“Why?”
“He rarely wore seat belts. He found them restrictive and uncomfortable. It was a sensory issue with him. So what did I do? Did I research? Did I figure out how he could overcome this sensory issue? Did I talk seriously with him about this? No, I did not. I accepted that he didn’t wear a seat belt. And then he was thrown from his Jeep and died. And I—the person who was supposed to love him above all others—had done nothing to prevent it.”
Several seconds pulled thin.
“Guilt doesn’t respond well to reason,” she continued. “Statingthat it doesn’t have a right to exist only increases its power.” The tires rolled quietly beneath them, a steady undertone. “I spent years in therapy. A fortune in therapist’s bills boils down to this fact: Addressing guilt is about acceptance and forgiveness.”
“I’m aware. My parents put me in therapy after the earthquake.”
“Luke Dempsey, every therapist’s dream client,” she teased.
“Finley Sutherland,” he countered seriously, “every therapist’s dream client.”
“That’s true. I really am a dream client. I love talking through these issues.”
“I do not.”
“I’m guessing you’ve had enough time to accept what happened to you.”
“A hundred times over.”
“It’s the forgiveness piece you can’t get past. Had Ethan lived and you’d been able to apologize, and he’d been able to offer you forgiveness, things would have been different.”
“Everything in my life would have been different if Ethan had lived.”
“Same for me, with Chase. I couldn’t ask for his forgiveness, either. My therapist had me write letters to him. He was dead, but it still helped to tell him about my mistakes and express how sorry I was. Have you written about what you went through?”
“No.”
“Over time, I developed greater compassion for myself. I started talking to myself about my failings the way I’d talk to someone I loved about theirs. Would you hate Blair if she’d told Hailey to go to the back of the line right before an earthquake struck?”
“Is that a trick question? I don’t like Blair to begin with.”
“Yes you do. You love Blair. And the answer is no, you wouldn’t hate her. You’d have compassion for her. She’s older now than you were back then, so why not give the kid you were the same compassion you’d give Blair?”
He sighed impatiently.
He was not responding with gratitude to the phenomenal insights she was providing.
“Instead of beating myself up,” she pushed on, undaunted, “I’d acknowledge that I messed up and reassure myself that I’ll do better next time. That Iamdoing a lot of good in the world currently.”
“I didn’t buy this type of psychological jargon then. I don’t now.”
She shifted her weight onto her hip as she turned toward him. “Did you know that people who are more prone to guilt are also more trustworthy? Guilt is a marker of empathy. It shows that you feel a responsibility about how your actions affect others.”
“Right. I was really trustworthy and empathetic when I was stealing cars from people. I don’t like it when you sugarcoat who I am.”
“You’re imperfect.” She was growing more impassioned, her volume rising. “We’re all imperfect. We’ve all made mistakes. Yet Jesus paid forevery single one of them.”
“Ah. So now you’re moving into a sermon?”
“I’m just getting started.” For a little longer, Luke was shut inside a car with her, a captive audience. It seemed the Holy Spirit had been storing up a tide of words within her. “Your salvation is certain. Your future is certain. His love for you is certain.”
He didn’t speak.
“His economy isn’t about works. It’s about grace, which is the best news ever in your case. Yet you refuse to accept it.”
God’s grace. It never, never lost its power for her. Her thankfulness over the magnitude of it was a waterfall inside, a pressure against the backs of her eyes.
