“Happy tears. I may not have stepped foot in a church in decades, may have been angry at God for far too long, but, son, I prayed for a good woman for you often. I know how much having the right partner matters. I didn’t want my story to be your story.”
“God heard you. He just needed you to trust Him with the rest.” Javier taught me that.
We talk until my head starts to feel angry again. I make a promise to Mom that I’ll call her next time. Then I hang up and go find a new ice pack. Maybe I’ll take another nap and see if that helps any.
But when I sink back into the couch once more, my eyes refuse to close. Instead, I think of what Javier said about timing. Time often feels like somethingIcontrol. When I wake up, when I eat lunch, all of those things are done by my doing, giving me the illusion I control my life. Yet playing hockey games has shown me how often time races against me.
Today’s the first time I believed time workedforme. God made sure I met the right woman when I was going through a crisis. Val’s understanding and kindness sunk the message Javier had been showing me since he stepped into the Warriors locker room. If that’s not a God thing, I don’t know what is.
Not to mention the concussion really kicked things into gear.
God,thank You for Your perfect timing. Help me to realizetime is a gift from You and whatYoucontrol.Help me to look at things Your way and notthe way I’ve been doing for so long. Iwant to make sure I’m listening to You andnot myself.
Been there, done that, and don’t want to go back that way. My life before God was okay. I had a good hockey career and friends. But I don’t want my future to merely be okay. I want that wow factor because I know Who’s got my back.
My life is all Yours. Let’sgo!
40
Val
I follow Jackie and Fran into Dad’s kitchen, then grunt as I ram into Fran’s back. I peek around my sister, and my jaw drops. Mom’s in the kitchen ...withAnn.
“Is someone dying?” I whisper.
“Oh good, you’re here.” Mom smiles, and Jackie gets a hug from her.
Fran hangs back. I wrap an arm around her waist, knowing she’s probably remembering the last argument with our mom. If she can’t be loving toward Fran, then I’ll make sure Fran doesn’t feel isolated. I promised to stand by my baby sister no matter what happens during her pregnancy, and I meant it.
Dad walks into the kitchen, and the vibe immediately shifts. Mom straightens to her full height and eyes her ex-husband warily. He whispers to Ann, and she nods.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Because something’s up.
“We wanted to sit down with y’all and talk. Should we go to the living room?” Dad looks around at us.
By silent agreement, we head for the place where all of our family discussions have happened. It’s like a ’90s Friday night special. All we need is TV parents who work hard to provide for us, loveus, and guide us. Of course this is reality, so we have imperfect parents, and a stepmom thrown into the mix.
Dad glances at Mom, then to Ann, who motions for him to speak. “We wanted to apologize.” His face flushes among the gasps from Jackie and Fran.
“Apologize for what?” What did he ... Mom ... they do?
“We haven’t treated you girls fairly.” Dad glances at Jackie. “Sweetheart, I love you. You’re my firstborn, but I’ve done you a disservice.”
“We,” Mom interjects.
“We,” Dad repeats, “have done you a disservice. It’s time for you to grow up. You’re on leave for a week while you work things out with Isaac.”
My mouth drops. What in the world is going on?
The spotlight shines on me as the parents look at me. “Val, we apologize for all the times we overlooked you. You’ve been our most even-keeled child, and so we focused on the squeaky wheels instead of giving you the attention you needed.”
“Are you calling me a squeaky wheel?” Jackie squeaks.
Dad and Mom ignore her and focus on our baby sister.
“And, Fran, perhaps we owe you the biggest apology. We shouldn’t have cast judgment or blame. Your pregnancy came as a shock, and we handled it badly.”
“Very badly.” A tear slides down Mom’s cheek. “We’re so sorry, baby girl.”
