What Dreams May Come

by Alana Terry

  God, I know you love that woman so much, and you’ve given her a spiritual fire and intensity that really is refreshing to see in a church like this. But can you please tell her to keep it a little shorter than normal today? I can’t be late.

  Derek was expecting her. She shut her eyes just for a moment.

  “Thank you, Pastor Greg.” Grandma Lucy’s voice hadn’t changed since Susannah was a little girl — still full of cracks and warbles on account of her age and conviction that only hinted at her spiritual intensity.

  Grandma Lucy glanced around the sanctuary. Without knowing why, Susannah looked down at her lap.

  “I’d like to end the service with a word of prayer today,” Grandma Lucy began. “God is so good, isn’t he? During the sermon, he just kept reminding me over and over of his great and powerful love that he has not only for me but for every single one of us here, not to mention every single lost and hurting soul in the entire world. It was all I could do to keep from jumping to my feet and shouting hallelujah.”

  Susannah tried to calm her restless spirit.

  Lord, you speak to Grandma Lucy so often that it’s like she’s having one long continuous conversation with you each and every day. But here I am begging for a single word from you, a single hint of your presence. It’s been so long since I’ve felt you near me. Is it too much to ask you for one small glimpse of your love, one small taste of your glory? It’s been so long, Lord.

  Pastor Greg, perhaps realizing that he had relinquished all control over the service along with that microphone, edged a little closer to Grandma Lucy, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I want to close us today with a blessing from the book of Isaiah. Comfort, comfort my people, says your God,” Grandma Lucy quoted. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.”

  It was Grandma Lucy’s way, the same pattern as always, reciting verses from Scripture and then ad-libbing until prayer and preaching and exhortation were all wrapped up in one package.

  Susannah glanced over at the restless faces around her, the shuffling feet, the children who acted as if they might spontaneously combust if they had to sit still a moment longer. What was it about Grandma Lucy that made people so nervous? Was it because everyone but the unsuspecting pastor knew that ten or twenty minutes could pass from the time she started speaking until she said her last amen? No, there had to be more to it than just restless minds and hungry stomachs. Maybe some were afraid that through some special revelation of the Holy Spirit, the old woman might divine their hidden sins and struggles.

  For Susannah, it went deeper than the fear of exposure. Grandma Lucy spent her life serving God, had grown up as a missionary kid in China, spent several years serving in the Middle East as an adult, and returned on multiple missions to Asia smuggling Bibles far into her old age. But here she was in Orchard Grove — in a town where just about everybody had access to the gospel if they wanted to hear it, in a church that held her emboldened prayer times suspect at best — and she was spiritually thriving.

  What’s her secret, God? How can she stand living here? And when will I ever learn to be content like her?

  CHAPTER 10

  “I thought I might find you in here.” Carl’s booming voice pierced through the silence of the church library.

  Scott looked up from the book he’d been reading.

  “What you got there?” Carl asked.

  He held it up. “Revolution in World Missions. You read it?”

  Carl smiled. “Only about five times. You set? Sandy and Woong are waiting in the car.”

  Scott followed his pastor out the door. Carl fumbled in his pockets and muttered, “Now where did I put those keys?”

  Once they reached his Honda, Carl eased himself into the driver’s seat, and Scott hopped in the back. Carl’s wife Sandy turned around to smile at him. “I’m so glad you decided to join us for lunch.”

  “I can’t find my keys,” Carl grumbled, and Sandy pointed to the ignition, where they dangled from a New Orleans Saints keychain.

  “Hey, Mr. Scott,” Woong piped up. “Do you wanna hear a joke?”

  Scott smiled. He’d never felt all that comfortable around kids, but for some reason, