Today is Reader Connect day.
Jessica Everingham joins us to share a short story she wrote.
First, she gives you a bit of why behind the story.
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Where is God when your child is in ICU? When your spouse walks out?
When your mother succumbs to dementia?
If you’re anything like me, you struggle to understand the heart of God in the midst of pain. A loving God and an awful world just don’t seem to reconcile.
But while the Bible does not answer the questions of, ‘Why?’ and, ‘How could you?’ it does give us a response. I wrote the following short story, to help myself understand it.
Nightmare
by Jessica Everingham
The screaming didn’t end when the doors closed.
Even though the wheeled bed carrying her tiny son had long disappeared through double doors at the end of the hospital corridor. Even though the swarm of doctors and nurses had disappeared with it. Even though, at 3am, the other waiting chairs were empty.
Despite being alone, Sarah could still hear screaming. Because it was coming from her own mind.
It had started when she’d checked on little Josiah in the middle of the night and found him limp and blue. It had continued through her desperate emergency call, through the CPR in the back of the ambulance. It continued now.
Sarah dropped her head into her hands. She didn’t lift it until the small television in the corner of the room caught her attention. An evangelist strode across the stage on the tiny screen, revving up his audience and shouting about the love of God in the midst of pain. Sarah picked up a magazine—the only moveable object within reach—and threw it at the screen.
“God knows nothing about pain!”
No one cared about her outburst. No one was there to notice. Sarah fell limply back into her chair and sobbed, silently raging against God.
Sometime later, she lifted her head. What she saw made her stare. She was still sitting in the same blue plastic seat. There was still a dozen seats around her. But the rest of the waiting room had changed. The walls were solid—no reception area, no other hallways feeding into this hub, no doors. Except one, where the television had been.
Wondering about her own sanity, Sarah got up and opened the door.
Sarah dropped her head into her hands. She didn’t lift it until the small television in the corner of the room caught her attention. An evangelist strode across the stage on the tiny screen, revving up his audience and shouting about the love of God in the midst of pain. Sarah picked up a magazine—the only moveable object within reach—and threw it at the screen.
“God knows nothing about pain!”
No one cared about her outburst. No one was there to notice. Sarah fell limply back into her chair and sobbed, silently raging against God.
Sometime later, she lifted her head. What she saw made her stare. She was still sitting in the same blue plastic seat. There was still a dozen seats around her. But the rest of the waiting room had changed. The walls were solid—no reception area, no other hallways feeding into this hub, no doors. Except one, where the television had been.
Wondering about her own sanity, Sarah got up and opened the door.
Sarah recognized the laboratory instantly. It was her own, from the medical research facility. How had she gotten to work from the hospital? And why would she be at work at all when she was on maternity leave?
Sarah turned through a door off the lab, into her office. All her things were there; her desk, her computer, her bookshelf. Sarah walked around to the bookshelf and ran a finger along the books. There were dozens of volumes on DNA and genetics—her specialty. The last few carried her own name beside the title.
Sarah reached a book near the end of the shelf and stopped. This one wasn’t familiar. There was no title; just her name embossed in gold. Sarah pulled the book out and flipped it open to a random page. Scanning the text, she gasped. She flipped back to the first page and began to read in earnest.
Sarah turned through a door off the lab, into her office. All her things were there; her desk, her computer, her bookshelf. Sarah walked around to the bookshelf and ran a finger along the books. There were dozens of volumes on DNA and genetics—her specialty. The last few carried her own name beside the title.
Sarah reached a book near the end of the shelf and stopped. This one wasn’t familiar. There was no title; just her name embossed in gold. Sarah pulled the book out and flipped it open to a random page. Scanning the text, she gasped. She flipped back to the first page and began to read in earnest.
It was her own DNA. But not just written in the basic code of the four nucleotides—A, C, T and G. No, this was handwritten in flowing script.
Brown eyes…five foot eight…dimple on her left cheek, the words went from her physical appearance to her body’s entire make-up. The narrative correlated to coding and the depth of research she saw blew her mind. No one understood DNA or the human body like this. And it wasn’t just the science that was brilliant; the volume was written like an epic novel. Whoever had done this was beyond genius. The knowledge contained in this book would shake the medical world in an unimaginable way.
Brown eyes…five foot eight…dimple on her left cheek, the words went from her physical appearance to her body’s entire make-up. The narrative correlated to coding and the depth of research she saw blew her mind. No one understood DNA or the human body like this. And it wasn’t just the science that was brilliant; the volume was written like an epic novel. Whoever had done this was beyond genius. The knowledge contained in this book would shake the medical world in an unimaginable way.
Sarah looked back up at the bookshelf and the next book.
Josiah.
She grabbed for the book and read the script through tears. All the details of her baby’s perfect body… she smiled when she recognized similarities to her own book.
