Sunday morning, Emily awoke to dazzling light streaming in the girls’ bedroom window. In spite of the promise of a gorgeous day, her heart felt heavier than it had in a long time.
The Kendals somehow managed to squeeze seven people into Claire’s station wagon and get them to church. Theirs was pleasantly similar to her church back home.
Had Ian taken Maggie and Aunt Grace to church?
After the girls were dismissed to children’s class, Claire scooted closer to Emily and tugged on Davy to follow.
A humorous video clip played on the screens, showing a guy dangling from the side of a cliff until he couldn’t hold on any longer, only to discover he was just a few feet from the ground. Then the minister began his message by asking the congregation if they’d ever felt hopeless to the point of giving up.
As he delivered his sermon, Emily caught only bits and pieces. Her thoughts drifted to the hopelessness she’d felt about her dad. A growing sense of shame pressed on her heart.
Lord, I gave up hope that he could ever change. I gave up believing You could help him, didn’t I? Please forgive me.
“Friends,” the minister said, “when the children of Israel wandered in the desert, the Lord provided manna to sustain them, but they only received what they needed for each day. Did they wring their hands in worry over how they would survive the next day? Or did they believe God’s promise and trust in the faithfulness He had shown so many times before?”
Davy reached an arm around Claire, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. She smiled up at him, and Davy gave her shoulders a squeeze. Claire snuggled close under his encircling arm.
A deep longing for that kind of loving support caught Emily off guard. She stared at her interlaced fingers, then smoothed the already smooth white suede of her skirt.
The couple’s simple embrace didn’t do justice to the story of Claire and Davy’s struggles and the courage it had taken to bring them together as a family.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she kept her eyes trained on her skirt.
Soft, steady music played as the minister drew his message to a close. “Saints, where are you today? Has the desert’s heat stolen your hope? Have you surrendered yourself into God’s ever-faithful hands? Let us pray.”
The music increased. When the minister finished praying, he stepped down.
Emily looked around, but no one got up to leave.
A Celtic-sounding wood flute played a beautiful, poignant melody. The tune rose, then quieted, as a deep, male Scottish voice sang.
“I love the Lord, my Rock, my Strength
He’s with me even ere the dawn
With peace and safety, love and grace
His love will guide through every storm
No trial’s strain, no burden’s weight
No fear beyond all measure
Can take away my hope, my joy
His love for me, His pleasure.”
Emily gasped. That voice, rich and deep with a gentle burr, sounded like Ian. She scanned the platform.
The man stood near the back. Shorter and fairer in color, a few years older.
Emily closed her eyes, gripped by the words of the song and the shock of hearing a man singing them with such depth of feeling. Every nerve in her body tingled with a sense of awe at God’s love, power, and presence. On the last verse, she held her breath to hear every word.
“Trusting in the cross of Christ
No longer all alone to stand;
No pain in life nor fear of death
Can take me from His loving hand.”
Though her eyes remained closed, tears rolled down her face as the song ended with the final sweet strains of flute.
A thunderous silence filled the room.
In her mind’s eye, she could almost see her Savior standing amid flames, beckoning to her to come and stand with Him and not be afraid.
Dear God, I thought I was being strong, but maybe I’ve just been afraid. I haven’t been listening to You or depending on You at all. I’ve been trying to take care of everything and everyone on my own. I haven’t been trusting You.
Why had she been trying to do it all on her own?
Head bowed in prayer, Emily fought her darkest doubts that surfaced from the depths. Did God really hold her in His hand? Did He truly care?
Can I trust You? Are You going to be there?
In the quiet of her heart, she heard, Yes, I’m here, and I will hold you. Always.
An overwhelming sense of love and peace poured over her like warm oil, surrounding and embracing her, unleashing a flood of tears from somewhere deep inside. She covered her face with both hands and wept.
After a while, Emily wiped her eyes and looked around.
Claire sat waiting nearby, her own eyes rimmed with tears.
Some people had moved to the rear of the sanctuary, but most had moved out to the foyer. Davy waited near the entrance doors with a giggling Hannah in his arms.
Claire handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” Emily whispered and took it. As she blew her nose and wiped her face, she braced herself for more of Claire’s blunt remarks.
But none came. Nothing but a hand rubbing across her back, gently stroking her hair.
Emily swallowed back tears and turned to Claire.
Her dark, inquiring eyes probed Emily’s, her head cocked to one side. “You all right, love?”
She gave Claire a faint smile. “Yeah. But I think I need to spend some quality time in prayer. I’m sadly overdue.”
“Well, too bad there’s a queue. Get in line.”
