Chapter
Eighteen

Uncle Jonathan summoned Christine to the phone. When she lifted the receiver to her ear and said hello, the first word she heard was, “Dinner?”

“Eric?”

“Actually, this is Bob.”

She recognized his voice. Had she thought more quickly—and dared—she could have responded, “Bob, I’ve been waiting for you to call. I’d love to.” Just to give him a bit of his own medicine. But Christine was not one for that kind of joking. She merely flushed and felt confused.

“It’s Eric,” he said in a more serious tone when she had no reply. “How about dinner?”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight—if possible. If not—at your earliest opportunity.”

“Not tonight. I have plans.”

“Tomorrow?”

She was tempted to tell him that tomorrow would not work either. In fact, she expected to be busy for the rest of her life. But she knew she had to explain to him in person that there was no hope for a relationship. She dreaded the thought. She’d rather just run away and never need to face him again. But that would be the coward’s way out.

“I . . . yes . . . I guess so. Tomorrow will work.”

He must have known from her voice that she was hesitant, but he did not make comment.

“May I pick you up at six?”

“Six will be fine.”

“Would you like fine dining—or something more relaxed and contemporary?”

“I . . . I really don’t know . . . about the contemporary, I mean. What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a new café on the south side where the younger crowd goes. It is quite casual.”

“That sounds fine.” She really didn’t wish to wear the same suit two dates in a row.

“Great. See you at six.”

Christine was troubled as she hung up the receiver. Was that really the way one was supposed to feel when accepting a date? She picked up her sweater and called to her aunt and uncle, “I won’t be late,” and left the house. The streetcar ride was not nearly long enough to quiet her jangled nerves. She entered Hope Canteen still feeling jittery. Jane, one of the other volunteers, was there to meet her. She seemed excited and grabbed Christine by both shoulders. “They’ve done it. They’ve done it,” she said.

Christine could not imagine what had been done.

Just then Paula raced up with a broad, happy smile. “Finally,” she said. “Finally it has happened. We’ll get some real direction here.”

Christine stepped back, disengaging Jane’s hands. “What are you two talking about?”

“They have hired a chaplain—finally,” Paula enthused.

It was good news. All the volunteers had been praying for a full-time chaplain to run the program. They felt that to really do an effective job of ministry, they needed leadership.

“Is it one of the pastors who has been volunteering?” asked Christine.

“No. No, this is someone entirely new.”

“When does he start?”

“He’s here—now. He’s already got a little office. He’s been talking to the volunteers. He says he wants to discuss things with each of us—just to get the feel of the place. You know. What’s been done. What we hope to see accomplished. How we view the ministry. All that.”

At last Christine smiled. It really was wonderful news. That was what they had been hoping for—praying for. A solid ministry—not just a coffee service.

“He’s talking with Tommy right now.”

Oh no. Not poor Tommy. Did Tommy even know what was going on? Surely this new chaplain would understand that Tommy really was an asset to the ministry. It was true he took occasional teasing from some of the young fellows, but once they got to know him, they seemed to accept him for who he was in spite of his handicaps.

“He wants to see you next.”

Suddenly Christine felt nervous butterflies winging to and fro in her stomach. She couldn’t have said why, but she felt even more uncertain than she had when she had gone for her job interview. She was to be next. What if this new chaplain decided she wasn’t a good fit for this work? What if he took them on a path they were not willing to follow? What if he was expecting to run a coffeehouse instead of a ministry of hope? Could she continue to offer her services where all that was handed out was comfort foods and idle chatter?

For the first time Christine realized just how at home she had become in this ministry. She still grieved that the world was at war, but it had been some time since she had struggled with whether she was one who should go overseas. Without her even realizing that it had happened, God had put her mind at peace. For the moment, she was right where she should be. She was serving just as she should serve. This was a wondrous revelation, one that brought a surge of joy to her heart. She should, all along, have trusted Him to lead her. She had prayed for His direction, hadn’t she? Then why should she be surprised that He had led? “Not all of God’s leading comes with detailed instructions or great fanfare,” she remembered hearing a pastor once say. “Sometimes it is that still, small voice. And perhaps—just perhaps, we are not even aware of the voice. Just the sense of peace.”

And that was exactly what had happened to Christine. That beautiful sense of God’s peace. God’s presence. God’s acceptance of where she was at in her life and what she was doing. “The absence of an inner conflict is one of life’s richest blessings,” the pastor also had said. “And it comes only from the hand of God.”

That was it. She could trust Him. She could. As long as she honestly sought to walk in His paths—she could trust Him.

So why am I fretting now about this new chaplain? she asked herself. Isn’t God in charge here too?

