Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

The sound of the band playing told her the event had begun. She had fifteen minutes left before her time came to speak. You can do this. You can do this.

“Five minutes!”

Marisa’s call through the door broke the spell of her meditation. She took a deep breath and gave up trying to still her shaking hands. Back in the green room, Marisa gave her a bright smile. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears – strained, quavery. She took another sip of water and squeezed the file in her hand. You can do this.

The band finished their set. The audience applauded. Marisa switched on the mic and held open the door for Savannah, and she ascended the stairs to the stage.

The applause erupted again as she walked across the stage to the podium on legs that felt like they might give out any second. Tears sprang to her eyes when the crowd stood, their applause still filling the room. How could she not want to face these fans that cared so much for her and her family and ministry? She had received literally hundreds of cards in the weeks following her transplant. She needed to do this for them, so they would continue to support A &A. She didn’t care about her own role anymore. She just didn’t want to let anyone down.

She set the file on the podium and opened it as the applause died down and people took their seats. She took a deep breath and found her mind completely blank. She stared at her notes, unwilling to face the crowd. Say something! “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” called out a couple voices, and the light laughter that followed from the audience gave her a moment to focus on her notes. Make the crack about being rusty. Then just read the notes. You can do this.

“You have excuse to – I mean, you have to excuse me,” she began. Cleared her throat. “I’m a little russy – rusty.” Why wouldn’t her mouth work right?

Read the words, read the words. They swam before her and she froze. She couldn’t do it.

Her heart was pounding. She put a hand to her chest, pursing her lips tight. She heard the intake of hundreds of concerned breaths, and released her own in a shaky sigh.

“I can’t do this.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She clutched at her lapel, muffling the mic, and nearly ran off the stage as the murmuring of the crowd grew louder. Marisa was at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide in fear. “What’s wrong? Is it your heart? Sit down, sit down.” She grabbed Savannah’s elbow and ushered her to a couch as she and the lingering band members began to pray aloud.

“Stop, just stop. I’m fine.” Savannah shook off the steadying hands and gasped back a sob. “I just can’t-I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay, Savannah-”

“No, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t believe it, I don’t – any of it. I’m just-” She blinked back tears. The stunned faces of the band and Marisa staring at her were more than she could bear. “It’s over,” she said, then began to weep. “I don’t believe it anymore. I don’t believe in God.”

SAVANNAH WRUNG A TISSUE IN her hands as she listened to Marisa addressing the crowd. “… been through a lot, and is struggling a bit to get back on the horse, you might say. We’re going to take a bit of an intermission, but we’ll start again in about fifteen minutes. Would you join me in lifting Savannah to the Lord in prayer?”

She reached up and snapped off the speaker that projected the audio from the stage into the bathroom. Prayers were the last thing she wanted to hear, especially when they concerned her.

The enormity of what had just happened still hadn’t sunk in. But she knew she wouldn’t be going back up on that stage, no matter what Marisa said. She refused to consider anything beyond the next hour, beyond going home and changing out of the blue pantsuit and back into her flannel pajamas and hiding under the covers of her bed. Possibly forever.

The door behind her creaked as it opened. Marisa appeared, her face a mask Savannah had never seen before. She leaned against the wall, arms folded. Savannah felt like a child waiting for the principal’s judgment to fall.

“We can figure this out, Savannah.”

“There’s nothing to figure out.”

“Didn’t the doctors say that post-op depression-”

“This isn’t depression. It’s… it’s hate, it’s anger, and it’s been with me since I woke up from the surgery. I don’t know where it came from, and I can’t shake it. I’ve tried, believe me.”

Marisa was silent for a moment; Savannah could almost hear the wheels turning as she tried to concoct a way to get her through this. “So what do we do? What can I do to help you go back up there?”

Savannah gaped at her. “Did you not hear me just now? It’s over. I’m not going back up there. I can’t look five hundred women in the face and lie to them.”

“You wouldn’t be lying.”

“I don’t believe in God, Marisa. I don’t believe a single thing I wrote in that book. I don’t believe a single word in that speech. To tell them I did would be lying.”

Marisa spread her hands in exasperation. “Then what am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them I’m sick. Tell them I thought I was ready for this, but I wasn’t. Tell them my heart couldn’t handle it.”

“So you want me to lie?”

“Trust me. It’s not a lie.”

THE RIDE HOME WAS AGONY. Marisa’s silence was unreadable, her face blank. Savannah stared out the window, avoiding Marisa as best she could and occasionally swiping a hand at the mascaratinted tears that ran down her cheeks. Marisa had called Shaun before they left, to make sure he would be home when they arrived. Savannah could hear his panic through the cell phone. “Her heart is fine, her health is fine,” Marisa had assured him. “Just… we’ll talk about it when we get there.”

She could see Shaun’s face in the front window when they pulled up. It hit her just how much damage this was going to do. Dread shrouded her soul as they walked up to the door that Shaun opened as they approached.

“What happened?”

“She couldn’t-”

“I can speak for myself,” Savannah snapped. Marisa’s mouth shut tight. Guilt upon guilt piled onto Savannah’s shoulders. “Let’s go sit down.”

She left Marisa and Shaun in the foyer and made her way to the living room, longing for the comfort of the familiar space, the calming view of the trees outside the window. Shaun and Marisa followed her in silence, and once they were all assembled she attempted to explain herself.

“Ever since the surgery – I don’t know why – but God has meant nothing to me. I’ve tried so hard to conjure up those feelings again, that faith-to be who I was before, but nothing has worked. The thought of prayer, of the Bible, of the concept of Christianity itself is just… foolishness to me.”

Shaun’s eyes were hard. “Be careful, Savannah. Don’t blaspheme the Holy Spirit.”

She met his stare with her own. “If there is a God, I’m guessing he’ll appreciate my honesty.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying, Savannah? Do you-”

“Of course I do! And I’ll thank you for not treating me like some petulant teen who’s all reaction and no thinking. I’m not doing this for the drama, believe me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I can’t pretend anymore! You have no idea what the last two months have been like, trying to find myself again and failing. You know – I know you do – that I’m not the same as I was. I can’t do anything about all these little changes – or this one huge change.”

“Have you prayed about it?” This from Marisa, who sat on the edge of the couch, her brow furrowed as though puzzling out algebra, as though enough thinking would bring out the answer.