Lost and Found (16 page)

I long to encourage him, to help him see himself as God sees him, so full of promise.

"What good does it do to see it, Jenna? I can't use those skills. Until she decides to loosen her grip on the reins, I have no opportunity to do more than I'm already doing." He shakes his head. "You know how things are."

It is the closest Gerard has ever come to acknowledging the truth of his mother's control. We are, I know, venturing into territory he has marked with a
No Trespassing
sign.

"You were created for more, Gerard. Maybe it isn't with Domaine de la Bouvier. Maybe it's time to venture out on your own. Take the knowledge and skills and the gifts God's given you and follow Him." I feel my passion rising. Hopeful, prayerful, that he'll listen. I long to offer him strength and courage. "His strength, through you, Gerard. You could do it."

A look of longing passes between us. But then he shakes his head. "It isn't like that for me. I don't have your . . . faith, your conviction. It is what it is, Jen. Let it go."

"But . . ."

"Let it go." His tone is firmer this time.

I roll back onto my back and pull the covers up to my chin.

The warmth and intimacy we've enjoyed is replaced with the cold reality that tomorrow we return to life as usual.

Life with Brigitte.

"I wish . . ." But I leave the sentence hanging and Gerard doesn't encourage me to finish the statement. There is much we both wish for but those wishes will go unrealized, I'm learning, unless one of us risks making major changes.

And I will have to be the one to take the risk.

Gerard reaches and turns off the lamp on his nightstand. He rolls over, turning his back to me. I reach out and place my open palm on his back and rub the valley between his shoulder blades.

I fight sleep, wanting to prolong the night. Morning will arrive too soon. But then I remember the prayer chapel. Gerard's gift to me. I will go there before the sun rises. I'll light the candles and kneel before God and beg for His mercies before returning to the city.

If you insist on controlling your own life, your Lord will not force you to give up your control.

JEANNE GUYON

AFTER THE WEEKEND
in Napa, I return to a pile of work. I should know better than to take a couple of days off. I dive in on Sunday evening and don't let up until Wednesday night, when Jason calls and I decide to answer.

"Hey, I've been worried about you. You haven't returned my calls or texts."

"Yeah, sorry."
Someone has to work to cover your father's backside, and yours, by the way.
"Catching up on work."

"You okay?" His tone, his concern, irritates me.

"Of course. I'm a big girl, Jason. I'm used to taking care of myself."

"I know you are. But I need to know you're okay."

"Oh . . ." I don't know what to say to that. "Sorry. Like I said, I've been busy."

I expect anger, or at least agitation, from him, but instead, he laughs. "Well, it's good to know you're alive and well."

"Oh, yeah, well, that I am. How about you?" I get up from my desk and walk to the kitchen where I bend, reach for Sam's food dish, and take it into the pantry and fill it while Jason talks.

Before we hang up, Jason says, "How about dinner tomorrow night?"

"Sounds great." I'd intended to say no, but, oh, he is charming. "And hey, Jason, sorry I . . . I don't mean to . . . You know?"

"I know, Andee. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he hangs up. No reprimands. No hurt feelings. "He's a pushover," I say to Sam. "No backbone whatsoever." But even as I say it, I know it isn't true. I've seen Jason stand up for what's important to him. But he doesn't demand his own way. Instead he offers something else . . .

"What is it?" I ask Sam. He flicks his tail, takes the last piece of food from his dish, and then saunters away. "You're a big help."

Jason does seem to know. Sometimes he seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

And he accepts me.

Why?

"Because, Andee, he
is
a pushover."

From the living room, Sam mews his agreement to my reasoning. I walk out to where he's sprawled on the sofa and scratch him behind the ears.

"Oh well, who cares right? He's good for a free meal." I look back toward my office and the remaining piles on my desk. But instead of going back to work, I sigh, and sit down next to Sam. I reach over and heft him onto my lap, where he settles in and kneads my legs with his paws.

"Well, look at you." Sam closes his eyes and begins to purr. "You're all the man I need." I bury my hand in Sam's fur and question the agitation I feel regarding Jason. My work provides ample agitation for my life. I don't need more.

I think about my meeting in Napa with Bill and, as I have so many times since we talked, I consider the perfect solution for his financial situation.

Well, almost perfect.

I'm not employed by Azul. I'm just a friend. An acquaintance of Bill's. That's all. I won't accept any payment from Azul and, therefore, I'm not ethically bound in any way. I consider the details again.

And again, I hesitate.

I consider the pros and cons of the plan and realize there is one thing, or person rather, standing in the way.

I lift Sam off my lap, go back to my desk, and pick up the phone. I dial Jason's number and wait. The call goes to voicemail. Perfect.

"Hey, it's Andee. Listen, about dinner tomorrow, I think we'll have to hold off a few more days. I'm buried and taking off tomorrow night was wishful thinking. I'll give you a call at the end of the week."