Christine took a deep breath and moved forward to take up her evening responsibilities and maybe even bring some encouragement, new faith, to someone in the crowded room. As usual, she breathed a prayer, “Lord, lead me tonight to someone who has a heart open to you. When I make that connection, give me the right words to speak. May I speak with wisdom and love. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

She had just carried a tray of coffee to a group of noisy young men when Jane ran up to her. “It’s your turn. He wants to see you now. He’s in the room we used to use for storage.”

Christine ignored those butterflies trying to get their wings in motion and walked toward the former storage room. It wouldn’t make much of an office.

The door was closed. She rapped and heard a man’s voice bid her enter. He had a journal of some sort spread out before him, and he was busily writing in it. At the sound of her step, he lifted his head, then lowered it again to check his notes. “Miss Delaney, I believe.”

She nodded. He was awfully young. Much too young to give proper leadership to such an important ministry. They had hoped for someone experienced. Someone solid. Older.

She swallowed and nodded her head again.

He smiled, stood, and extended his hand. “I’m Tim—Timothy Marcus,” he said.

She was surprised at his firm handshake and open manner. She could feel calluses in the palm of his hand. Straight off the farm was her unexpected thought. She wasn’t ready to say if that was good or bad. Would he be able to build rapport with all these young people? Then she remembered that many of them were straight off the farm too.

“Won’t you take a seat,” he invited, and Christine sat down.

She hardly recognized the former storage room. It had a fresh coat of light paint, making it look larger, more inviting. She could see that the desk was well used, but it too was freshly painted. A small chest with four drawers served as a filing cabinet, and the three chairs in the room were unmatched but looked serviceable. He even had a picture on the wall, of Jesus walking on the water. The caption read, “He can calm any storm if you’ll let Him in your boat.”

Christine clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“I just had the most delightful conversation,” he said, a smile playing about his mouth. “Thomas. Tommy, he prefers. You’ve worked with him.”

Christine nodded.

“Such a wonderful young man. So open—so honest with God. So eager to share his faith. He was a . . . an . . . actually, I felt like God sent him to me to verify that this is where I am meant to be.”

Christine could only stare.

“He has such . . . such simple . . . passion. I pray that God might make me more like him.”

More like Tommy? Some segments of society labeled Tommy a retard. Crazy. A dolt or a fool. To be more like him seemed an unusual prayer. Christine now watched the young chaplain with new interest.

He turned back to the pages before him. “You’ve been here some time now.”

Christine nodded. He leaned back in his chair, toying with the pencil he held in his broad hands. “Consistency is good for any ministry,” he noted.

It was much more like a warm, informal visit than an interview. Christine was surprised at how quickly she was able to relax and share her heart. This young man really was there to serve, and he intended to do so with his whole being. With all the resources available. Young men and women were going off to war. They needed the assurance that God was with them. That they had made peace with their Maker through the sacrifice of His Son, the Savior. It was a matter of spiritual life and death.

Christine could not believe how long they talked. They shared many of the same thoughts and feelings. The same dreams and goals. The same sense of commitment. By the time she left the little office, she felt that surely God was going to raise the ministry of Hope Canteen to a new level.

“So what do you think of him?” Jane was quick to ask when Christine took her place back in the kitchenette.

Christine felt flushed with inner joy. “I think he’ll do fine. His heart certainly—”

“A dreamboat like that and you’re thinking of his heart?” Paula cut in with a giggle.

Christine turned and stared. What in the world was Paula talking about? She hadn’t even noticed if he was good-looking. What difference did that make? The important thing was whether or not he would throw himself into the work of Hope Canteen as an important ministry. His looks had little—nothing, actually—to do with it. She picked up the soda glasses she had just filled and took them out to the tables.

Christine was not looking forward to her next date with Eric. There was no way they had anything in common. There was no hope for any future relationship to develop—so why was she even going through the motions? It was ridiculous.

But she had made a commitment to herself to let him know this in person. She would see it through.

He arrived right on time at six. He was dressed in slacks and a casual shirt opened at the neck and sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He looked even more handsome than he had in his expensive-looking suit.

“Bob—at your service,” he kidded when she opened the door. Then he openly appraised her full skirt and pink sweater and nodded. “You look great.”

She did mumble a courtesy thank-you.

“I hope you like this place,” he said as the car moved away from the curb. “It’s a bit noisy at times. A lot of young servicemen go there. So, as you might well imagine, there’s quite a collection of the young ladies from town as well.”

Christine raised an eyebrow. She did hope this was not one of those offensive downtown pubs catering to all kinds of raucous and offensive behavior.

