Page 45 of A Hidden Hope

A different Wren Baker sat across from Dok than the one who had stormed out of this office just yesterday.

The rigid tension was gone, replaced by something quieter, almost humble.

Dok observed her closely, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and how she seemed smaller, as if the weight of her experience had physically diminished her.

Wren kept her gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet Dok’s eyes. “Is Clara going to be all right?”

“In time, I think,” Dok said. “She’s been diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I knew she was struggling, but I didn’t realize how bad it was. None of us did. She wouldn’t ask for help, wouldn’t accept it. But you saw how unstable she was, how disoriented.”

“Clara came in just two days ago. Annie was out on her lunch break, and I was the only one here. She asked to see you, but she didn’t have an appointment, and the afternoon was fully booked.

” Wren’s voice trembled. “And her babies were screaming...” She cupped her hands over her face, her voice breaking.

“I sent her away. I meant to tell you, I really did. But the day got so busy ... and I just forgot.”

Dok was hardly one to point a finger of blame.

She under stood. She’d done it herself. She’d meant to check up on Clara and hadn’t gotten to it.

And then she slipped through the cracks.

“Wren, this is what acute PPD looks like up close. It’s a very serious condition.

Very unstable. Very dangerous. You can understand now why women would seek help. ”

Wren nodded slowly. “I never realized ... I mean, I knew my grandmother struggled, but seeing Clara like that...” Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “So, I guess you’re trying to tell me that I shouldn’t join the lawsuit?”

Dok leaned forward, her gaze steady as she spoke.

“Honestly, I don’t really care. Whether you join the lawsuit or not—that’s entirely up to you.

What truly matters to me is that you start seeing your patients as whole people, not just a collection of symptoms. You have all the tools to be a good doctor, but to be a great one, you need to treat the person, not just the illness.

Your patients aren’t mere tasks on a to-do list. You need to be attentive to them as human beings. ”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Dok spoke again, her voice filled with quiet hope. “I’d like you to stay. Finish your residency.”

Wren looked up, her eyes filled with surprise. “You want me to stay?”

“Yes. I think you have enormous potential.”

Wren looked down at her hands in her lap.

She didn’t answer for a long moment. “I appreciate your confidence in me, especially after ... all that’s happened.

” She lifted her head. “But I can’t stay here.

I need more than a rural practice. I’m going to do research this year, then apply again for another residency. I’m sorry. I just ... I need more.”

So disappointing . Dok squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. “Wren, what made you decide to become a doctor?”

Wren shifted slightly in her chair. “Doctors get respect. People look at them like they’re ... gods. Especially surgeons— they literally hold someone’s life in their hands. I want that kind of respect.”

Oh, how badly Dok wanted to say, That is a terrible reason to be a doctor!

Where is your desire to serve others? To be an extension of God’s mercy to a broken world?

To have the skills to bring healing to those who are suffering , in pain or great need?

Because at its core , being a doctor—any kind of doctor—is about being a caregiver.

But instead, she tucked her hands under her legs, resisting the urge to lecture. “I have a hunch,” she said calmly, “there’s more to the story.”

Wren took her time answering, as if she wasn’t comfortable delving into personal territory.

“One day my mom went on a bender. As she passed out, she hit her head. The neighbor called the police, and they took us both to the ER. I saw how everyone treated the doctors—like they could fix anything. Make anything better. That’s when I knew. That’s what I wanted for myself.”

“How old were you?”

“I guess ... the first time, I was five years old.”

Oh, ouch. So young. “That must’ve been a frightening situation for you.”

Wren shrugged, almost dismissive. “Actually, it happened a lot with my mom.”

“Well, maybe you can use that experience to guide you.”

Wren squinted. “How so?”

“Each time you interact with a patient, remember how it felt to be that five-year-old girl.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To deepen your compassion for others.” Dok let that settle in.

Wren stood up, hesitating for a moment before extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything.”

Dok reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take care of yourself, Wren.”

With a final nod, Wren turned and walked out of the office. Dok jumped up and ran to meet her before she reached the front door.

