It was dark when Robbie reached the mission compound. His clothing was wet through from the rain that had steadily increased as he had descended from his pensive hilltop perch.
Passing the camphor tree, his eyes fell on the old, beat-up stump where he had worked so many days cutting shingles for the missing roofs. He hadn’t finished the job; he was sure Hsi-chen was already placing pails in key positions around the residence to catch the drips.
Nor would he finish it. How could he now? He was incapacitated. He might be able to wield a hammer, but who would hold the nail? How would he climb up the ladder? How would he be able to cut more shingles? The nagging practical questions brought on by life with only one hand only heightened what he had known all along: he wasn’t a complete man now! He had lost that most visible symbol of manhood—his capacity to do things for himself!
Robbie stopped. Someone had left the hammer out. He stooped to pick it up. After a moment he hefted it in his hand, then brought it down with a great dull thud against the stump.
He threw his face up into the black sky and let the rain wash over it, unable even to say the words that always led the torrent of questions: Why did it happen to me?
He did not say it, perhaps because he was finally beginning to realize the bitter answer: because he would not have listened in any other way. The Voice from heaven had been calling a long time, but he had closed his ears. He had refused, pretending such voices were only for other people. But the Heart behind the Voice was not one to give up so easily. Wallace had told him that God loved Robbie too much to let him escape. He loved Robbie so much He allowed this in order to get Robbie’s attention, to get him to look up, to get him to the place where he was able to accept that love. Ha! Robbie had thought. He took my hand because He loves me! That has got to be a divine joke of cruel magnitude!
Perhaps Wallace had been right. Was it possible—incredible though such a notion would have been to the old, happy-go-lucky, independent Robbie Taggart. Incredible . . . but just possibly true. Could God love him that much? So much that no price was too small, that any sacrifice—even his hand—was worth waking Robbie up to that love?
Maybe it wasn’t so much of a sacrifice, really. God had—so the story goes—lost a Son, given His Son, because His love was so great. Jesus had laid down, not a hand, not an arm, not a piece of himself, but His very life! He had died a cruel and unjust death because of that Love. He had willingly sacrificed himself to make that love come alive in the hearts of men.
Maybe the loss of an arm wasn’t so great—if it did indeed awaken that love within him.
He knew what Wallace would say. “One day, Robert, you’re going to give God thanks for allowing this to happen. Whenever you think of it you’re going to praise Him, because that’s how He showed you the depths of His love. That’s how He made real to you just how great was Jesus’ love.”
Would that day ever come when he would count it a privilege to share in a tiny way in the sufferings of Jesus—for the sake of being opened more fully to His Father’s great love.
Slowly he walked to his room adjacent to the hospital, and clumsily changing his wet clothes, he lay down on his bed. He knew he had missed the dinner hour. He had intentionally done so. During that afternoon he had begun to feel so close, so on the verge . . . of something, of a breakthrough, that he feared the distractions of people and food and talk might push it out of his reach. He stretched himself out, wishing he could sleep, but doubting he would. He lay for many hours, turning many things over and over in his mind, before finally dozing off a few hours before dawn.
When he awoke it was still raining. Robbie remained in his room reading the New Testament Hsi-chen had given him. During the days of his recuperation from his near-fatal wound, he had spent most of his time studying that little book and had read it completely through twice, though so much still remained a mystery to him.
Occasionally he had asked questions of the mission folk. But during his recovery Robbie had been unusually taciturn, withdrawn, speaking little despite the frequent visits from everyone. And still he felt more comfortable alone, wandering over the fields and hills when the weather permitted, or keeping to his room. The others seemed to respect this need for solitude and had made few demands on him.
The light knock he now heard on his door was a rare intrusion. He closed his book, rose from the bed, and opened it. There stood Wallace.
“We missed you last night—and this morning,” he said simply. “I was concerned.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are still recovering from a serious drain to your system. As your doctor, I need to make sure you get adequate nourishment.”
“I just haven’t felt very social.”
“I understand. Solitude is sometimes as healing as a meal.” Robbie knew Wallace did understand. It was clear from his tone, and in the depth of his eyes. Robbie had come to see the doctor in a new light. For the first time he was able to see through what he had taken for surface harshness, into the spirit of the man. “Please,” continued the missionary, “may I conduct a brief examination—as a precaution?”