“They have good food—and after we’ve eaten, if we find it’s too noisy for decent conversation, we can go somewhere else.”

How long a date is this to be? wondered Christine. You told me dinner. But she said nothing. She would work her way through the evening, and if she felt uncomfortable she would ask to be taken home.

The place was already filled with a young crowd. It was noisy; there was no arguing that. In fact, the entire feel was one of high energy. But it all looked like wholesome high spirits, and Christine did not feel at all uncomfortable, but rather invigorated. Eric found a table off in the corner where they could converse comfortably in spite of the hearty laughter and swirl of activity around them.

The food was indeed delicious. Christine soon found herself enjoying the evening in spite of her misgivings.

After they had eaten, Eric suggested they go for a drive along the river. They just drove and talked, enjoying the scenery and the warm breeze through the open car windows. He made no effort to park someplace along their route, and Christine appreciated the fact. It wasn’t late when they arrived back at the house.

“I’m going to be on call for a series of nights now,” he explained as they pulled up in front. “But I do want to see you again—soon. How about Sunday?”

Christine had failed to give her prepared speech. Now she chastised herself at the same time she found herself nodding in agreement.

“It will have to be rather early,” he told her. “Morning service and a quick lunch. I need to be on the ward by two.”

Christine nodded again.

“Tell you what. I’ll take you to your church this time. But you must agree to come with me to mine next time. I want to show you off.”

That didn’t seem like the best reason to attend church, but Christine again nodded.

“If it’s a Sunday when I have the day off, I’ll have Mother invite you for dinner,” he went on, and now Christine felt her stomach tighten. What could she say? She had already agreed, in a way.

He walked her to the door with further details about picking her up for church Sunday morning. When Christine entered the front hall, she bypassed the living room where she could hear voices. When there was a brief lull she called out, “I’m home,” then went immediately up to her room.

Why did she feel so agitated? They’d had a delightful evening. He had been an enjoyable and thoughtful companion. She had seen admiring and envious glances of other young women. But the fact that he came from a well-to-do family hadn’t made him a snob. Just because her uncle Jon and aunt Mary had money didn’t mean they felt superior to others. She had been passing unfair judgment on his parents without even having met them. It wasn’t right.

So why was she so uncomfortable? Was it because of Boyd? Had she been so hurt by her mistake of the past that she was afraid to commit herself again? But that wasn’t right either. Nor was it fair to Eric. She must be able to accept him for who he was.

Christine prepared for bed, still wrestling with her conflicting emotions. Okay, she finally told herself. I am wrong to prejudge—that I know. I am also wrong to refuse to give this new relationship a chance. I would be equally wrong to throw myself into something without careful thought and prayer. I need to take this . . . this friendship one cautious step at a time, allowing God to lead me. Just as He has given me peace about working at Hope Canteen, so I believe He can give me peace over this part of my life.

She felt much better as she picked up her Bible for her evening reading. It fell open to Proverbs as she spread it in her hands, and words she had underlined and promised to live by drew her attention. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Yes, Lord, she whispered. I will trust you with this. I have no idea what and how you might bring the right thing to pass, but it will be rather exciting to walk with you to find out.

She felt much quieter and more confident as she later knelt in prayer.

Sunday, she thought as she began undressing for bed. Sunday Eric was to visit her church. He would probably talk with her aunt and uncle. Perhaps Aunt Mary would even invite him for dinner—if there was time. She trusted their judgment. How they responded to Eric would surely give her some kind of direction as to how she should proceed. That thought put Christine’s mind further at ease. She was not in this totally alone. She had other heads and hearts to guide her.

And she would meet his folks, if that was what he wanted. She would try to have an open mind. Perhaps they were decent, God-fearing people with as much desire to follow the Lord’s leading as she herself. They, too, could act as guide to the relationship Eric seemingly wished to establish. She would seek to be sensitive to them as well.

Oh, I wish Mom and Dad were here, she found herself thinking as she climbed into bed. Choosing a life’s partner was a serious matter, and though she knew that ultimately she would be the one who needed to make the final choice, she still felt thankful that she would not need to rely on her own conclusions. God had placed many people in her life who could act as signposts as to what path she should take.

Feeling much more at ease, Christine prepared for sleep, which she did hope would come quickly. Tomorrow would be another busy day, and she fully intended to once again spend the evening at Hope Canteen. A young woman she had spoken to on her last night there seemed very open to the good news of the gospel. Christine’s last thoughts were whispered prayers that the girl might return with a readiness to make a commitment. “God, you know all about Krista. Bring her back to us. Bring her to you.”