Josiah.
She grabbed for the book and read the script through tears. All the details of her baby’s perfect body… she smiled when she recognized similarities to her own book.
After a moment Sarah looked up at the bookshelf again, but she’d reached the end of the shelf. She turned to the other end of the bookcase, then froze.
The back wall of her office was gone. Miles of bookshelves stretched past where her eyes could see. Millions… probably billions of books. A different name on every cover.
Sarah was blown away. She had never before felt so aware of the limits on her own intelligence. But before she could investigate the other books, she heard a sound. Children laughing.
The back wall of her office was gone. Miles of bookshelves stretched past where her eyes could see. Millions… probably billions of books. A different name on every cover.
Sarah was blown away. She had never before felt so aware of the limits on her own intelligence. But before she could investigate the other books, she heard a sound. Children laughing.
Sarah ran for a door between two bookshelves and shoved it open. Light flooded her eyes and at first, everything appeared white. Then her eyes adjusted and Sarah saw that it was actually golden light. From a golden room.
A golden room full of children, playing and tumbling. The delight was infectious, and Sarah found herself grinning even as she tried to spot Josiah. She was desperately afraid of finding him here, because that could mean… the unthinkable. Yet the children’s joy was so great, she also desperately hoped that he was here, and that she could stay with him.
Sarah couldn’t see her little boy amongst the squirming, shrieking kids. She moved to take a step into the room to get a better view, but the door slammed shut in her face.
Sarah recoiled, then surged forward. She threw her weight against the door to force it open. It gave way instantly and Sarah had to grab at the doorframe to keep from falling over. She jerked her gaze up, expecting to see the children, but her jaw dropped open when she found herself facing green fields.
And a swirling hurricane above them.
A golden room full of children, playing and tumbling. The delight was infectious, and Sarah found herself grinning even as she tried to spot Josiah. She was desperately afraid of finding him here, because that could mean… the unthinkable. Yet the children’s joy was so great, she also desperately hoped that he was here, and that she could stay with him.
Sarah couldn’t see her little boy amongst the squirming, shrieking kids. She moved to take a step into the room to get a better view, but the door slammed shut in her face.
Sarah recoiled, then surged forward. She threw her weight against the door to force it open. It gave way instantly and Sarah had to grab at the doorframe to keep from falling over. She jerked her gaze up, expecting to see the children, but her jaw dropped open when she found herself facing green fields.
And a swirling hurricane above them.
Sarah shrieked as she faced the most powerful storm she’d ever seen.
Trees bowed before the mighty winds, their tops touching the ground. Lightning and thunder cracked across the sky continuously, the noise deafening. The clouds were a churning mess of greys, greens and purples. Branches and rocks swirled mid-air, caught up in enormous twisters. Sarah had never seen such a sight.
She felt like a grain of sand caught in ocean currents—so small, so completely powerless compared to the awesomeness around her. How could she resist in the face of such power?
Sarah stepped out from the doorway and let the storm take her.
She felt like a grain of sand caught in ocean currents—so small, so completely powerless compared to the awesomeness around her. How could she resist in the face of such power?
Sarah stepped out from the doorway and let the storm take her.
Sarah was yanked both upwards and sideways within three steps. She threw her arms out, trying to protect her head as she tumbled across the ground.
Then she realized she wasn’t tumbling across the ground. She was in the air.
Sarah looked down and her breath left her in a rush. The building below looked like it was made of Lego. She was swirling, weightless, at the mercy of the wind.
Then she realized she wasn’t tumbling across the ground. She was in the air.
Sarah looked down and her breath left her in a rush. The building below looked like it was made of Lego. She was swirling, weightless, at the mercy of the wind.
Up and up she flew, eyes watering from the rushing air and breath only coming with effort. Eventually she was carried towards the eye of the storm, and fear hit her gut like one of the flying rocks. When she reached the middle where all was calm, would she drop like a rock?
The wind threw a piece of paper into her face. Sarah pulled it from her eyes and struggled to read the printed words on the quivering paper.
“For God so loved the world He gave his only Son -”
The wind threw a piece of paper into her face. Sarah pulled it from her eyes and struggled to read the printed words on the quivering paper.
“For God so loved the world He gave his only Son -”
A gust thrust her from the clouds, into the clear center of the tempest.
Sarah fell, then heard a scream.
Sarah’s entire body vibrated from the scream echoing around her as she fell. The sound rattled her teeth and twisted her gut as it swirled in the storm around her. It wasn’t her own scream; it was a thousand times more powerful than that. After a moment, Sarah began to scream along with it.
She didn’t cry out because she was afraid of falling; she screamed because she knew the same agony that caused the sound around her. This was the scream of a parent, just like the one in her head.
