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The following morning, Zoë-Grace had breakfast with the Fairweathers and Aunt Ruby, as had become her habit. While they ate, Aunt Ruby asked about her visit to her mother. In a move that was out of character for her when speaking with an elderly person, Zoë-Grace only shrugged. After a moment, she turned to Mr. Fairweather.
“A few days ago, Mrs. Fairweather told me that you’d be a good person to talk to about forgiveness. How do you forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it?”
Mr. Fairweather took a sip of his coffee from his extra-large mug before steepling his fingers on the table. “You know, Zoë-Grace, Hyacinth wasn’t my first wife.”
Zoë-Grace hoped her sharp intake of breath hadn’t been audible. “She wasn’t?”
“She wasn’t,” he confirmed. “I married my high school sweetheart at twenty. We came from the same community, and I told her when I was twelve years old that she was going to be my wife.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “We’d been married only four years when she was murdered in a case of mistaken identity.”
Alarmed, Zoë-Grace searched his face with her eyes. She expected to see anger or grief, but she saw only his usual thoughtful expression. A thousand questions flitted through her mind, but she remained quiet and waited for him to continue.
“At twenty-four and twenty-three, we were young but disciplined. We worked hard with our goals in mind. I was working full-time and going to school on the weekends. She was a secretary. We’d been sharing one car and had finally saved up enough to buy a second car. Used, of course, but that didn’t matter to us.”
He absentmindedly ran his index finger around the rim of his mug as he stared into it. “We finally saved up enough for a down payment on a car for her, and after work, she drove it to show her parents. That night, she pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building where we lived, and before she even got out of that new car, she was shot once to the head.” He winced as if feeling physical pain. “I still remember the sound of the gunshot. I thought it was a car backfiring.”
“Another car identical to the one we had just bought turned into the parking lot and the driver realized what had just happened. He didn’t stop. He just drove to the nearest police station. I later learned he was the intended target and he’d recognized the killer. Thankfully, the autopsy report suggested that Linnette died instantly. She didn’t feel any pain.”
Everyone remained in solemn silence for a minute or two, before Zoë-Grace asked, “Was he convicted?” Her voice cracked with emotion.
“Yes, he was caught and found guilty. I actually went to talk to him in prison.”
Zoë-Grace didn’t think she could have said anything if she tried, but Mr. Fairweather had more to say. “I went to see him a couple of years after I buried Linnette. I was having real trouble moving beyond the grief. We were Christians. We lived the way we thought we were supposed to live. We worked hard and didn’t mean anyone any harm. How could this have happened to us? I just wanted to know why. And I felt like if I could just talk to him... if I could just look him in the face and hear him say ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I was wrong,’ or ‘It was a mistake,’ or ‘It was the worst moment of my life,’ then... then I’d be able to forgive him and move on with my life. So against all advice, I made contact with his lawyer and arranged to visit him.
“You know, I’ve heard that there are people in the world with no heart. I’m pretty sure he was one of them. That man had no remorse of any kind. It was as if killing Linnette didn’t impact him at all. Like it was just another day on the job for him. As if carrying out the deed and even being sentenced to decades in prison hadn’t affected him in the least. He just sat there looking at me, and I wanted to reach across and snap his neck. I don’t know how long I was there—it may have been five minutes or an hour. I asked him why he did it. He said because he could, and then he scoffed. He scoffed. Like my innocent wife losing her life was almost funny to him.”
Mrs. Fairweather rubbed his arm in a comforting manner. He smiled appreciatively at her then leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “So I left. I went home and I met with my pastor—as I had been doing since Linnette’s death—and I asked him what I should do... what I could do to forgive someone who not only didn’t want my forgiveness, but clearly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong in the first place. And he gave me the stupidest piece of advice I’ve ever received.”
“Which was?” Aunt Ruby prompted.
“Which was to pray for him. He quoted Matthew five to me. Told me that Jesus said we should love our enemies, bless them that curse us, do good to them that hate us, and pray for those who use and persecute us. Only then could I really be considered the child of my Heavenly Father. I wasn’t sure I believed him, so I looked it up, and that’s what it said. Red letters and all.
“So I started to pray for that man. Every day. Twice a day. When I woke up and when I went to bed. I prayed that the Lord would bless him and keep him. That He would make His face shine on him and be gracious onto him—the blessing from Numbers six, starting at verse twenty-four. I prayed that he would be safe in prison. I prayed that his family would be taken care of. I prayed that he would see the error of his ways. That God would use him for His glory.
“It wasn’t easy, but the Bible tells us that faith comes by hearing. I felt like I needed to hear my own prayer in order to increase my faith that it would be answered. So I prayed out loud for him, and over time, I began to really hear what I was saying... and, eventually, I began to mean what I was praying.
“I wish I could say that we developed a good relationship over time, but unknown to me, he was actually killed in a fight with another inmate only a couple of days after I visited him.”
