An Extra Mile (eBook)
381 Seiten
IVP Formatio (Verlag)
978-0-8308-8931-0 (ISBN)
Sharon Garlough Brown is a spiritual director, speaker, and cofounder of Abiding Way Ministries, providing spiritual formation retreats and resources. She is the author of the bestselling Sensible Shoes Series of novels, which includes Sensible Shoes, Two Steps Forward, Barefoot, An Extra Mile, and their study guides. She and her husband, Jack, live near castles and the North Sea in Scotland.
Sharon Garlough Brown is a spiritual director and cofounder of Abiding Way Ministries, providing spiritual formation retreats and resources. Her book Sensible Shoes was named one of television personality Kathie Lee Gifford's "favorite things" in March 2013. Sharon earned an MDiv from Princeton Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Jack, have served congregations in Scotland, Oklahoma, England, and West Michigan.
one
Becca
In the three weeks since her mother’s death, Becca Crane had learned one thing about grief: there was no predicting what might trigger a deluge of emotion. The simplest things could set her off—an American accent on the London Underground, a box of Cheerios (her mother’s staple) on a shelf at Tesco’s, the melodic, mournful strains of a violin played by a street musician on the south side of the Thames. For some reason nighttime walks along the river with the view across to the Houses of Parliament evoked such deep pain in her chest that she could hardly breathe.
She pulled her knit beret down over her ears and leaned forward against the cold metal railing. All along the South Bank, the globes on the wrought-iron lampposts cast soft light on couples walking hand in hand, while the laughter of children riding an old-fashioned carousel wafted toward her.
She wasn’t sure why she subjected herself to these evening outings. Maybe she preferred the searing pain of loss to the numbness that had consumed her immediately after her mother died. In Kingsbury, her hometown, she had stumbled along dazed and detached, as if she were watching herself in a movie, a short, dark-haired orphan girl trying to convince herself and everyone else that she would survive “just fine.”
“Call me if you need anything,” her aunt had said on the phone shortly after Becca returned to London for the remainder of her junior year abroad. The words rang hollow. Rachel hadn’t even bothered to attend the funeral, using the feeble excuse of a business trip she couldn’t change. She had even reneged on her offer of part-time freelance work over the summer, initially extended so that Becca could spend the summer with Simon in Paris, free of any need for her mother’s financial support or approval. But now, as Rachel had caustically noted, Becca had been provided for through her mother’s modest estate. “What on earth will you do with a house like that?”
Becca didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. Except that she missed her mother. Terribly.
An evening cruise boat glided by, lit from within. Becca imagined the conversations of the young women flirting over canapes and champagne, with nothing to think about except the men they might hook up with. Like her friend Pippa. Pippa had tried to be understanding and compassionate, but apart from her frequent bad break-ups, she had never lost anyone. Her advice, though well-meaning, was one-dimensional: distraction. Alcohol, fun, sex—it didn’t matter what Becca used, Pippa said, as long as it took her mind off the pain.
Everyone had advice to dispense. Maybe it made them feel better, like they were helping before absolving themselves of any further responsibility of care and concern. Becca had already heard the best her friends on both sides of the Pond could offer:
Your mum would want you to be happy. She would want you to move on with your life.
You should travel, see the world. Life’s short. Make the most of it.
Just concentrate on all the good times you and your mom had together. Try to be happy.
Look at everything you have to be thankful for.
None of their platitudes helped. And whenever someone said, “I know just how you feel. When my—insert family member or favorite pet here—died . . . ,” Becca wanted to scream, “You don’t know how I feel! You have no idea how I feel.”
She reached into her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. How could anyone know how she felt when most days she didn’t even know herself? The one person she wanted to talk to about it—the one person she had, for most of her life, confided in—was gone. Forever. She lives on in your memories, Simon said.
Not good enough. Nowhere close to good enough.
She stepped away from the railing and headed toward the London Eye, which was illuminated in bright blue. There—right there at the base of the Eye, near the place where happy crowds queued for their half-hour ride in the large, slow-motion capsules—that’s where her mother had waited for her in December. Becca, spotting her from a distance, had pointed her out to Simon, who laughed and said how small and apprehensive she looked, her head tilted back to survey the size of the wheel. “A bit high-strung, is she?” he asked. Becca nodded. When their eyes met, her mother fixed a strained and determined smile on her face. “Ah, now,” Simon said, “she’s going to love me.” Becca had laughed and leaned in closer to him.
She lives on in your memories, Simon’s voice repeated.
Not good enough.
As she watched families board the Eye together, Becca knew one thing: she would give absolutely anything to have one more ride with her mother. Just the two of them.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Simon: Waiting for you.
She wiped her face with her coat sleeve and replied: On my way.