Again and again, she sucked in a breath and cried out all her hurt as she fell, and fell, and fell.
But no matter how much Sarah screamed, it was a drop in the bucket compared to the noise splitting the air around her. She felt like it could peel the skin from her bones and boil the oceans. It was full-throated, raw-nerved, unrestrained, deep, complete, agony.
In that moment Sarah knew, right down to her soul, that God did understand pain.
The ground rushed towards her with sickening speed.
Sarah closed her eyes and curled into a ball. She couldn’t see or hear anything anymore. All she could feel was the rushing air. Then the rushing stopped.
Again and again, she sucked in a breath and cried out all her hurt as she fell, and fell, and fell.
But no matter how much Sarah screamed, it was a drop in the bucket compared to the noise splitting the air around her. She felt like it could peel the skin from her bones and boil the oceans. It was full-throated, raw-nerved, unrestrained, deep, complete, agony.
In that moment Sarah knew, right down to her soul, that God did understand pain.
The ground rushed towards her with sickening speed.
Sarah closed her eyes and curled into a ball. She couldn’t see or hear anything anymore. All she could feel was the rushing air. Then the rushing stopped.
Sarah waited several long moments. The rushing had ended, but she’d felt no impact. Was she dead already? She opened her eyes and stared around. She was sitting in the seat of the waiting room again. It was back to normal, with the exception of a strange man sitting beside her. Sarah stared at him in confusion.
“Why are you here?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I told you I’d be here with you.”
“Why are you here?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I told you I’d be here with you.”
That was creepy. Sarah leaned away from him. “How? When?”
He pointed to a small coffee table. Several magazines and a book rested on top. One magazine was missing—now lying crumpled below the television. Sarah squinted at the book on top of the pile. Holy Bible.
She looked back at the man, understanding. He offered her his hand and she took it. She squeezed as hard as she could as the memory of Josiah and the night she’d had came rushing back.
The man didn’t flinch; he held on tight and used his free arm to gather Sarah against his chest. She cried, and he rocked her. She felt light drops against her hair and realized he was crying too. They stayed like that for a long time.
Finally Sarah sniffed and whispered to him, “I don’t know how long it will be until they come back”.
The man tightened his grip even more.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Sarah stirred as a sharp sound sliced through her foggy consciousness.
Then she realized what it was. A hospital door closing.
Sarah’s eyes snapped open. She looked across at the man. He was still there, holding her hand. He flicked his eyes to the center of the room, and Sarah turned.
A doctor was walking towards her. He was looking at her, not the man, and his face gave nothing away.
Sarah shrank back into the seat, afraid to hear what the doctor would say. She turned to the man.
“What if it’s bad? Why would you allow this, with all your intelligence, all your power?”
The man gave her a sad smile.
“I can’t explain that now. But I know what you’re feeling. And I’m here with you.” He reached over and gripped their entwined hands with his free one. Sarah choked back a sob.
Then she realized what it was. A hospital door closing.
Sarah’s eyes snapped open. She looked across at the man. He was still there, holding her hand. He flicked his eyes to the center of the room, and Sarah turned.
A doctor was walking towards her. He was looking at her, not the man, and his face gave nothing away.
Sarah shrank back into the seat, afraid to hear what the doctor would say. She turned to the man.
“What if it’s bad? Why would you allow this, with all your intelligence, all your power?”
The man gave her a sad smile.
“I can’t explain that now. But I know what you’re feeling. And I’m here with you.” He reached over and gripped their entwined hands with his free one. Sarah choked back a sob.
“But what if the worst happens?”
A tear ran down his face.
A tear ran down his face.
“I’ll scream with you. I won’t leave you.”
Sarah bent and pressed her forehead against their hands. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. She wanted to shout at him and hit him and run out the door. But it wouldn‘t change the situation, and then she’d just be alone.
Sarah bent and pressed her forehead against their hands. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. She wanted to shout at him and hit him and run out the door. But it wouldn‘t change the situation, and then she’d just be alone.
She sat up and looked at the man.
“You won’t leave?”
“Never.”
Keeping her grip on his hands, Sarah stood and faced the doctor. She wasn’t ready. She had no guarantee of Josiah’s future. But neither was she alone.
“You won’t leave?”
“Never.”
Keeping her grip on his hands, Sarah stood and faced the doctor. She wasn’t ready. She had no guarantee of Josiah’s future. But neither was she alone.
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Jessica Everingham is an Australian journalist, boarding school mistress, youth leader, blogger and aspiring novelist. She is passionate about using her words to help peel back our subconscious attitudes and understand God’s truth.
Connect with her via her blog, Consumed By Him, at www.consumedbyhimblog.wordpress.com, or Facebook at www.facebook.com/jessicaeveringhamwriting.
