Dogwood by Chris Fabry Page A

women.”
    “Like me.”
    Ruthie nodded. “Water that’s not moving becomes stagnant. And if there’s not someone pouring into you, the pitcher gets dusty. A person is most satisfied and most useful when she is both giving and receiving. In marriage. In life. In friendship. With God too.”

    A few days later Ruthie and I talked as I pushed Tarin in a stroller along the sidewalk. There were moments talking with Ruthiewhen things became crystal clear, as if my life’s clouds suddenly broke and brilliant sunshine streamed through, illuminating the countryside.
    “I went to the kitchen the other night for a glass of water and grabbed a mug from the cabinet,” I said. “It was dark and I felt my way along until I found the sink and turned on the tap. But I had the mug upside down. I didn’t know it, but I was trying to put water in an upside-down mug.”
    “What happened?”
    “Water went everywhere. My nightshirt got soaked. It just struck me: I’ve lived my whole life like that—upside down. God has tried pouring things into me that I had no capacity to keep.”
    She smiled and wobbled to a stop. “Karin, here’s the hidden truth about that. He’s the one turning your life upside down. He has you in that closet for a purpose.”
    “But I don’t like it. It’s not fair.”
    Ruthie put a wrinkled, arthritic arm around me. “One day you’ll be right side up, and the water will go where it’s supposed to. You’ll be filled.” She spread a hand out and motioned toward an imaginary window. “One day there will be a display at Books-A-Million. It’ll fill a whole window and they’ll have to stack them on top of each other and people will push their way through to get at them. Oprah will call and you’ll be too busy to talk.”
    “Right. And what will my books be about? What’s the subject that will draw me again and again?”
    “It’ll be about struggle and finding your heart. It’s really what you’re all about.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Ruthie didn’t speak for a long time. When we made it to her porch, I took Tarin out and let her play with a shoe box filled with toys Ruthie kept out for her.
    Finally she spoke. “We do almost anything not to struggle. We take the easy path because it makes us feel better. We think asmooth road will get us to the destination quicker. And that’s our problem—we’re not at all concerned about where we’re going but how fast we can get there.” She sat in a rocking chair and wiped her brow with a paper towel. “That has been your full-time job for a long time.”
    “Taking the easy way out?”
    “Choosing to feel better instead of growing.”
    I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I decided to follow her lead. “Why do you think I do that?”
    “Because growing is painful. Most people work overtime at the Make Me Feel Better Chapel. Something bad happens and they throw a verse at you, like a fish to a walrus. That makes them feel better, being able to pull something out of a hat they hope will make sense of the pain. But if you’re on the other end, it doesn’t matter that the verse is true; it still feels like a fish because the person had no intention of entering your struggle. Of just sitting with you and moving through it like those Old Testament boys did or the man in the parable. It never occurs to them that you need them to bend down and help you up, take you to a doctor, try to bandage your wounds. They throw a verse, cross to the other side, and they’re on their way.”
    “But I don’t blame them. Struggling is hard. You can’t really enter into another person’s pain like that.”
    Ruthie drained her glass of iced tea and tossed the remaining ice cubes onto her zinnias. She took my glass, turned hers over, and poured a small amount of tea on the bottom and watched it pool. “You were telling me about living upside down and trying to pour water on the bottom of a mug. It’s possible to hold a little water here. That’s the way I tell if my