothing more painful than shattered hopes. “It might mean progress, but there’s really no way to know for sure,” she concluded with a shrug.
“I hope you know Simon and I and our whole church family are praying for your friend and his safe return.”
Kennedy ignored the way her throat tightened and instead mumbled her thanks.
“It must be hard for you, not knowing if he’s okay,” Hannah remarked.
Kennedy sighed. “Yeah, it’s hard.” If anyone could understand what she was going through, it was Hannah. She and Simon had been imprisoned in North Korea before escaping to Kennedy’s parents’ in Yanji.
Hannah reached out and touched her shoulder. “The promising news is God is watching out for him, right? Just like he did for Simon and me so many years ago. If he could help us find healing and peace after everything we went through, I know he can do the same for your friend.”
Kennedy opened the door to the linen closet and stared at the stacks of tablecloths, all organized by size and color. “Yeah, but you two were Christians.”
Hannah nodded. “That’s true. But suffering is suffering no matter what you believe.”
Kennedy wondered if she hadn’t expressed herself clearly enough. “That’s not quite it. I mean, you and Simon had a lot to endure, but God helped you through it, so it couldn’t be all that bad.”
Hannah stared at her, and Kennedy felt the need to rush ahead into a lengthier explanation. “I’m not trying to make light of what you went through, but with God shielding you from the worst of the pain ...”
“What did you say?” A flicker of fire lit Hannah’s eyes, an intensity Kennedy had never known in her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. “But wasn’t it sort of like that? In a way?”
“Like what?” Hannah repositioned the pacifier that had fallen out of her daughter’s mouth. She didn’t look angry, but Kennedy thought her hand trembled slightly.
Kennedy realized she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but she still couldn’t stop herself from trying to cover over whatever blunders or mistakes she had already made. “I guess, it’s just that I’ve been reading this book about persecution, and all the believers talk about how when they’re being interrogated or beat up or things like that, they describe this Holy Spirit bubble that kept them protected from it all.”
Whatever anger or intensity had passed over Hannah, it was gone now and she let out a bright, musical laugh.
Kennedy shut her mouth before she tried to make an even more convoluted explanation.
“I’m sorry for laughing,” Hannah finally breathed, “and I certainly don’t mean to be rude to you or the author of that book, but honestly, that’s one of the silliest things I’ve ever heard.”
Kennedy blinked, uncertain what she was supposed to say or do next. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” she finally confessed. After hearing even a fraction of what Hannah and Simon had gone through before making it to the States, she couldn’t understand how anything about that time could induce such a jocular reaction.
“Okay.” Hannah wiped her cheeks and tried to make her expression look more serious. “I can’t pretend to speak for other believers who have endured persecution, but I can assure you that suffering is quite real.”
“I know that,” Kennedy was quick to assure her. “But I just thought ...”
“That maybe because we were suffering for God he would make it a little less painful?” Hannah finished for her.
Kennedy tried not to grimace while Hannah wiped some snot off her daughter’s nose with her sleeve.
“I’m sure he can do that, and I’m sure he sometimes does,” Hannah went on, “but when I was in jail, when I was suffering, it was just as real and just as painful as it would have been for any other prisoner in my situation. And like I said, I know God sometimes does protect his children so they don’t feel the pain, but supernatural protection isn’t promised or guaranteed. I know the kind of books you’re talking about, by the way. And although I’m glad they exist to bring awareness about persecution worldwide, I think they can also be dangerous if they’re teaching others that believers are immune from pain just because they’re being persecuted for Christ. In fact, it’s the opposite that’s true, which is why they need our prayers so desperately.”
Kennedy pretended to be busy pulling out some tablecloths even though she had no idea what size or color or quantity Hannah needed.
“Oh, there you are,” Sandy called out as she bustled down the stairs. “Hannah, I’m so glad you came. I nearly forgot you were on your way over. Are you finding everything?”
Hannah glanced at Kennedy with a smile that clearly told her whatever blunders or false assumptions she’d made were forgiven. Sandy bustled around the linen closet pulling just about everything out, and Kennedy waited patiently for the two women to finish up so she could catch a ride with Sandy back home to her parents’ house.