Robbie nodded in reply and sat on the edge of the bed. Wallace opened a leather bag and withdrew a thermometer and stethoscope. He pressed the stethoscope against his patient’s chest and listened for several moments while he placed the thermometer in his mouth.
Several moments of necessary silence passed; then Wallace removed the thermometer and peered at it.
“Well, everything seems in order,” he said. “I’ll have to redress the bandage on your arm, probably tomorrow.”
Robbie nodded. It was the most distasteful part of his recovery.
Wallace packed up his instruments, but before leaving laid a fatherly hand on Robbie’s shoulder.
“All of us here at the mission will respect your desire for solitude,” he said. “But I want you to know that when the time for solitary musings comes to an end, my heart and my ears are open to you. A man often needs to verbalize his feelings to another man. The Word of God says, ‘Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.’ Christ himself often sought out solitary places, yet the core of His ministry remained with people. This is a lengthy way of saying that you must not shun completely the fellowship of your companions here at the mission. You need not feel constrained to come to me—Thomas, or my daughter, or any of the others will happily receive you as well.”
“I’ll remember that. I appreciate it Doctor.”
It rained persistently all that day and into the evening. By the following morning the clouds had begun to break up and the storm had degenerated into a damp, dank heat. The moment the hot, misting rain ceased that afternoon Robbie was back out-of-doors. Though he did so by choice, he was not essentially cut out for musing alone in a tiny room for days on end. The wind, the sky, the trees, the hills, the air, the smells of the fields—all called to his spirit, saying, “Come to me, let me teach you and heal you and refresh your spirit!”
He breathed in a deep draught of the stifling afternoon air, and it tingled through his body. It made him feel richly alive. He looked up to see Hsi-chen approaching him with a small tray of food.
How he wanted to talk to her—really talk, as they used to. She had been most respectful of his solitude. She had been shy and reticent around him, and at first he had imagined the cause to be his lost hand. He feared that he repelled her. But now he realized that such could never be the case with Hsi-chen. Instead it had been he who had backed off in their relationship, and she was merely waiting, biding her time until he was again able to open up to her.
The very moment Robbie had dashed off to rescue her from Wang, he knew it was more than friendship that had spurred on his irrational attempt. He loved her. He knew that now. Though the very words ached within him, they were true. But he could not face such emotions at present. Perhaps when everything else was resolved . . .
It took every bit of power within him to exercise restraint on this present occasion, to smile in that friendly but detached manner, to exchange those few meaningless words of gratitude. How he wanted to pour out his heart to her, to give his heart to her, to take her in his arms and hold her. Yet that unguarded thought caused him to cast an involuntary glance at his empty cuff, and suddenly all he wanted to do was get away.
He took the tray back into his room after their brief meeting, though her sweet presence still lingered with him.
He could not eat now. Once he had given her time to return to the residence, he again exited the hospital building, this time walking toward the village. He reached the bridge of the Chai-chiang when he saw Wallace returning from talking to a shopkeeper. Instinctively, Robbie’s initial reaction was to turn on his heels and head back in the other direction.
Suddenly Wallace’s words of the previous morning came back to him. The pounding of his heart told him that perhaps he was running from people now, not merely seeking helpful solitude. Maybe the moment had come. Maybe it was now time to look beyond himself for a resolution. And if that were so, Robbie knew it was to Wallace he must go, because it was Wallace all along whom he had most feared. In a symbolic sense, this is where it began, and perhaps it might now end with the missionary as well.
So Robbie walked deliberately forward. The doctor smiled in greeting, seeming to know the younger man’s thoughts without anything needing to be said. On the village side of the river they met. Wallace threw a strong, gentle arm around Robbie’s shoulder, and they headed slowly upstream along a secluded path that skirted the edge of the village.
When they returned an hour later, the doctor’s face was alive with the glow of love. For Isaiah Wallace’s intensity was not limited to preaching or service or exhortation, but it also extended to the greatest gift of all. Robbie’s face was serious with determination and purpose and apparent decision. His talk with Wallace was one he would never forget, and now he knew what he must do.
When they parted, it was with a firm handshake and a penetrating look each into the other man’s eyes. At last they each understood one another fully. It was a bond that would never be broken.
