Page 105 of In a Word, Yes

“Mmm, isn’t that the truth of our time, Pastor. There is a whole lot of heartsickness going around. Well, we know from reading Romans that endurance produces hope. So hope is something we’re always cultivating. At the same time, hope is something we already possess. But if you wouldn’t mind humoring me for a minute, I’d like to share something God’s been working to get through my noggin for a long, long time.”

Mom steeples her hands. Closes her eyes. Waits a beat. And then, “Friends, I’d like to suggest that it is what wedowith our hope that dictates our level of peace.” She holds up a finger. “Here, let me show you.” Mom riffles through the thin pages of her Bible, creating a lovely susurration (that makes two uses), then slides her fingernail down a page. “See this? Proverbs 13:12. ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick.’ Can we be honest here? What if this proverb is addressing the times I defermy own hopeand contribute to my own heartsickness?”

Pastor David nods. “So ... hopelessness, heartsickness. Two sides of the same coin?”

“I’ll tell you a story. When my son, Mikey, died, I fled my pain.”Mom’s eyes find mine. There’s a wobble in her smile. “In a way, ministry saved me. Having something good to pour myself into. But busyness also insulated me from working through my emotions. I neglected to let myself feel it all, to carry my son forward with me, in hope.” Now Mom directs a serious gaze at me. “And in not fully trusting God with the healing process, I did others a great disservice.”

Something inside me cracks open. A tremble under my breastbone. Without taking my eyes off my mother, I snake a hand into my purse in search of tissue.

“But here’s what I know. God is love, and from him I can never be separated. Therefore, my hope isalwaysjustified.”

“Amen,” Pastor David says, and I can see he’s blinking back tears.

Amens echo among the congregation.

“Let me tell you something solid, friends.Hope is real.It doesn’t ebb and flow with the headlines—or the diagnoses. We don’t earn it, and we can’t lose it.”

More amening.

The hair on my arms lifts.

“So then,” David says, “whatarewe to do with our hope?”

Mom grins. She’s so beautiful and full of light in this setting. “Brother David, I am so glad you asked.”

Laughter floats through the sanctuary.

“Whenever we’re enduring pain, or, say”—Mom sends a quick glance my way—“wrestling with a significant decision, we’re to ask ourselves, Am I nestling down deeper into my hope? Or am I choosing to defer my hope, thereby contributing to my own feeling of heartsickness?”

I’ve never been one for attention, for straight-up peopling, but when the service ends and a steady stream of local folks approach Mom to thank her, I’m bursting with pride.

Yeah, that’s my mom.

“Dora!” Mom squeals.

The woman approaching with Wyatt has his same high cheekbones, wears her hair in a cute dark bob, and brightens at my mom’s recognition. There’s absolutely zero chance this isn’t Wyatt’s mother.

While they hug and catch up, Wyatt turns to me. He smiles softly but in a way that’s disconnected from his eyes.

I focus on an empty space in the air between us.

“Look, Lucy,” he says quietly, “I understand what you said in your text. I just want to say again how sorry I am for—”

“Like I said, it isn’t necessary. None of it was your doing—”

“Nevertheless, I’m sorry you had to go through everything you went through yesterday. And no matter what happens with our ... friendship, I just wanted the chance to say—” Wyatt’s voice breaks. His thick Adam’s apple pulses when he swallows. “I am a better man for knowing you, Lucy Montgomery.”

“Even if it’s only been all our lives.” My heart breaks a little more as we both attempt a chuckle.

After yesterday’s warm connection, now only sadness envelops us.

Wyatt’s mom turns to face me. “You’re familiar.”

I look to Wyatt for an introduction. He isn’t there. He slipped away.

He slipped away.

“This is my daughter, Lucy,” Mom says. “She went to school with—”