“Wren! One more thing.”

Wren turned and waited.

“I want to leave you with some hard-earned advice. It took me years and years to get this right.”

“I’m listening.”

“Ambition can be a leaky bucket.”

Wren tipped her head. “What do you mean?”

“You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. Trying to prove myself to others. To myself.” Dok paused, gathering her thoughts.

Should she really say it? Why not? At this point, what was there to lose?

She thought of the verse from Acts: “Grant that your servants may speak your word with all confidence.”

So speak up , Ruth .

“I even had something to prove to God. I wonder if that’s at the heart of what you’re longing for—wanting others to respect you.

It took me a long time, way too long, to realize I didn’t need to prove my worth to anyone.

And definitely not to God. I was loved by him, just as I was.

Flaws, weaknesses, sins—my whole messy self.

And that belief, that foundation, changed everything.

It set the right things in motion instead of always trying to fix the damage from making the wrong choices. ”

She walked up to Wren and put her hands on her shoulders.

“Just think on that, Wren. I hope you can learn this truth a lot sooner than I did. You are deeply loved by God, just as you are.” She wrapped her arms around Wren and gave her the kind of hug she’d always longed for from her own mother.

When she released her, there was a shiny gleam in Wren’s eyes.

But she still left.

How did someone slip through the cracks?

Especially an Amish someone. David drove the buggy home from the Bent N’ Dent, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the fields.

The first hints of autumn were just beginning to touch the edges of the leaves, but summer still held its ground, with lush greenery all around. He hardly noticed.

As he guided the horse along the familiar path, the conversation he’d just had with his sister about Clara Zook, how she’d been struggling in silence, kept replaying in his mind.

For all the flaws of the Plain People, and there were many, he’d always thought they did community so well.

But, as Dok said, Clara had slipped through the cracks, and she felt as if she’d failed her.

Birdy had seen how Clara was struggling.

She’d asked David to speak to Jacob about it.

Had he? No. He meant to, but other things crowded out that intention.

He felt a sting of partial blame. Not the full blame, of course, but he had failed her too.

Still, why hadn’t Clara accepted help when offered? Didn’t she bear some responsibility?

Ten minutes ago, he had posed that question to Dok and could tell she was barely holding back an eye roll.

“David,” she had said in that older sister tone, “motherhood is revered among the Amish. It gives a woman purpose and identity. Status, even. How could someone like Clara Zook tell any Amish woman that she didn’t feel love for her babies?

That she could barely tolerate all the demands she was facing?

That her husband didn’t lift a finger to help her?

Of course she couldn’t ask for help. She’s been paralyzed in shame. ”

Shame. He’d been bumping into that a lot lately.

As a bishop, David was well aware of the undercurrents of struggle in his congregation.

There was one man he suspected had a drinking problem, another with a fierce temper that his family bore the brunt of.

And then there was the farmer who kept a stack of Playboy magazines hidden in his barn.

When the deacon confronted him, the man denied it flat-out—until his wife pointed out the hiding place herself.

Was that shame? Or pride? Probably both, David thought.

Shame mixed with pride was a dangerous combination. It was like a poison that seeped into the soul, keeping people trapped in their sins and secrets. David believed it was the Enemy’s work, to keep such things buried in the dark where they couldn’t be healed.

For people who eschew pride , he thought, we can sure be a prideful bunch .

He pulled gently on the reins, letting the horse slow to a steady pace.

Dok had bounced a new idea off him—she suggested the church create a support group for first-time mothers.

“We can’t let anyone slip through the cracks.

” She volunteered her garden-level office as a place to meet.

“And we need to find someone to lead it,” Dok said, “who’s got a knack for nurturing others. ”

David knew just the person. “Birdy! She’d be ideal.”

“Nope.” Dok had shaken her head firmly. “She’s the bishop’s wife. No one would say a word.”

That was true. David’s mantle of responsibility had a tendency to be a conversation killer.

Well, Birdy would know who to ask to lead it.