Hannah's Gift by Maria Housden

Author:Maria Housden [Maria Housden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007389223
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2002-02-20T08:00:00+00:00

Healing Service Hypocrite

CLAUDE, WILL, HANNAH, AND I FOLLOWED LAURAJANE DOWN the center aisle to the chairs that had been reserved in the front row. Hannah was wearing her new red-and-pink-flowered Easter dress, white tights, and her red patent leather Mary Janes. She held my hand while we walked, barely able to contain her excitement; she knew this service was for her. Will, looking handsome and serious in his freshly ironed shirt, blue jacket, tie, and crisply creased chinos, followed behind with Claude. His crew cut had grown out, and although his hair was still short, he had spent a lot of time in front of the bathroom mirror earlier, parting, wetting, and combing it.

As we reached our seats, I turned to look at the congregation. The sanctuary was filled, mostly with people we knew. The crowd had fallen silent when we entered, their hush respectful and curious. I was grateful for the attention. Hannah’s cancer was now the center of my world; I appreciated that, at least in this moment, it seemed to be the center of everyone else’s, too.

The news of Hannah’s inoperable tumor had shaken our community. So many people had asked Laurajane what they could do to help that she thought of offering a healing service for Hannah at our church. When she first told Claude and me about it, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Although I loved the idea of people gathering to support one another, I was afraid that calling it a “healing” service would create impossible expectations. To me, “healing” meant a cure; I didn’t want anyone to consider Hannah, Laurajane, or themselves a failure if Hannah died.

I was worried about Laurajane, too, concerned that she was putting too much pressure on herself, perhaps even challenging God. I remembered our conversation in the intensive care unit, when she had wondered about how well she knew Him, whether she was up to the task of being a minister. I hated the thought of her or anyone else using Hannah as a test case for their faith.

I also believed that, no matter what we did, prayer was not going to save Hannah.

Still, sitting at the front of the church, I could feel a genuine sense of love and care coming from everyone in the room. I wished I didn’t feel like such a hypocrite in their midst. Glancing over at Claude, his fists clenched, his eyes tightly closed, tears sliding down his cheeks, I worried that he might accuse me of poisoning the whole pot if he knew what I was thinking; I also worried that he would be right. For the first time in his life, Claude had been reading the Bible and praying every day. I knew he would let Satan suck the heart out of his chest if it would save Hannah’s life. My faith felt hollow and small compared to his.

The organist started to play, and everyone stood to sing. Hannah tugged at the hem of my dress.

“Pick me up, Mom,” she said.

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