Hannah
One month after submitting a resignation letter to the church she had served for fifteen years, Hannah Shepley Allen was confident of one thing: dispensability was easier to embrace in theory than in practice.
“You’re indispensable to me,” Nathan, her husband of twelve days, said as he stooped to kiss her furrowed brow. “And to Jake. He adores you. And so do I.”
Hannah pushed her chair back from the kitchen table, her eyes still fixed on her laptop screen. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so readily replaced, her ego wouldn’t be so bruised. But the latest email from her longtime senior pastor, Steve Hernandez, indicated that, with dizzying speed, Westminster was progressing with plans for her successor. We’re wondering if you might be willing to consider a rent-to-own option for Heather to remain in your house.
She swept her hand toward her screen. “Go ahead and read the whole thing.” Nathan pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and leaned forward to read the words Hannah had read three times. She waited until he stood up straight again, then asked, “What do you think?”
“Well, it sure solves the stress of trying to sell it. Sounds like an answer to prayer to me.”
“No—I mean, what do you think about them hiring Heather?”
“He doesn’t say they’re hiring Heather.”
“It’s obvious that’s what they’re doing.” Hannah set her jaw and read the words again. If you’re open to the possibility, please get in touch with her to discuss details. “And why is Steve the one emailing me about it? Why didn’t Heather just call and say, ‘Hey, I’m taking over your job and your office, and I want to take over your house too!’”
Nathan closed her laptop and gently turned her around to face him. “Maybe he wanted to be the one to float up the trial balloon, see how you’d react.”
Well, it was odd. The whole thing was odd. And not even Nate could convince her otherwise. Now that they had returned from their honeymoon and had begun to settle into a home-life routine, she’d had lots of time to reflect on her transition to West Michigan. Though Steve had framed releasing her from ministry as a gift, saying that it was important she be free to focus on her marriage and not return to Chicago out of obligation, maybe it had been a calculated attempt for control. “You really don’t think this is weird?” she asked.
“Do you want me to think it’s weird?” His brown eyes smiled at her even as his lips remained neutral. “’Cause I can embrace ‘weird’ if you want me to. I can run conspiracy theories with the best of them. Like, maybe they planned this from the get-go and devised the whole sabbatical as a ruse to get you out of the way so they could hire this Heather, who is carrying on an illicit affair with—”
“Oh, stop.” Hannah lightly punched his stomach. “That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying, the whole thing is very . . .” He waited for her to find the right adjective. “Weird.” That’s the best she could come up. Something was off.
“Well, I won’t argue with your intuition, Shep. But maybe Heather’s done a decent enough job filling your shoes, and they’re eager to offer her something permanent now that they know you’re not coming back. Saves them the trouble of a long-drawn-out search, and if she likes the house well enough to stay in it, then why not? Seems to me they’re doing you a favor, doing us a favor, by taking away the stress of selling it.”
And the stress of a double mortgage, which would begin the first of April. Though Nate hadn’t mentioned anxiety over managing two mortgage payments, Hannah had begun to feel the weight of it. With no current income and limited financial resources to bring into their marriage, she ought to be jumping for joy at the prospect of such an easy transition. Instead, she felt resentful.
“Don’t let pride keep you from seeing the gift in this, Hannah.”
“I know.” What she didn’t need right now was a lecture. What she needed was time to process this by herself.
He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Jake’ll be done with band rehearsal soon.” He reached for his car keys, which he kept on the kitchen counter, not on the hook beside the coat rack. She had made the mistake of hanging them there the day before, and he’d ransacked the house looking for them, frantic when she didn’t hear his call on her cell phone while she was out shopping. He had been late to class.
“How about if I go pick him up?” Hannah said.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll get him.”
“I’ll get dinner started, then. Pasta primavera okay?” She reached for the correct cupboard on...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 6.2.2018 |
|---|---|
| Reihe/Serie | Sensible Shoes Series | Sensible Shoes Series |
| Verlagsort | Lisle |
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen |
| Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Moraltheologie / Sozialethik | |
| Schlagworte | Becca • book club • Charissa • Christian Fiction • christian living • contemplative • Different backgrounds • empty-nester • Fiction • friend • Friends • graduate student • Hannah • Literature and Fiction • Mara • Mentor • Pastor • prayer process • Relationship • Retreat • retreat ministry • Sensible shoes • small group • Spiritual direction • spiritual disciplines • spiritual fiction • Spiritual Formation • spiritual friendship • spiritual growth • spiritual journey • spiritual practices • spiritual retreat • widow • Woman • Women • women's issues • womens ministry |
| ISBN-10 | 0-8308-8931-0 / 0830889310 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-0-8308-8931-0 / 9780830889310 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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