I hang up the phone satisfied. "Keep your eyes on the goal, Andee." Love, or even infatuation, isn't part of my master plan. It's time to take a step back and refocus. I reach for the mouse and wait as the screen lights up on my desk. There is work to be done. I open my in-box and scan the contents. I have e-mails from some of the top executives in the country, along with those of smaller companies that I've handpicked to work with for various reasons, including an e-mail from Brigitte. I open it and read:

Andee,

We are moving forward on your suggestion to take Domaine de la Bouvier public. Research is underway and a decision will be forthcoming soon. I'd like to schedule another meeting for next week. Thursday, 2:00 p.m., at the Bouvier offices. Will that work for you?

On a personal note, I'd also like to invite you to join me for dinner at our home that evening. It will be an intimate party of friends including the mayor and a few other interesting locals you might enjoy.

Regards,

Brigitte Bouvier

President—Domaine de la Bouvier.

I check my calendar and hit
reply
.

Brigitte,

Thursday, 2:00 p.m., at the Bouvier offices is fine. And I'll look forward to dinner at your home that evening. Thank you for your kind invitation.

A. Bell

Brigitte's invitation didn't mention Jason as my date for dinner. Did she mean to exclude him? Is she sending a veiled message? Perhaps it was just an oversight. I'll wait and see. But I have no intention of mentioning the dinner to Jason. I'll follow Brigitte's lead.

I look again through the list of waiting e-mails and see I've received another post from www.iluminar.me. I subscribed to the blog, but now I press
delete
before reading the entry. Let the rest of the city follow her little drama, I'm not interested in her brand of spirituality.

Been there.

Done that.

Then I notice I have an e-mail from [email protected]. It looks like a reply to my e-mail regarding her blog. "Ah . . . maybe you want to make a little money after all." I open the e-mail and read:

Dear Andee,

Thank you so much for your interest in my blog. I'm aware of the opportunity, through advertisers, for financial gain.

However, that isn't my purpose for the blog. But again, thank you for your interest.

The e-mail is, of course, unsigned. I shake my head. "What a fool." I read the note again and then hit
reply
.

Lightseeker,

If you aren't interested in financial gain, what is your purpose?

A. Bell

I let my irritation take over. There's no point in engaging her. She's a fool. But then, I open my trash folder and search for the new post I just deleted. Let's see what she's whining about now. I'm just curious, I tell myself.

I find the post, open it, and begin reading. But just as I begin, the computer pings, letting me know another e-mail has come in. I click on the stamp icon and see that Lightseeker has already responded. This should be interesting.

Andee,

What is my purpose? That's a question I'm wrestling with. I don't know the answer. What is your purpose?

Ha! She's serious? I thought we were talking blogs, but it seems she's moved on to life purposes. What is my purpose? Isn't that obvious? I click
reply
and begin to type, but then I stop. What am I doing? Who cares? I don't need to respond to her. She's desperate for relationships—that's obvious. "Maybe if you lived somewhere other than cyberspace you'd have real relationships."

I delete my response and close the mail folder. Then I delete the post I'd begun reading.

I have more important things to do.

Spiritual union between two believers is a very real experience although it is not easily explained.

JEANNE GUYON

FIVE DIRECTEES TODAY.
Cool. Blake is the first on my schedule. I feel his pain—a reminder that leads me to pray for him each day. My last appointment of the day is Jenna Bouvier. I've waited for this one. Holy anticipation is what I call it. I'm curious to see what God's doing with the bubbly heiress. Uh . . . bubbly as in champagne, not as in personality. Though, I'm sure she's bubbly enough.

Never mind.

I round the corner to my office. I walk the nine blocks to work. Always. Rain or shine, snow or sleet. Just like the postal service. Although, here in the city, I'd have to say rain or shine, fog or fog. The walk is another ritual. It centers me—gives me time to pray. Out loud. Whereas when I pray out loud on a city bus or cable car, well, people get a little edgy. The walk also burns energy. And man, if there's one thing I need to burn, it's energy.

My morning walk and talk is my time to pray through my own stuff.

This morning's walk and talk was all about Tess.

It often is.

This is how I prepare to set myself aside and be present—to the Spirit and to the directee sitting across from me. It sharpens my focus. On Him and on the directee.

Without the walk and talk, dude, it's not pretty.

I turn the key in the lock of my office and enter what, for many, I know, is a sanctuary of sorts. A safe place, I pray, for my counseling clients. And a place where my directees hang with and hear from their God. I work to keep the environment tranquil, and for me, that's definite work. I stash my piles in the console cabinet that conceals a cluttered desk when its doors are closed. Tess found it for me. She's familiar with my piles.

Tess also found a couple of overstuffed chairs and a small matching sofa for the room. She put a fountain on a side table to help mute the street noise outside my door. The fountain looks like a pile of rocks and reminds me of the altars the Israelites built in the wilderness reminding them of places where God met their needs.

Tess may not get what I do or why I do it, but she supports me anyway. Before I added spiritual directing to my counseling practice, Tess and I talked about it a lot. Okay,
I
talked a lot and she listened a lot. The change didn't make sense to her. She didn't and doesn't understand my relationship with God or why others would seek a companion for their spiritual journey. But, bottom line, she respects my desires and supported the change.

That's one of the awesome things I thank God for.

The last block of my morning walk is the time I make a mental shift and think about the schedule of the day and the clients or directees I'll see. Before they each arrive for their appointments, I pray for them.