Gwendy’s Final Task

“Thinking something is more often than not about logical or intellectual deduction. And that’s a good thing. Like the things they teach you about at school. Proper thinking leads to learning and learning leads to knowledge. That’s why you know so much about so many interesting things like the scorpion constellation.”

“Scorpius.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Peterson said, ruffling Gwendy’s hair. “But believing … now that’s something different. Something much more … personal.”

“You mean like Olive Kepnes believing in the Loch Ness Monster and aliens? Those are personal choices for her?”

“That’s one way to look at it. But I was thinking of God. The Bible tells us that He’s real, there are hundreds of stories about Him, but we’ve never seen Him with our own eyes, right? And no one we know—no one who’s even alive right now—has ever seen Him either. Right?”

“Right.”

“But many of us still choose to believe that He exists. And that kind of belief, the kind that comes from deep within your heart and soul, the kind that may at times even appear to defy common logic, is faith.”

“We learned about faith a long time ago in Sunday school.”

“Well, there you go. I have faith that there’s a God watching over all He’s created, and I have faith that there’s a wonderful place waiting all those who choose to live a good life. I don’t know what heaven looks like or where it is or even if it’s an actual physical place. In fact, I kind of have my doubts about the whole angels wearing white robes floating around on clouds playing harps scenario.”

Gwendy giggled, and Mrs. Peterson felt that ache in her heart again. It wasn’t a bad ache.

“But yes, I believe heaven exists and Grandma Helen is there right now.”

“But why do you believe those things?”

“Look around us, Gwendy. Tell me what you see.”

She looked to her left and then her right, and then up at the sky. “I see houses and trees and stars and the moon.”

“And what do you hear?”

She cocked her head to the side. “A train whistle … the Robinsons’ German Shepard barking … a car with a bad muffler.”

“What else? Listen closely this time.”

She cocked her head again, to the opposite side this time, and Mrs. Peterson lifted a hand to her face to cover a smile. “I hear the wind blowing through the treetops. And an owl hoot-hooting!”

Mrs. Peterson laughed. “Now tell me quick, what’s your favorite memory of Grandma Helen?”

“Her Christmas cookies,” Gwendy answered right away. “And her stories! I loved her bedtime stories when I was little!”

“Me too,” Mrs. Peterson said. “Now take a look through your telescope again.”

She did.

“All of those things you just answered—and so much more; my gosh, so much more, dear girl; think of your Grandpa Charlie and your best friend Olive; think of those amazing star clusters of yours; and before you go to sleep tonight, take a good long look at yourself in the mirror—those are the reasons why I believe. Do you think all those miracles could exist without a God? I don’t. And do you think—”

Before she could finish, a shooting star raced across the night sky. They stared at it with breathless wonder until it eventually flared out and disappeared. Mrs. Peterson wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her close. When she spoke again it was barely a whisper, and Gwendy realized that her mother was either crying or close.

“And do you think God would’ve bothered to create all those miracles and not created a heaven to go right along with them?” She shook her head. “Not me.”

“Guess I don’t either,” Gwendy says now, standing in front of the weather deck’s floor-to-ceiling window. And for perhaps the first time in her adult life, she truly believes it. Gwendy has an unobstructed bird’s-eye view of earth below, but she doesn’t even give it a glance. Instead, she gazes far off into the mysteries of the up-above and forever-onward whispers, “For me, you were the biggest miracle of all, Mom.”

39

DAY 5 ON MANY Flags.

Gwendy is almost to the cafeteria—close enough to smell freeze-dried scrambled eggs and sausage in the pleasantly filtered air of Spoke 4—when she realizes she left her red notebook back in the suite. Earlier this morning she put it down on the coffee table next to her laptop so she could type out a quick email and told herself not to forget it. But, like so many other things these days, she did forget. NG, she scolds herself, and pivots in mid-bounce like a ninja in one of the ridiculous chop-socky movies Ryan used to love so much.