Chapter 10 - WHAT NOAH THOUGHT HIS MOTHER MEANTRachel found Noah's old glasses in the second drawer of his dresser.
She held them up when he came into the room.
“Remember these?”
Noah groaned.
“I looked weird.”
“You looked adorable.”
“I looked like Grandpa.”
“Grandpa is handsome.”
“He's seventy-two.”
Rachel laughed.
Noah took the glasses.
The lenses looked thicker than he remembered.
He put them on and immediately pulled them off.
“Whoa.”
“Your prescription changed.”
“Good.”
Rachel sat on the bed.
“Can we talk?”
Noah's expression became suspicious.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Why does everyone assume that?”
“You say ‘can we talk’ when I'm in trouble.”
“Fine. Can we not talk?”
Noah smiled and sat beside her.
Rachel held the glasses between them.
“When your eyes were getting better, what did you think was happening?”
Noah shrugged.
“Doctors.”
“And?”
“Prayer.”
“And?”
He thought.
“God.”
“Did you think God helped you because we're Southern Baptist?”
Noah hesitated.
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because we prayed at our church.”
“Catholics pray at their churches.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you think our way of praying worked better?”
Another hesitation.
“Maybe.”
Rachel felt a small sting.
Not disappointment in Noah.
Recognition.
She had heard adults speak that way.
She had probably spoken that way without realizing it.
Not crude claims.
Small comments.
Our church teaches the Bible.
We don't do all those extra things.
This is the way I believe Scripture means it.
Children didn't need explicit insults to detect hierarchy.
They listened to tone.
“What does Southern Baptist mean to you?” Rachel asked.
Noah thought.
“We believe the Bible.”
“So do many other Christians.”
“I know.”
“We pray.”
“So do others.”
“I know.”
“We sing louder.”
Rachel laughed.
“That might actually be true.”
Noah smiled.
Then she became serious.
“I want you to love your church.”
“I do.”
“I want you to know what we believe.”
“Okay.”
“But I don't want you using what happened to your eyes as proof that God likes us more.”
Noah's expression changed.
“I don't think He likes us more.”
“Good.”
“Does He like everybody the same?”
Rachel paused.
“I believe every person matters to God.”
“Even people who don't believe?”
“Yes.”
“Even people in other religions?”
“Yes.”
“Even bad people?”
Rachel stared at him.
“You really don't stop.”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
He looked down.
“What if I believe something Clara doesn't?”
“You probably will.”
“Can we still be friends?”
“Yes.”
“What if one of us is wrong?”
Rachel smiled faintly.
“You've been friends with kids who were wrong before.”
“Like Ethan thinking the Titans were winning the Super Bowl.”
“Exactly.”
Noah laughed.
“That's different.”
“It is.”
She put the glasses on the nightstand.
“Some disagreements are much more important than football.”
“Most things are.”
“Don't tell your father.”
They sat quietly.
Then Noah asked:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“When you said God heard us, did you know my eyes would get better?”
“No.”
“Were you scared they wouldn't?”
Rachel looked at her son.
Very few things from that year remained as vivid as the fear.
“Yes.”
“Did you still pray?”
“Every day.”
“What would've happened if they didn't get better?”
The question made her throat tighten.
“I would've still loved you.”
“I know.”
“And I would've still trusted the doctors to help us make the best decisions we could.”
“What about God?”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“I hope I would've kept believing.”
“Hope?”
“Yes.”
“You don't know?”
“Noah, there are things I know about myself and things I hope about myself.”
He considered it.
“So grown-ups don't know how they'll act until bad stuff happens?”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“That sounds normal.”
Rachel smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
At dinner that evening, Noah told his father, Mark, that he wanted Clara to visit their church.
Mark looked at Rachel.
Rachel said nothing.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“So she can see it.”
“See what?”
“Our church.”
“Are you trying to make her Baptist?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“I just want her to see it.”
Mark nodded slowly.
“What if she invites you to Mass?”
Noah shrugged.
“I can see hers too.”
Rachel watched her husband.
Mark had grown up in a family where Catholicism was viewed with suspicion.
He was kind, but old assumptions sometimes survived inside good people.
His expression revealed the conflict.
Before he answered, Rachel said:
“I think that's fair.”
Mark looked at her.
Then at Noah.
“Talk to Clara's parents first.”
Noah grinned.
“Okay.”
After Noah left, Mark said:
“You're comfortable with that?”
“With him visiting a Catholic church?”
“Yes.”
Rachel leaned back.
“No.”
Mark looked surprised.
“Then why did you agree?”
“Because being uncomfortable isn't the same as something being wrong.”
Mark said nothing.
Rachel realized she'd said the sentence for herself as much as for him.
The next Sunday, Noah asked Clara.
She immediately said yes.
Then added:
“But only if you come to Mass too.”
Noah held out his hand.
“Deal.”
May you like
Two pews behind them, four parents overheard.
And suddenly a children's agreement had created an adult problem.
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