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    The Scars You Left
    The Scars You Left
    The Scars You Left
    Ebook163 pages2 hours

    The Scars You Left

    By Michael White

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    About this ebook

    I have not trusted in God since my mother passed. I have not believed in miracles or blessings. I know God exists, but I've learned God does not care. I believe in Tim. Maybe he can help".-Tiffany Hill faith

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael D White
    Release dateJun 27, 2022
    ISBN9798201110833
    The Scars You Left
    Author

    Michael White

    Fr. Michael White is a priest of the Archdiocese of Baltimore, pastor of Church of the Nativity in Timonium, Maryland, and cofounder of Rebuilt—an organization designed to rebuild parishes for growth and health. White is the coauthor of the best-selling  book Rebuilt—which narrates the story of Nativity’s rebirth—Tools for Rebuilding, Rebuilding Your Message, The Rebuilt Field Guide, and ChurchMoney. He is also coauthor of Seriously, God?; Rebuilt Faith; and the best-selling Messages series for Advent and Lent. During White’s tenure as pastor at Church of the Nativity, the church has almost tripled in weekend attendance. More importantly, commitment to the mission of the Church has grown, demonstrated by the significant increase in giving, service in ministry, and much evidence of genuine spiritual renewal. White earned his bachelor’s degree from Loyola University Maryland and his graduate degrees in sacred theology and ecclesiology from the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome. In 2023, White and his lay associate, Tom Corcoran, were honored by Pope Francis with the Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice Award for outstanding service to Church and Pope.

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    • 5/5
      I had an alright relationship with God but reading this book made everything make sence

    Book preview

    The Scars You Left - Michael White

    Dedication

    This book is in honor of all the ones that supported me throughout this amazing journey. Thanks for your friendship Justin, Sean, Tommy, James, Nancy, Hank Maly, Ray, Elijah Clay,

    Faith heals all things believeth all things endures all things

    Prologue

    Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see

    One Year Ago

    The glass doors slid open, and I walked through them. The sickly clean smell of disinfectant hit my nose right away, just like all hospitals. The only difference is that I am not at a hospital; this is a hospice.

    I walked by the reception desk, returning the wave offered by the lady in the desk. Margaret, I believe, is her name. I continued straight down the hall along the too familiar path that I have taken too many times. I approached the brown wooden door and knocked. There was no answer so I slowly crept the door open.

    It was a bland, cream-colored room with little decorations, besides white lace curtains and one lonely rose painting hanging across from the white bed. Next to the bed was a worn armchair and a small wooden table with a phone.

    There, wrapped in a quilt, lay my mother. She has a very serious case of lung cancer, and we only found out at stage 3. Now, the cancer had spread all around her body. It had gotten into her brain and reached all the other important organs. I hoped her medications would start to work; otherwise she doesn't have long.

    My mother lay motionless on the bed, except for the steady up and down of her breathing chest. I felt tears spark in my eyes and I blinked the feeling away. I sat down in the chair next to her bed and started to do what she always taught me: pray.

    Heavenly Father, I will forever be blessed with the life you have given me but my mom needs that life more. Please help her recover so she has a chance to live. I need her! She is my life! Oh Father I'm not ready for her to go yet and I pray it isn't her time. Please give me and my family comfort in her recovery, guidance for this journey, and peace for whatever may happen. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

    I opened my eyes and gazed in silence at my mother. Shortly after, I watched her hand move slightly and she blinked open her eyes.

    Mom! I said with a smile.

    Her eyes, usually full of sparkle, looked over at me. Tiffany Faith, my lovely daughter. I love hearing you pray like that, and it brings me so much comfort.

    My smile grew when I heard my middle name. The name passed on through many generations. I grabbed my mother's pale, soft hand and said, I love you.

    I love you too, Tiffany. Always remember that, she said in a hushed voice. Can you please promise me something?

    My smile faltered, Mom what-

    Please keep your faith in our Father. It will be hard, and I know you will be mad at Him. But you can't have that attitude. Don't lose faith in Him, baby.

    I squeezed my mom's hand tighter. Mom, what are you saying? You have so long to live. You have to be stronger than that. I need you.

    Goodbye baby. I can see my Father now and it is my time. I love you Tiffany Faith Hill. Please. Please pray with me.

    We wrapped our hands around each other. My mom took a shaky breath and started her prayer. I began to sob as I listened to her soft voice for what will be the last time. My Father, she said, I know it is time for me to join Your kingdom. I am ready. But my daughter is not, and I pray You help her through this.

    She coughed, once, and then continued. Keep her close and don't let her slip away from You, please. I don't want her to lose You, Father, because You will keep her on the right path. I would like You to give her strength to get through this, and love to have forever. In Your name I pray, Amen.

    One lone tear trickled down her cheek as she raised my hands to her lips. She kissed it once, coughed, and took a deep breath.

