God's gift

Easter break

1. Easter Break

Easter break lasted but a week. With her newfound freedom – Matthew used to take a lot of her time – Frances enjoyed it thoroughly, playing tennis with her brothers, hiking in the backcountry and visiting her best friend in the city. Yet, her mind always returned to the little church where father Tristan was probably praying, or preaching, or tackling paper work.

The book he had offered her – Knowing God – always sat in her enormous handbag. She never dared opening it in public, what would her parents say? Her best friend, who jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend and smoked pot in soirées? Despite the secrecy, Frances devoured it with frightening concentration. Those words could have come out of his mouth.

Sometimes, she found it reductive, or plain naïve. But other chapters brought her such inspiration that is sometimes overwhelmed her senses. Out of the scientist, a spiritual woman was hatching. One that was more grounded in life. Joys, sorrows, gentleness overtook the sense of achievement and the need to compete. What was a career in front of the highest values of life?

Little by little, Frances dug deeper into Tristan's fundamentals; she couldn't wait to dissect the book in his company. What fantastic debates they would share, now that she knew a little theology. How many other books awaited her? Would he be amenable for her to borrow those she'd seen in his library? Perhaps not; she could always buy some.

This spiritual food filled her so much better than any class she'd ever taken ... astronomy aside. Days passed, and she read at night, so late that waking up in the morning became difficult. But she couldn't tear herself from those revelations. They hummed, in her body, like light from the almighty. Every day, a new piece of the puzzle uncovered. It became a great painting, like an impressionist, with paintbrush strokes that appeared as she understood the concepts.

Oh, she didn't agree with it all. She even had a few grievances. Especially about the idea that matter – earthbound needs – were too low to consider. Humans were animals, after all, even with the consciousness of God. A simple hug, a touch, a hand-held could convey much love without turning to lust. And father Tristan was rather fond of his food anyway ... so she knew he had taken some distance with the teachings.

It didn't matter much, for the strength of the material, the faith that resided within still resonated in her cells. She saw them in everything she did. God, first, and father Tristan. One messenger, the angel, a humble servant of the higher power. Was it wrong to count the days before they could discuss again? Now that her mind was free of Matthew, she realised that home didn't feel the same. Home ... might have shifted to another place altogether.

Frances fell asleep upon her book this very night, too engrossed to switch the light off.

All it took was a dream, to shatter it all.

The sound of boiling water echoed in the kitchen, lulling Frances out of her dreams. But she wasn't ready to awake yet, and slumbered for a moment more. Then another. Until probably thirty minutes had passed, and she kicked herself out of bed with a mighty yawn. The scent of her favourite tea – a girl's tea with wild strawberry that made her boyfriend laugh – reached her nose, and Frances slid into her pants and t-shirt to join him in the kitchen.

Bypassing the counter, she found him cooking on the stove. Strange, he seemed taller than she remembered, and his hair lighter than it used to be. Was she dreaming? When had she got back to her flat?

Frances couldn't see the saucepan; eggs, probably, if her nose wasn't mistaken. She didn't mind much that he would awaken before she did for his cooking was always welcome. Smiling groggily, the young woman approached her boyfriend to circle his waist with her arms. She locked her hands in front of his stomach, inhaling the perfect scent of him, melting upon his back with delight. At once, one of his hands came to rest upon hers.