Zoë-Grace wrinkled her brows. “So all of that prayer was for nothing?”
Mr. Fairweather grinned. “Not for nothing, though I can see why you’d think that. In a way, you’re right: my prayers had absolutely no impact on this young man. But do you know what those prayers did? They impacted me. I prayed for that man for months, maybe even years, before I could imagine sitting in front of him and not wanting to exact my own version of justice upon him. I prayed until I actually wished him well. And all that time I was praying, he was already dead and buried. My prayers didn’t change anything for him—his eternal fate was well and truly sealed two days after I met him. When I learned through his lawyer that he had died, it became really clear to me that God used that whole situation to teach me that forgiveness really is for me, not for the person who wronged me.”
Aunt Ruby raised her mug in a silent toast.
“Not only that,” Mr. Fairweather continued, “but I could have spent all that time hating that man instead of praying for him. And where would that have left me? I’d have been bitter, resentful, and angry at someone who wasn’t even alive. I’d have spent my time crafting a heart of stone and missing out on one of the most important, impactful lessons of my life.”
Zoë-Grace reflected for a minute on the lesson Mr. Fairweather was trying to impart before saying, “So you’re saying if I pray for my mother, then over time, I’ll be able to forgive her?”
“I’m living proof. Remember, Zoë-Grace, the Bible tells us God’s Word doesn’t return to Him void. Find verses from the Bible and speak them out loud about her. Like I said, Numbers six, twenty-four through twenty-six really impacted me. Since God’s Word must accomplish what He pleases, then if you’re faithful in the practice, I believe not only will your mother be the recipient of the blessing, but you’ll reach a point where you’re blessing her out of goodwill and not out of mere habit. Try it and see.”
Zoë-Grace smiled. “I think I will. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, my dear. And if you really think about it, you will see that the prayers I prayed for that dead man not only changed me, but they’ve changed those around me, and all these decades later, that includes you, too.”
__________
Beginning that very morning, Zoë-Grace did exactly what Mr. Fairweather had suggested. During her private devotion, she opened her Bible to Numbers 6:24-26 and said the blessing out loud, inserting her mother’s name into the text, since she didn’t even feel close enough to her to call her Mother anymore. She did the same thing that night before she retired to bed, and the next morning, she began the cycle again. After a couple of days, she paraphrased the text into her prayer journal:
Lord, please bless Joanna and keep her. Please make Your face shine on her and be gracious onto her. Please lift up Your countenance upon her and give her Your peace. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.
Initially, she felt like she needed the blessing more than her mother. Yes, she already felt like God was blessing and keeping her, and that His face really was shining on her, and He was being gracious onto her. She also felt that what she needed more than anything else in this season was for Him to give her His peace. She just didn’t feel at peace within herself. She felt agitated and restless in her spirit.
But as she continued to vocalize the prayer for Joanna day after day, she found that she was beginning to experience that sense of calm and peace for which she had been yearning ever since her father had died—a feeling that had only intensified after discovering her mother’s deception.
After only a few days, she could feel a slight shift in how she felt physically when she was praying for Joanna. Whereas at first, she could feel the tension in her body as she spoke, she began to notice that her chest wasn’t feeling as tight when she was praying the blessing anymore. It almost seemed as if the more she prayed it out loud, the more she began to want the Lord to bless Joanna. And not only that, but the more she blessed her mother, the more she felt like God was blessing her. She could definitely relate to what Mr. Fairweather had been talking about as he had shared his own experience of forgiving another person. She really had no insight into what the Lord was doing with or even to Joanna, but she already knew that He had begun a good work in her, and she was convinced that, as Paul had said in his first letter to the Corinthians, He would perform it until Christ’s return.
__________
After almost two weeks with the Fairweathers, Zoë-Grace decided it was time for her to find somewhere of her own. Their home had been a place of shelter for her—somewhere she’d been loved and cherished and her spirit fed. Even though they insisted that she was free to stay with them as long as she needed to, she didn’t feel comfortable living at someone else’s expense. She was thrilled when the Fairweathers mentioned that a friend who lived in the same housing development had a one-bedroom cottage in their backyard for rent.
After meeting the Garcias and looking at the space, Zoë-Grace took it on a month-to-month basis. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before she moved to Kingston but there was some unfinished business she needed to take care of in this part of the country first. She continued to visit the Fairweathers and Aunt Ruby often, basking in their love and attention, which had been so lacking when she shared a space with her mother. She was grateful they hadn’t tired of her.
She wrote in her prayer journal every day and had spent more time in personal Bible study than ever before. She also began to fast one morning each week. With countless resources on YouTube, she’d learned a lot from teachings by those who had much more insight into Scripture than she felt she ever would. She had also been listening to more contemporary Christian music and was making an effort not to listen to her secular favorites.
