Two Steps Forward (eBook)

A Story of Persevering in Hope

Sharon Garlough Brown (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2015
328 Seiten
IVP Formatio (Verlag)
978-0-8308-9871-8 (ISBN)

Infos

Readers' Choice Awards Honorable Mention The women from Sensible Shoes are taking their next steps in the spiritual formation journey. But each of them is finding roadblocks along the way. Meg, a widow and recent empty-nester, is off to see her daughter in London. But what does hope look like when nothing goes as planned? Charissa, a conscientious graduate student, is battling to let go of control and embrace her unexpected pregnancy. But what does hope look like when transformation is slow? Hannah, a pastor on sabbatical, is trying to find her equilibrium with rest and a new relationship. But what does hope look like when old grief keeps resurfacing? Mara, a wife and mother, longs for her difficult family life to improve. But what does hope look like when tension escalates and circumstances only get worse? Sometimes life feels like two steps forward and one step back. Find your own spiritual journey reflected in the lives of these women and discover the way forward.

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.

Autor

Sharon Garlough Brown is a spiritual director and cofounder of Abiding Way Ministries, providing spiritual formation retreats. Her book Sensible Shoes was named one of television personality Kathie Lee Gifford's "favorite things." Sharon earned an MDiv from Princeton Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Jack, have served congregations in Scotland, Oklahoma, England, and West Michigan.

Textauszug

two

Meg

The multiple flight delays upended all of Meg’s plans. Now, not only would Becca be unable to meet her at the airport because of her class schedule, but Meg would need to navigate her way from one of the world’s busiest airports into the heart of one of its busiest cities. By herself. “But don’t worry, Mom,” Becca said when Meg awakened her with their latest anticipated departure time. “There’s an Underground—a subway—station right at the airport, and all you have to do is get on the Piccadilly Line—the blue line—and take it to Russell Square. Okay?”

Meg bit her lip and did not reply.

“You don’t even have to change trains. You just get on one train and stay on it for about an hour, okay?” The next time Becca spoke, her irritation was evident. “Do you want me to miss class and come and get you?”

“No—no, of course not, honey. I’m sure I can manage.” She tried to sound far more confident than she felt. “Can you—can you just tell me again what I’m supposed to do?” Feeling heat rise to her neck and face, she took a pen and a Starbucks receipt from her purse so she could scribble instructions. Soon she would again be a splotchy mess.

Once she hung up the phone, she tried to settle herself with a simple breath prayer that Katherine had taught her: I can’t. You can, Lord.

She inhaled deeply through her nose: I can’t.

Exhaled quietly through parted lips: You can, Lord.

Inhale: I can’t.

Exhale: You can, Lord.

She could almost hear Katherine’s voice, saying, “Breathe in God’s affection for you; breathe out your resistance to God’s love.”

Inhale: Help, Jesus.

Exhale: Please.

Her airplane seatmate’s scrutinizing gaze was on her. She could feel it. She pretended there was something important in her carry-on bag and stooped forward to fiddle around with zippers and pouches.

“Which train did your daughter tell you to take?” Jean asked.

Meg glanced at her scribbled directions, the words almost illegible. “Piccadilly Line to Russell Square. Something about a blue line. But I don’t know what that means.”

Jean retrieved from her purse a pocket-sized map with crisscrossing multicolored lines. “Look.” She pointed to the map. “All the routes are different colors, and the stops are marked along the way. See? Here’s Heathrow. It doesn’t get any easier than this. It’s the blue line right out of the airport, and you don’t even have to change trains when you get into the city. See?”

Meg stared at her pointing finger. On paper it looked extremely straightforward: just follow the blue line past place names she recognized from books. South Kensington. Hyde Park. Piccadilly Circus. Covent Garden. In theory, it all seemed so elementary. But a single delayed flight had already catapulted her into anxious turmoil. No predicting what other wrenches might be flung into her carefully conceived plans.

Jean tucked the map back into her bag. “I’m going on the blue line to Knightsbridge, so we can stick together until then, all right?”

Meg nodded her thanks. She had asked for wings, hadn’t she? She had prayed for freedom from the fears that had held her captive for so many years. Maybe—just maybe—this was all part of learning to fly.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. If she could stay awake until they boarded the plane, she might be able to get almost a full night’s sleep.

Jean rotated her shoulders. “I’m going to book a massage as soon as I get to my hotel.”

Meg had once had a massage. Jim had booked it for her when she was pregnant with Becca. He had seen an ad in a pregnancy magazine about prenatal massage and some of the benefits in relieving muscle and joint pain. She pressed her fingers into her shoulders and felt the knots. Maybe a long, hot bath would relieve the tension. She closed her eyes and imagined herself luxuriating in a claw-foot tub with English lavender soap.

Yes, a long, hot bath would be perfect. She would take one of those black London cabs from Russell Square Station to the Tavistock Inn, wash away the stress of the trip, and meet Becca in time for afternoon tea. Surely she would be done with her classes by then.

