Copywrite 2001 * Elizabeth Delayne
Dorie pulled open the heavy metal door and braced it with the wooden wedge. Light from the lobby stumbled into the aged church gymnasium, a shimmering wave across the polished floor. She followed the stream as her tennis shoes squeaked against the smooth wood.
She thought back to three years ago, when she was still in high school and part of the youth group. Her youth minister would have been standing in front of the bleachers where the youth sat on Wednesday nights before flitting off into social circles and rounds of basketball. She could still hear his voice amplified by the bad sound system pieced together with left overs.
Think about now what would bring you back here, to this moment in time. What would you cherish? What would you discard? He'd challenged them that night in their friendships, to hold onto what was pure and right with the world around them—to make sure that they knew what was noble, true, excellent and praiseworthy.
Stepping out of the light she dropped down on the wooden bleacher and pressed her palms against her eyes.
I have learned the secret of being content, Paul said later in Philippians. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
Two different Wednesday night lessons, one book of the Bible, one truth.
A shadow broke into the light and Dorie glanced over at the silhouette standing in the doorway. If she hadn't of been back during the holidays since high school, she never would have recognized the broad shouldered man who stood there now. Three years ago he had been lanky; her last high school crush and her boyfriend for much of their senior year.
"Dorie?"
"I'm right here," she called out and watched Steven as he crossed the room to where she sat. There were memories between them, a dance that waltzed between the good and the bad emotions they'd experienced together, because of each other.
"Brings back something, doesn't it?" he said when he reached her and sat down beside her. It was quiet, or should have been, but the cacophony of voices from the past echoed around them. "Mom said you called."
"She said you weren't getting in until tomorrow."
"Well, I was finished with finals and was prompted to come home early—apparently for a reason. What's wrong, Dorie?"
"Just me," she murmured, conscious of the distance between them that had never been there before. "Just my heart."
"Someone break it?"
"Not in the way you think," she finally glanced at him, thankful that the light was strong enough so she could trace the familiar lines of his face. It was kind and open, concerned, and familiar enough that she was already starting to feel better. "I needed to come back, to this place where so much was right and good and true, and I wanted someone to be here that would remind me of what I'm trying to find again. We were just always able to talk."
"We were," he agreed. "What's not right and true and good?"
"My heart," she said sadly and clasped her hands together in her lap. "I'm just struggling. School and church—they're both burdens right now. I don't know if I have the words, or if I can explain, but it goes back to Anna. I think it does."
"Who's Anna?"
"She's one of the ladies at the nursing home that I volunteered at for the last couple of years. I would go every week to read to her. She didn't have family around and she could barely get out of bed, and that wasn't often. She died while I was at home during the summer, and no one thought to call me. When I went back to school last September, she was gone. She died all alone."
"I'm sorry."
"What's good and pure and right about that? To die old and alone? They buried her in a grave beside her husband, but her children had left her to die alone in a nursing home. She used to talk about them all the time, stuck in the past because she didn't know the present. No one goes to put flowers on her grave."
"But you do, I bet."
"Of course I do. When I can."
"She had the memories that you gave her," he slipped over and dropped an arm over her shoulders. It was different, she realized, leaning against his side. He was no longer her Steven and she was no longer his girl, but there was comfort in his hold and friendship waiting to be clasped.
"I'm melancholy, Steven. I can't find my joy."
"So you came here?"
"I had joy here. I was happy."
"Have you grieved?" he asked. "Have you mourned for your Anna?"
"Yes . . . I feel like a mourn all the time," she said, "but I haven't been able to say goodbye."
"So you feel like you're drifting along on a road with no exits—"
"Unable to go as fast as I want to go," she agreed and smiled slightly. "Melancholy."
Steven chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tugged her a little bit closer. "I was never able to handle your tears, Dorie, so I don't know what I'm going to get myself into, but why don't we go rent one of those tear-jerkers you used to like and when you feel like crying, you can lean on me. We can start there or maybe with prayer."
Dorie turned and looked at him, not sure what she was looking for and knowing that it wasn't what she found. The guy she sat with now was just Steven.
Of all the things that were left behind in the shadows of the old gym, she was thankful that she'd kept with her the feelings of companionship that had made her relationship with Steven seem so right at the time. In her memories it was something right and pure, noble and true. They'd worshiped together, prayed together, and walked together for so many miles of faith.
She stood then and glanced down at him, the light playing across his face so for a moment he was her Steven again and she was his Dorie. She reached out a hand, wanting, and possibly needing to take another step of faith with him.
And there were echoes of worship from a slightly off-key praise band, thunks of a basketball and shouts of play, whispers of conversations and calm assurances voiced over a terrible sound system that pulsed in the dark.
Dorie glanced back as she kicked the wooden wedge and smiled softly at the shimmer of light that stretched across the gym floor.
Show me, she prayed, dear Father, what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely and admirable. I look for the joy that I can only find in You.
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