Wallace crossed the bridge back to the compound. Robbie turned in the opposite direction and again sought the hillside. It was a lonely spot, rarely visited by the villagers and well away from any traveled thoroughfares, and in a short time had come to symbolize for Robbie the solitude of his soul. Solitude, yes. But perhaps even more, it was coming to stand for a decision he was about to make. Upward he trudged, with a strong and purposeful step, like the old Robbie might have used. But this was not the old Robbie. This was a Robbie Taggart on the verge of becoming a new man. And with that change all things would indeed be made new.
Today the sky held no ominous portents. It was a clear slate today, a haze of blue and white, tinged all over with pink. By coincidence it was nearly the same time of day as it had been two days ago, and the farmers were packing away their tools into their carts; some were already trudging along the paths toward the village, others led an ox or a cow.
For the first time in weeks, Robbie felt at peace. His peace stemmed from the fact that he now knew what had to be done. Moreover, he was resolved to do it. He was eager to do it, as he had never been before. Yet there remained a fear mingled with his anticipation.
“Perfect love casts out all fear . . .”
The words echoed in his mind, and at last he knew what they meant. There was no need to fear a God who had laid down His own life for man. It went even beyond that. For what God had done through Jesus He had done just for him—for Robbie Taggart. Not only for heroic, manly, exuberant, strong Robbie, but also the helpless, empty, confused, maimed and sometimes embittered person he had recently become. At last he knew that God looked only upon a man’s heart, and had sacrificed the life of His Son Jesus to clean the stains that were there—in the heart! That’s where manhood existed, where all true personhood began—in a heart made one with its Creator! It was there, in his heart, that Robbie could now enter into lasting fellowship with this God of love, and thus become, for the first time, truly a man.
Robbie had reached the top of the hill now, and stopped. Tears crept into his eyes. For the first time since he was a young boy, he did not try to check them or hurriedly dash them away. Today he let the tears flow, for they were the cleansing tears of a broken and contrite and humble heart. Feeling the hot drops running down his cheek was a feeling he could not remember ever having before. For the first time, he took them, not as a sign of his weakness, but of his dawning manhood in God. How could Jesus, he wondered, in the garden of Gethsemane, have wept tears of blood? How could any but the strongest of men have been moved to such depth?
“God,” he thought to himself, “make me a man in the image of your Son. And give me the strength to do what I know I must do.”
For though Robbie’s were tears of joy and release, there was also pain in them. For still he had to make a sacrifice of his own. All that he had always thought important he now had to lay at Christ’s feet.
Robbie sighed deeply. Why should it be so hard to do? Jesus had given up everything for him. He had only crumbs to offer in return. Yet it took an agony of will to yield even that small crumb, because it meant to relinquish all he was as a person. And if the promise was that he would receive an even greater personhood in return, it was not something his present vision could see clearly. It was something he had to trust God for in faith, risking humiliation before himself and others. And that was not an easy thing for any man.
Quietly Robbie sank to his knees on the wet earth. He covered his face with his hand. Tears continued to run between his fingers.
“God,” he whispered, trembling as he spoke the words aloud. For a moment he could not go on, then at last in a hoarse whisper continued, “God . . . I do need you!”
He paused, then said again, louder this time, “Father!—I need you!”
Now Robbie wept in earnest, tears streaming down his face. He had never before acknowledged deep personal need before anyone. Now he had done so before his Maker. And in so doing, at once it was as if a tremendous burden was lifted from his sobbing shoulders, even as a knife stabbed through his heart, putting to death a part of his very being.
“Oh, God,” he sobbed, “God . . . God! Help me! Jesus . . . I give myself to you! Make me . . . your man! Make me the man you want me to be!”
The words seemed to reverberate all around him, down the hillside and over the rice fields and mulberry groves below, even to the heavens, where they were received with triumphant joy. But Robbie no longer cared who heard his cries, in the world of angels or the world of men. For he was a new man. Slowly he rose to his feet and lifted his arms into the air. He looked at his whole right hand, and at the stub of his left wrist. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you for loving me . . . and for doing what you had to do to show me your love!”
Heavenly rejoicing seemed to flood over his being for Robbie Taggart was a wanderer no more.