Meg had been anticipating a quintessential English tea for weeks. She’d seen photos on the hotel website of tables set in front of a roaring fire, fruit and sandwiches arranged on delicate porcelain plates, fluffy scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream, shortbread biscuits, pots of tea. She and Becca would have so much to talk about, so much to share. Meg wouldn’t talk with her about Jim right away, not on their first day together. She would wait until they had a few uninterrupted hours—maybe after her school term finished. And then she would show Becca his card. She would tell Becca how much he had loved and longed for her. She would explain that she had been afraid of being crushed by her grief, but that she was experiencing the presence and love of God in a new kind of way that was giving her courage. She would ask for Becca’s forgiveness. Maybe she would also talk about some of the family secrets that had recently come to light. She would have to wait and see about that. She didn’t want to dump too much on her, not all at once.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” The agent who had been interacting with frustrated travelers for several hours was speaking into the microphone again. Please, please give us some good news. “We thank you for your patience. We’ll be boarding in twenty minutes.” A cheer erupted.

“It’s about time,” Jean said.

Meg took off her watch and set it forward five hours. There. She was even closer to Becca now.

Apart from some sporadic turbulence that caused Meg’s stomach to turn cartwheels, the transatlantic flight was uneventful. Jean guided her through immigration and baggage claim at Heathrow and then onto the London Underground. Meg tried to avoid staring at her own reflection in the train window as they pulled into another station, but she couldn’t help herself. She looked like a mute, frightened child sitting there on the blue upholstered seat, her hands folded primly in her lap, her posture too stiff and erect. Jean sat beside her, reading a copy of The Guardian newspaper she had picked up at the airport.

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform,” the recorded female voice instructed. “This is Acton Town. Change here for the District Line and Piccadilly Line services to other destinations.”

Jean flipped a page of the paper. “Stay put,” she said.

“Are we there yet?” a whining voice asked. It was the youngest of an American family that had boarded the train at Heathrow. Meg knew the child’s name was Robbie because Robbie had been devising ways to torment his older sister, Kaitlin, for the past half hour.

“No, we’re not there yet,” Robbie’s mother said for the hundredth time. She was wearing a garish plaid Christmas sweater with a blinking Santa Claus pin. “I told you. I’ll let you know when we have to get off.”

Robbie rolled his eyes and punched Kaitlin’s shoulder.

“Ow! He hit me again!”

Kaitlin wrapped her arms tightly around herself before flouncing over to a seat on the opposite side. Robbie’s mother grabbed his wrist to prevent him from pursuing her. “Ow!” he protested.

The red doors swished open, and a hodgepodge of people entered: businessmen with long overcoats and briefcases, mothers with fidgeting toddlers, and two Muslim women with headscarves and traditional garments covering all but their hands and feet.

“What kind of costume is that?” Robbie asked, pointing.

“Shhh,” Robbie’s mother hissed.

For the past half hour, Meg had been careful not to speak, except in occasional whispers to Jean. She hadn’t wanted the American family to realize they had compatriots on the train, for fear of being yanked into their boisterous conversation about how cute the miniature cars were, or how the British currency looked like “play money.”

As the train pulled away from the station, Robbie resumed singing the same rude version of “Jingle Bells” Meg had learned on the playground when she was a little girl. Either his parents didn’t notice or didn’t care that the other passengers were casting hostile glances in their direction. She felt her face flush. Did she look like an American?

The truth was, Robbie’s parents had been voicing some of the very same observations Meg had been making to herself. For one thing, the scenery was surprisingly gloomy. She had expected a bucolic, rolling landscape with thatched cottages, ancient stone churches, and cobblestoned villages alongside meandering streams. Instead, she’d seen mostly brick row houses sandwiched together (“Look how tiny those yards are!”) and industrial parks blighted with graffiti (“Guess they’ve got the same swear words over here!”). They sped past littered embankments, concrete high-rise apartment complexes, and the occasional soccer field until they traveled underground again.

When Robbie and his family finally exited the train at South Kensington, the whole compartment seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Or maybe it was just Meg’s relief.

“A swift kick in the behind could have solved that.” Jean motioned after their retreating forms. Robbie...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.8.2015
• Reihe/Serie: Sensible Shoes Series
• Reihe/Serie: Sensible Shoes Series
• Verlagsort: Lisle
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: Advent • Bestseller • bestselling books • book club • challenges • Charissa • Christian • Christian Fiction • christian woman • Christian women • contemplative • Different backgrounds • empty-nester • Friendship • graduate student • grow • growth • Hannah • Mara • MEG • Pastor • prayer processes • Retreat • Sensible shoes • Sequel • sharon garlough brown books • sharon garlough brown series • small group • spiritual disciplines • spiritual fiction • spiritual journey • spiritual narrative • widow • Woman • Women
• ISBN-10: 0-8308-9871-9 / 0830898719
• ISBN-13: 978-0-8308-9871-8 / 9780830898718