Wings of Refuge by Lynn Austin

couldn’t live alone in their house. But what about the handprints Greg and Emily had made in the wet cement on the front porch steps? How could she ever leave those behind?
    “Sorry,” Abby said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to dump all my garbage in your lap.”
    “I don’t mind. You helped me tonight by letting me talk about Ben. When we’re carrying a heavy load, it helps to set it down now and then. Or better still, to share it with a friend.”
    “I sensed that you were safe. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone else about my marriage. It wasn’t fair to unload on my kids, and most of my friends are also Mark’s friends. I’m too ashamed to talk about it at work.”
    “Why? You’re not the one who committed adultery, I assume.”
    “No, but people think there must be something wrong with a woman who can’t keep her husband. And I can’t talk to my parents, either. They think it’s scandalous for Christians to have marriage problems. They would probably say it’s my punishment for straying from the church.”
    “Is that what you think, too? That God is punishing you?”
    “Maybe . . . deep down. I used to be very involved in church activities—like my daughter, Emily, is now. When all this happened with Mark, I realized that something was lacking in my life. So I decided to use this trip to try to . . . re-discover my faith.”
    “An excellent plan. Jesus said, ‘Come to me and I will give you rest.’”
    Abby stared. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but aren’t you Jewish?”
    “Yes.”
    “But . . . you just quoted Jesus.”
    “I’m a Jewish believer in Yeshua— Jesus, the Messiah promised in the Jewish Scriptures,” Hannah said. “I know that verse firsthand because I also had to suffer pain and loss before I found rest in Christ. I hope there will be an opportunity to share my own spiritual journey with you before this summer is over, but tonight it is late. And I think we are both exhausted from all that has happened today.”
    Hannah turned and groped beside the bench, retrieving two orthopedic canes fitted with arm braces. She pulled herself to her feet, and as her caftan billowed in the breeze, Abby saw that from the knee down a prosthesis replaced Hannah’s right leg.
    “Walking on this beach must be difficult for you,” Abby said as they began the slow, limping trek through the deep sand to the hotel stairs. “May I help you, Hannah?”
    “Yes, thank you, dear.”
    Abby wrapped her arm around Hannah’s waist, supporting her, steadying her.
    “This leg of mine is a nuisance, that’s for sure,” Hannah said. “But I’ve learned not to be afraid to accept help. It always draws me closer to the one who is offering it. See how we’re holding on to each other? I hope you won’t be afraid to let me help you with your struggles, Abby.”
    “You’ll have to teach me how to lean on someone. I’ve had to get used to being independent since Mark left.”
    “I was pretty independent, too,” Hannah said. “But in my line of work I often have to climb around in rough terrain. Archaeological sites can be treacherous, even without these sticks. Quit or accept help, that was my choice. I chose to accept help.” They reached the steep wooden stairs to the hotel and started up them.
    “I admire your courage,” Abby said. “Most of us hate to be dependent on others. Our pride says it’s a sign of weakness.”
    “It isn’t, though. It’s really a sign of strength,” Hannah said, breathless from the climb. “Life has a way of handicapping each of us in one way or another. Those who don’t limp have probably quit—or else they haven’t come to terms with their loss yet. When I fall—which happens often—I can either lie there feeling sorry for myself or I can accept help, get up, and go on. Perhaps God wants to teach you a similar lesson.”
    Hannah paused to rest at the top of the stairs and opened her arms wide. Abby hugged her, as she had hugged Benjamin Rosen