Then the sunlight was blocked. A warm hand rested on her head. Her heart surged in a cry of grief and she found herself at his feet, bathing them in tears from still-closed eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Amanda now repeated. “I’m so sorry.”
Jesus kept his hand on her head and waited until she lifted herself up and sat down again. “I know,” he finally answered.
“That was the hardest thing you could have ever done,” she said after a moment, though she still couldn’t look him in the face.
“So are you glad I didn’t pick you up, throttle you, and throw you like a cartoon character over the horizon?”
Her laugh ended with a sniffle. “That would’ve been less painful.”
“You’re right. But you wouldn’t have asked for forgiveness if I punished you like that. And,” he said, leaning over the table to catch her gaze, “I forgive you.”
Forgiveness. It’s the peace of warm sunlight and a breeze flowing from the ocean up a hill full of wildflowers, mingling with the smell of dates and honey and bread still warm from the oven. It’s the love of being understood by someone who has freely taken upon himself the hurt you have received and the hurt you have given.
“And,” he added, “I will heal them.”
With these words one final scene appeared in Amanda’s mind. She was looking into a small, sparse apartment room, late at night. A TV flickered in the corner, but the man on the bed was turned away from it, holding his head in his hands. It was Spencer. He sat tightened and twisted with misery, alone in the room and alone in his life, and his broken-hearted loneliness and despair swept through Amanda so powerfully she started sobbing again.
Uncovering her face a moment later, she saw that Spencer was no longer alone. Right next to him sat Jesus, hands folded in his lap, looking down, then over at Spencer, then down again—just as he had done with her grieving teenage self. As the scene faded, Amanda saw Jesus put his arm around Spencer’s hunched shoulders, which relaxed a little as he leaned against his Savior.
Amanda shut her eyes and kept them closed, too overcome to speak. Only after a great while did she manage to open them and whisper the obvious but astounding truth.
“You’re healing him. From what I did.”
Jesus only nodded. There were tears in his eyes too--from sorrow? Grief? Joy at her realization? Amanda stopped guessing and simply felt. Yes, that was it: his heart was full to overflowing with love.
“What could I ever do for you? I mean, how can I ever repay you?” she said.
“You know how much I want to forgive everyone. And heal everyone,” he answered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “But do they know that? If they don’t come to me, their suffering will go on and on.”
Her heart swelled with conviction. “I’ll tell them. I’ll show them how.”
“And you’ll invite me along when you do, right? That would be awesome.”
Amanda cackled in surprise at his words, then laughed at herself. Still giggling, she tried to cover her mouth, but Jesus broke into a smile and chuckled, and that made her laugh even more. His laughter was so familiar, so wholehearted and contented, that it lifted her own into a sound of joy, a song of the newly free, of the redeemed, the beloved.
“Of course,” she replied. “That’s what friends do.”
Jesus smiled, so bright and warm and reassuring that Amanda had to squint to look at him. He stood, lifted her by the hand, and spoke her name once more. Then enfolding her in his robe, he began the words of a blessing…
She woke to sunlight on her face through the cabin window. Birds sang gloriously outside. Amanda sat up in her sleeping bag, blinking as the dream-events tumbled into order. Grabbing her pen and journal, she detailed the pain she caused, her shame and anguish, the Savior’s healing and blessing. Her final sentence read, There are no words to describe his delight in us.
As she ate her instant oatmeal and packed, a sadness edged in around the peace she felt. She loaded her things into the car, locked the cabin door behind her, and decided on one final walk to the stream and back.
Early light filtered through pine trees, twinkling the dewdrops on the weeds around her. The morning air was still cool this high in the mountains, even mid-summer. As Amanda walked, a pulse of fear tinged her sadness. Are those dreams over for good? Will I ever feel his presence again?
* * *
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