80 
The Prayer Wood

The door of Maggie’s cottage had originally been placed in just the right spot to receive the morning sun when it shone above the treetops from the southeast. Maggie, her mother, and her grandmother before her had all been in the habit of opening the door early in the day to invite the sunshine indoors, and throughout the summer it stood open most of the day.

Amanda woke early, dressed, and came downstairs. There was her mother standing in the doorway soaking in the morning light, though there wasn’t much warmth yet so early in the day.

Jocelyn turned when she heard Amanda’s step. Amanda came forward and gave her a hug. She saw that there were tears on her mother’s cheeks.

“What is it, Mother?” she asked as she stepped back.

“I have just been standing here realizing how happy I am,” replied Jocelyn.

“Happy?” said Amanda. “That isn’t what I would have expected so soon after Grandma Maggie’s death, and with . . . you know, all that has happened these three years.”

“I know,” nodded her mother. “I think it caught me off guard too. That’s what I was thinking about just as you came down. Earlier I might have said contentment or acceptance or even that I was at peace. But this morning I just felt . . . happy. I saw my face in the mirror a few minutes ago and suddenly realized how thoroughly gone are my feelings of self-consciousness about my scar. That alone is a miracle. But then I realized too that, even with the pain I will always feel for missing your father and brother and now Maggie, I am still . . . well, I am happy, and I can say life is good in spite of the pain.”

“I don’t know if I will ever know that peace, Mother,” said Amanda. “I can’t imagine being able to put it behind me.”

“You mean your father and George being gone?”

“No, although that makes it a hundred times worse. I mean the guilt I feel for having made such a mess of my life, for hurting so many people, especially you and Father.”

Jocelyn thought for a moment. “Let’s go for a walk, dear,” she said.

She led Amanda from the house. After five or ten minutes Amanda realized her mother was leading her to her father’s prayer wood.

“I didn’t know you knew about this place, Mother,” said Amanda in some surprise. “I’ve never seen you come here.”

“Your father showed me this wood years ago,” replied Jocelyn as they worked their way through the narrow opening in the branches. “He told me how special it was to him and how many of his deepest times of prayer happened right here. He also told me about the day you followed him here.”

“He knew!”

“Of course. He was aware of most of what was going on inside you. He knew you better back in those days than you knew yourself.”

“I should have known,” said Amanda, shaking her head.

“He always prayed that you would come on your own one day and someday be able to make this your own place of communion and retreat.”

Amanda smiled. How many of her father’s prayers for her had been answered! She would probably never know.

“Did you and he ever come here together?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” replied Jocelyn. “But not often. He always said that a person’s prayer closet ought to be reserved mostly for that person and the Lord. Usually when we prayed together it was in the heather garden.”

A silence fell between mother and daughter. They emerged into the damp green clearing, walked about for a minute or two, then sat down on two large stones. For several minutes neither said a word as they drank in the peaceful silence of the morning.

“You probably don’t realize it, because you were so young,” began Jocelyn at length, “what a struggle this birthmark on my face was for me. It dominated my whole life as a girl and a young woman. After your father and I gave our hearts to the Lord, it was a tremendous struggle for me to reorient my thinking. Becoming a Christian doesn’t make you suddenly think and respond differently. My heart had changed, but I had to learn how to think anew. I knew that God was good, but for the life of me I could not see that my red face was good. That prevented me from being able to fully accept his love . . . for me. I knew that he loved the world, that he loved everyone else. But that he loved me . . . that was very difficult to accept. In my heart I knew he was supposed to work all things for good. But I could not find a way to apply that goodness to my face.”

“That’s exactly it, Mother,” agreed Amanda. “I know in my heart that God forgives all things. I can accept that he forgives murderers—the men who killed Betsy’s father, for instance. But bringing that principle into my own life is far more difficult. I cannot help still feeling such a weight of guilt and condemnation. It is far easier to accept that God forgives other people than to accept that he forgives me.”

“I think I understand.”

“How do you accept it, then—God’s love, I mean . . . his goodness . . . his forgiveness? How did you finally realize that God truly loved you as you were?”

“The breakthrough came when I decided to give him thanks for my birthmark.”

“You actually . . . thanked him for it?”

Jocelyn smiled to think how absurd the idea had seemed to her when Charles first confronted her with it.

Jocelyn nodded. “I finally simply had to decide to put the past behind me. I had to determine that from that point on I would think differently—about God, about my scar . . . about the person I was. That all began when I decided to give him thanks for it. I had to say, ‘God, you gave me this birthmark because you love me, not because you don’t. Therefore, I thank you for it, as a sign of your love.’”

“Knowing what I am going through, that must have been very difficult.”

“It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do as a Christian—just say to him Thank you . . . and really mean it.”

“And you say you decided to give him thanks?”

“Yes,” nodded Jocelyn. “That’s when I realized that accepting his full love was my choice. I could go all my life never accepting it completely. Or I could decide that I, Jocelyn Rutherford, was included in his love and goodness—red face and all. I could no longer think that God’s goodness applied to everything else in the world except me and my face. If I was serious about being a Christian, then at some point I had to believe what the Bible said—that God works good in all things. If I was going to continue not believing that my disfigured face could be turned to good, then what did my faith really mean? I think it might be the same for you.”

“But it’s so hard, Mother.”

“I know, Amanda. Believe me, I know. At least strangers don’t stare at you and know about your past. Every stranger stares at me. But there comes a point where you have to decide to accept God’s forgiveness. His grace is there, but you have to reach out and take it. God’s mercy doesn’t change. It isn’t conditional. That’s what I had to learn. It even applied to my birthmark, just as it applies to you and everything that has happened—yes, and even all the things you did that you wish you hadn’t. God’s forgiveness is available for everyone no matter what they have been, or done. Some people live forever unable to accept that forgiveness and never forgiving themselves. They live in guilt and self-condemnation every day. But they don’t have to. That burden can be lifted. But each person has to reach out and decide to take what God has offered.”

“But . . . how . . . how do you take it?”

“It is something you have to do in your heart and mind. It’s a spiritual decision to say to yourself and to God, ‘I know you are a good and loving Father. I know you have forgiven me. Therefore I will accept that forgiveness, and I will walk in that forgiveness every day.’”

Amanda did not reply. They sat awhile longer, then slowly rose and gradually made their way back to the cottage.