Sarah’s Saint – VII

Months had come and gone since I had scattered my husband’s ashes at the beach. Life had fallen into a comfortable routine of waking, walking and writing. Something I never meant to do, or even thought possible, but once I began, the words seemed to flow from my heart, through to my arm and into fingers holding the pen that scribbled on paper.

I wrote about my life before, during and after my abusive husband. There was love and joy, but also pain and sadness. Interestingly enough, there was no anger. Anger dissipated with forgiveness. Still, I found the releasing of the words to be healing. Maybe that would be a good title for the book – Learning to Heal. I’d have to sit with that for a bit while I decided. Not that it mattered. It was a love letter to myself, from myself, for myself.

“It’s a love letter for the world.”

I smiled, not looking up as I finished the sentence I had been writing. “It’s been a while.”

“You were doing fine. I’m not needed when things are fine. I’m needed when things need doing.”

“Still, I enjoy your company and wouldn’t mind a visit now and then. Even if only for a few minutes, just to say hi.”

“Always nice to be needed, but that’s not how this works. You either call me, knowingly or not, or I sense the need and come.”

“So, there is a need? I’m actually doing rather well, or so I thought. There is a new rhythm to my routine, and it suits me just fine. What else could there be?”

She smiled. It’s hard to put into words how that smile can comfort, soothe the soul, and quiet the world around you. She didn’t need to say anything. All she did was point at the heap of papers neatly piled on top of the corner of my desk.

“It’s almost finished,” I said. The world seemed to stop momentarily as I waited for a reply. She just looked at me. Waiting.

“I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

There it was – that melodious laughter bubbling up from the depths and releasing joy into the room. “You don’t need to be. I’m pretty sure you already know what I’m going to say. You just needed a nudge to get there.”

“You think I should get this published, printed and sent out into the universe for others to read.”

“I don’t think. I know. There are others like you who need to hear your words. They need to know that healing is possible. That forgiveness and God’s love heal the brokenhearted. Their scars don’t need to torment them. They need to give them courage. The same way yours do.”

I had thought little about my scars, but understood what she meant. When I looked at them, the feeling wasn’t painful. It was one of strength. A silent warrior who survived and lived to tell about it. Never did I consider that there were others who could shed light on my situation when I was deep in the throes of it. Would I have done things differently? I’ll never know, but having someone who understood my situation would have made it less lonely somehow.

“There it is. My job is done. I’ll let you get back to writing.”

She disappeared into the mist, fading from sight. The warmth of her smile remained. My pen stayed where it was while I pondered the deeper meaning. Not only would the book need to be published, I would also need to go on tours and speak about it…speak about myself. I wasn’t sure I could do that.

“One step at a time,” came the whisper, echoed on the waves of my doubt.

First things first. I needed to finish the story. Picking up my pen, I began writing the remaining chapters of my story. What happened next would be for another day.

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If you are enjoying Sarah’s Saint, you may like other short faith stories which you can find on the Faith Stories link of Leslie’s website.