The next morning after a late breakfast, I went out to “help” Aunt Anne in the garden. In actual fact, I pulled more flowers than weeds, so after a few minutes I just brushed the dirt off my hands and kept her company while she worked.

“What did you think of my young friends yesterday?” she asked.

“They weren’t what I expected,” I answered truthfully.

She sat back on her heels, blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Did you think an old fogy like me couldn’t be friends with such a lively bunch?”

“You’re not old, Auntie,” I said.

“I try not to be, despite what my joints tell me every morning.”

I laughed with her. There was such a peace in this place. After just one day I was already feeling better. My heart still felt like it had been ripped from my chest and torn to shreds, of course, but the pain was muted around Aunt Anne … almost bearable, in fact. Yesterday, if someone had told me I would be able to laugh in one day, I would have scoffed at the notion.

“Livvie—Olivia—and Patricia started coming first,” Aunt Anne said. “I noticed these two girls sitting in church every Sunday, looking wistfully at all the families, but never comfortable stepping out and making themselves a part of things, so I invited them out to the house one afternoon for tea. That became a weekly ritual, and eventually grew to include sitting down and studying the Scripture during tea. Then Casey came home after graduating from college and wanted to join us and bring her boyfriend—Neal. With Neal came Chuck and the other two boys who have left now, and then Dale just moved here this winter, and Patricia invited her to join us.”

“They’re lucky to have someone like you to take them in,” I said warmly. Never had I felt the pang of my lonely lifestyle as clearly as when picturing my aunt making all these people my own age part of her family.

“Oh, I’d say the other way ‘round,” Aunt Anne claimed. “I’m so blessed by them. I’ve always had a real soft spot for young folk.”

Her voice carried no censure, but I still felt guilty. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

She shook her head. “I told you yesterday, Shanny; you don’t need to apologize to me. I love you, and I’m glad you’re here now. I don’t care about the past.”

“How do you do it?” I asked her in honest bewilderment. “How can you stay so happy and serene all the time?”

She went back to her weeding. “I don’t know if you’re ready to hear my answer yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Aunt Anne looked directly at me. For a moment I saw my dad staring at me through her eyes. “Anything good in my life comes from Jesus Christ. My joy, my peace … everything is of him.”

I was starting to feel frustrated. What was it about Christianity that worked for everyone else? All those people yesterday were so much happier than I could ever imagine being—yes, even with Gabe.

I hated to confess that, but it was true. Even in those brief few moments when I knew I loved Gabe and believed he loved me, I still had fear and worry lurking at the back of my happiness. Even back when Dad was alive and I was just a kid, I still had an ache whenever I thought about my mother. I had no idea what it would feel like to be whole-heartedly joyful.

This Christianity thing just didn’t make sense to me, though. The words Patricia had reeled off during Bible Study, about sin and redemption and grace, were completely beyond me. Aunt Anne talked about finding joy in Jesus Christ—what did that mean? Sometimes it felt like these Christians spoke their own language that excluded everyone else.

For a moment, I felt just like I was back in high school, standing on the outskirts of every social event, watching the girls in their little cliques, wondering how on earth one managed to be part of their lives.

“You’re right,” I said. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this.”

Aunt Anne nodded calmly. “We can talk when you’re ready—if you are ever ready. If not, that’s fine too.”

Somehow, her tranquility irritated me even more. Why couldn’t she get upset at me for something? I had walked in and completely disrupted her life after three years of absence, refused to tell her why I even came, and then dismissed her beliefs without even giving them a chance. She should be mad at me.

It wasn’t fair. My life was falling apart, and she refused even to get annoyed.

“What is it with you Christians?” I asked, standing up abruptly. “You’re so cocooned in your own little world that you can’t even recognize outsiders’ issues. You’re all happy, secluded little people. You have no idea what real pain is! You don’t know what I’ve gone through.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” she suggested quietly.

I did. I told her all about Gabe and Alex, about how I loved the one and hurt the other, how I’d destroyed their friendship, and how the only way I could think to repair it was to wrench myself out of their lives entirely.

I went further yet. I told her how miserable I’d been since Dad died, how alone, and how Gabe had filled that void in my life, only to leave me worse off than before now that I’d had to let him go.

She didn’t say anything, so I told her how much it had always hurt me that my mother had left Dad and me, how I had grown up thinking that there was something terribly wrong with me that my own mother didn’t love me. I told her how I’d always blamed myself for ruining her and Dad’s marriage. They had stayed together before I was born, so the only reason for her to leave after was me.

I even told her how a part of me felt that it was only fair that I be alone after Dad’s death, that my pain was my punishment for chasing my mother away. Just as my pain now was only fair for coming between Gabe and Alex.

I talked and talked, telling her things I didn’t even know I felt or thought. The words spilled out of me, and still she sat there with that curiously placid face, her hands in their gardening gloves folded neatly in her lap.

“That’s my life,” I ended finally. “And then you people talk about ‘finding peace in Jesus,’ and him ‘dying so that we can live.’ How does that help me now? What does any of that even mean? Is it some kind of code, something that you only understand if you’ve gone to church your entire life? Do you just toss around stuff like that to make outsiders feel stupid? Do any of you even have a clue how rotten life really is for the rest of us?”

I ended my tirade and stared down angrily at her, my fists clenched. Her face never moved, but as she raised her eyes to my face, I saw the tears shimmering in them.

My fury died away into shame. Why had I said all of that? What had I done? My aunt was probably the one person left on the planet who loved me, and I had just taken out all my anger at everyone else on her.

Mixed with my shame was a selfish fear that now she would kick me out, and I would either have to go back and face Gabe and Alex, or find somewhere else to stay.

“I’m sorry,” I said miserably. “I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”

“No, that’s exactly what you should have done,” she said, shocking me into silence. “Shanny, how can I help you if I don’t know what’s wrong? And if anything I am doing or saying is causing you more pain, of course I need to know it.”

“You’re not angry at me?” I asked, unable to believe it.

She got up, carefully removed her gloves, and pulled me into a tight hug. “Of course not. You’re my family.” She gave me an extra squeeze. “We’re all the other has left now.”

“You’ve got your Bible Study kids,” I couldn’t help pointing out.

Aunt Anne shook her head. “They’re wonderful, dear children, and certainly like family. But you are the daughter of my dear John, my beloved Shanny. No matter what, you and I have a bond nothing can sever or replace.”

Peace washed over me. Nothing had changed—none of my problems were solved—but knowing that there was one person in the world who would love me regardless of anything I did or did not do had changed me.

“Aunt Anne,” I said hesitantly. “I think I’m ready to hear more about Jesus Christ, if you want to tell me.”

She smiled and blotted her eyes. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather talk to you about.” She took my arm and tugged me inside. “Let’s clean up and go out for some coffee or tea, and we can have a nice heart-to heart.”

“Wasn’t that what we just had?” I asked with a shamefaced laugh.

She laughed with me. “”Hopefully this one will involve less shouting,” she said playfully.

I hoped so, too.