    I lay my head down on her quilt and sobbed as my mother took her last breath.

    And ever since that day, I have never prayed to God again.

    A Novel

    THE SCARS YOU

    LEFT

    Chapter 1

    Mark 6:6 (NIV)—And he was amazed at their lack of faith.

    I should have gotten out of bed like any other day. I should have pushed back the covers and got up and stretched like nothing was wrong. But that would be only acting. Everything has gone wrong since cancer took away my mom.

    I grabbed my sweatshirt that hung on my bedpost and slipped it on over my head. As I opened my door, I could hear muffled sobs from the room across the hallway. It was my dad. He sniffed and started talking.

    Dear Father, please help me get through today. And please help Tiffany stay strong even though she doesn't ask for your help. Please- I slipped away before I could hear more. I don't understand Dad's commitment to God. He refused to help me when I needed it, so why would He help me now?

    I walked straight into the kitchen, stomach grumbling, and approached the fridge. The calendar was hanging on the fridge door. I avoided taking a glance at the sheet of paper, as if ignoring the date will make the day go away. March 15th. A date engraved in my mind for a whole year: the day Mom died.

    I rested my forehead against the cool metal of the fridge and thought, Mom, I miss you. I wish you were here. I need you so much. I love you too; don't forget it. I brushed away my tears when I heard footsteps approaching.

    I turned to see my dad in his robe, t-shirt, and sweats, his unbrushed brown hair sticking out haphazardly. Tiffany, he said with a raspy voice. If you don't want to go to school today I understand.

    I shook my head. Put on a brave voice. Don't let him see you hurting. Dad, I'm fine. I don't need to miss school, and my friends will help cheer me up. I grabbed a banana from the counter and moved to brush by, but Dad grabbed my arm.

    You'll visit her, right?

    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. What kind of question was that? Of course I would. Yes, Dad.

    Tiffany, do you think you could at least pray at her grave? For your mother. I know I can't force you, but -

    Cutting him off, I shook my head and continued upstairs. I didn't want to see my dad's hurt face.

    In my room, I pulled a pair of skinny jeans from my closet. Months later and it still felt more comfortable to wear my choice of clothes, as opposed to a stuffy school uniform. I'm glad I transferred from the private school after my mom passed away.

    I captured my black hair into a low side ponytail. In my mirror, I grimaced at the sight of my roots growing in. Re-dying my hair is bothersome, but I don't think I can look in the mirror at the blonde hair so similar to Mom's.

    I finished my banana, grabbed my bag and books, and dashed downstairs. I flew out the door before Dad stopped me and started my walk to school. My car is in the shop for oil change, and I haven't gotten around to picking it up. I passed by my dad's preacher as he was jogging past. I hope to see you again soon, Tiffany. May our Father be with you on this hard day.

    I kept my eyes forward and didn't react to the preacher. Instead, I crossed my arms over my torso, shielding my body from the early spring chills. I continued my walk to school - luckily interruption-free. At the school entrance, Peter was in the process of walking into the school, until she looked over her shoulder. Enthusiastically, she waved for my attention, and I smiled at her. When we approached each other, Peter engulfed me in a huge hug.

    How was your dad today? she asked. What did he say to you? Did you say anything to him?

    I shrugged in response, not answering her questions. Peter was my only close friend as of lately. We had been childhood friends and, when I pushed everyone else away, she never left my side, no matter how difficult.

    Peter picked up her pom-pom set from the ground and shook them in my face. Hurry to class, you pessimist. Remember, I'm here as an ear, shoulder, or entertainer.

    I smiled at Peter and her never-ending peppy attitude. Her infectious smile lit up my world whenever I felt down. We may wear similar clothing and listen to the Time music, but her outlook on the world greatly contradicts mine.

    Together, we walked into the school building. I turned Peter out as she talked about pointless drama like who broke up and who got together. We reached our lockers before she realized I hadn't listened to a word she'd said. Tiffany! she yelled as she poked me. Did you hear any of that?

    Nope! I popped my lips. Did I need to?

    Peter rolled her eyes. I was telling you we have a new student here!

    Peter, I could care less.

    But I've heard he is hot, she cooed, failing to tempt me. I shook my head and left her behind as I walked to my first period class.

    After school, I walked out of the building alone. Peter had cheer practice. Instead of going home, I went the opposite way towards the cemetery. I was tempted to jog there and arrive quicker. I was tired of the looks of pity and May God be with you.

    I've never realized how religious my small-town community is until I couldn't stand to listen. If only my neighbors could realize that He wasn't there for me then and He won't be here for me now.

    I found a rock to kick and entertain myself as I walked down the sidewalk. I became invested in the stupid rock that I didn't notice the truck pull up beside me. I looked up, surprised, to see a young male's eyes on me.

    He had close cut sandy hair and deep, mesmerizing gray eyes. We stared at each other for a while

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