Emily’s smile widened.
Claire stretched out both arms and wrapped them around her.
Emily hugged her back, long and tight.
By the time Emily returned to the farm, the sun was setting. Shadows seeping up from the earth turned heather-covered hills a deeper, dusky purple. Strokes of orange, purple, gold, and pink filled the enormous sky-canvas, painting the hills behind the house in glorious color.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
Emily picked up her bags from the end of the walk and breathed in the sweet floral and pungent wood scents that mingled in the air after a full day of sun. She took a fleeting glance at the cottage, then headed to the house. As she passed the kitchen doorway, she stopped.
The kitchen was clean, no sign of the two old ladies. In the sitting room, she found a partially finished puzzle on the folding table and a note. Emily set her bags down and took a closer look.
The note was written in Aunt Grace’s once elegant, now shaky scrawl.
Dear Emmy,
Maggie and I are taking a walk. She says not to worry, we’ll be back soon.
Love from your Aunt Grace
She laid the note down with a sigh. Two old women, one blind and one frail, venturing out together without a bit of fear in either of them.
You may be alive, but you’re not living.
It wasn’t the first time Claire’s rebuke marched across the trail of her thoughts. Maybe she should join the two fearless, old ladies. Get out there and make the time she had left with them count. But she also wanted to spend a few more moments alone while God’s quiet promptings were still fresh in her mind. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, gathered her shopping bags, and headed up the stairs. At her room, she held her breath, opened the door, and surveyed the room.
Exactly the same way she had left it. No notes, no maps, no sign of Ian.
She dropped her bags at the foot of the bed.
Where are you? Have you surrendered yourself fully into God’s hands?
The words sung in that rich baritone continued to play in her head the way they had all day, echoing the last lines from the song.
No pain in life or fear of death can take me from His loving hand.
The room felt stuffy. She needed to clear her head, to think. She opened a window, knelt beside the bed, and rested her head on folded arms.
A gust of fresh air wafted in, a clean, cool contrast to the hot, thick air trapped in the bedroom.
Like a furnace.
The fiery furnace story seemed to follow her like a shadow. Emily had taught Sunday school students to trust God in all things, no matter the outcome. She was well acquainted with what the ‘outcome’ was in her case. Her mom’s death had affected the lives of everyone, especially Emily’s dad. Emily could never leave such a lasting scar on those she loved.
It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? To shield those she loved from pain?
But that wasn’t what Emily’s mom had done. Mom loved everyone, including the Lord, without holding back, right to the end. She’d had so much love to give, so much peace and faith-filled assurance. Her mom’s love and peace in the face of uncertainty had touched Emily, left a deep impression on her. Her mom had trusted God with her life and had lived every day with His help and without fear. Like the three young men in the furnace.
“I’m not afraid of dying, Lord. But maybe Claire is right—maybe I am afraid of living. Or the pain that comes from it. And if loving fully and being there for the people around me is what You want from me, then please help me do that. One day at a time, if that’s what it takes. Help me have the courage and peace that my mom had. Please forgive me for pulling away, Lord. Help me live the rest of my life the way You want me to.” She leaned back on her heels and lifted her face, eyes closed. “And please, please help me know what to do about Ian. I want ... whatever You want for him. Please show me what that is, Lord. I need to know.”
Emily drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, cleansing sigh. Memories of her mom when Emily was a little girl filled her thoughts, memories she hadn’t visited in a long time. Catching butterflies in the backyard. Gathering flowers. Watching hummingbirds together. The way her mom would always slip a few drops of honeysuckle oil into the laundry, a tradition that Emily had continued for herself. The way her mom smelled when she hugged—
Mid-breath, Emily froze.
The scent of honeysuckle had crept into the room and had been growing stronger, infusing the air with sweetness and surrounding her like a tender, warm embrace. Where was it coming from? The woods? Could it carry that far?
She went to the window and looked out across the yard and at the trees covering the hills behind the house. The grove had to be at least half a mile away. So how—
But there at the window, the scent was so thick and so sweet that she could almost taste it. She looked down.
Directly below her, along the wall, a new wooden trellis supported a massive cluster of honeysuckle.
Her jaw dropped. The dirt at its base was freshly turned and tamped down. Who—?
You know who.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. But as she stared at the mass of blooms, her breath quickened. She turned and ran from the room and took the stairs two at a time. She threw open the back door and ran along the back of the house to the flowerbed. Yes. There, beneath her window, stood a gigantic mass of freshly transplanted honeysuckle. She covered her mouth and blinked her blurring eyes. Since she still couldn’t see, she closed her eyes and just breathed.