She wasn’t sure if there was anything wrong with Christians listening to secular music, but she found that when she listened to breakup songs, she relived her melancholy over her lost relationship, even though she was over Montel. When her old dancehall favorites played, she remembered her university years when she had gone to countless campus events, sometimes belting out raunchy lyrics as her favorite artistes performed on stage. When she sought out romantic songs, she found herself daydreaming about a handsome retired captain whose face had the tendency to pop up in her imagination anytime she wasn’t focused on something specific.
On the other hand, when she listened to Christian songs, she wanted to get closer to God, to adore Him, to praise Him for all He had done and worship Him for who He was, to thank Him for His mercy and His grace. In this season, she found that she didn’t want any distractions at all.
She understood that in the months and perhaps the years to come, she probably wouldn’t have this kind of time to spend in almost complete communion with God. She’d be busy working and focusing her time and attention on whatever project she would end up choosing. Although she wasn’t absolutely sure what would happen going forward, she knew that she wanted to volunteer not just her money, but her time and energy to help those in great need. Aunt Ruby’s words had had some time to marinate in her spirit and now that she had put her defensiveness aside, she could see that she had indeed been selfish with her gifts. She didn’t want to be selfish anymore. God had been too good to her—even when she was in need—for her to not bless others.
Now, more than ever before, she wanted to abide with God. If it were possible, she would eat the Word and sleep the Word. She wanted to submerge herself in His presence in a way she had never wanted to before. She never wanted to be outside of His presence if she could help it. She finally felt like she had a handle on what Jesus had been talking about when He implied that it was possible to hunger and thirst after righteousness. She wanted to be righteous. She wanted to be holy. She wanted to be blameless. And the most interesting thing that was happening as she delved deeper into her relationship with God was that she was almost completely ignoring the intention she’d had in mind when she had decided to seek the Lord so keenly in the first place.
Originally, her plan had been to seek God’s will regarding what she would do about the community center and the lottery winnings. Although she believed she knew what He wanted her to do—use the money to buy the building and start the community center—she hadn’t wanted to move forward without receiving another confirmation from Him. So she had started to earnestly ask Him to tell her what He wanted her to do and to confirm His will through His Word or the words of others, as He had done through Isaiah. But the more she prayed about the money and the center, the less she wanted to pray about them. She found herself praying that instead of merely revealing His will to her, He would reveal Himself to her. And not only to her, but to others.
As she read the New Testament in particular, she began to understand that although she had been going to church her whole life, she hadn’t been operating as someone who was living under grace. Yes, she’d been confirmed as a teenager. Yes, she’d fallen away from her faith as a young adult. Yes, she’d sought forgiveness and rededicated herself to Christ not long before her father’s death. Yes, she understood that Christ had saved her, but she hadn’t grasped the concept that her actions couldn’t keep her saved. The Lord had to continue to pour His grace on her in order for her to remain in Him.
She had grown up in an environment where her mother, who was more vocal than her father although they were both Christians, had given the distinct impression that she could not only maintain her own salvation, but she could do it with part-time effort. Joanna had been the first person at church on Communion Sundays, her starched suit so white it seemed to exude light, her pillbox hat perched just so on her straightened hair. She sat in the front row of the choir stand, her expression always schooled so that she wore the perfect half-smile from the beginning of the service until the very end. Although she would wave her hand in the air when the minister demanded an “Amen!” or a “Praise the Lord!” she never allowed her composure to crack. She was the first one to drop her crisp envelope in the offering plate and the last one to leave the vestry after the choir went to remove their robes. Looking back, Zoë-Grace wondered if her mother was trying to ensure that she would win the prize of the largest mansion that Christ had gone to prepare.
Yet at home, Joanna had never been the perfect Christian she pretended to be on church premises. Even before her husband had died, Joanna had been judgmental and impossible to please. She could tear Zoë-Grace’s self-esteem to shreds with just one look. She demanded perfect grades and perfect behavior; her only child could produce nothing less. Joanna extended no grace to her daughter, and her own husband was often on the receiving end of her sharp tongue. It seemed she had been internally programmed to say hurtful things without once considering the feelings of those at whom they were aimed.
And yet it seemed, for all intents and purposes, that there was no time the church doors were open that she wasn’t present.
Zoë-Grace wasn’t surprised now, looking back, that she had run for the proverbial hills the moment she got the chance. At eighteen, she couldn’t wait to get out from under her mother’s scornful stare and wicked words. Glad for the reprieve then, she was even happier now.
But the more she learned about grace, the more she saw that it was what her mother needed. She was glad that after hearing Mr. Fairweather’s story, she’d finally begun to let go of the bitterness and anger. She desperately wanted to be forgiven. She wanted nothing to stand between herself and God, so she was doing what she needed to do—praying blessings over her mother every day. If past behavior really was the number one indicator of future behavior, then there was no guarantee that Joanna would ever see the error of her ways, but Zoë-Grace knew that she was releasing Joanna from the consequences anyway. It was to her benefit to do so. Even so, she knew that while she was working hard to completely forgive Joanna, it wasn’t likely that she would forget what her mother had done.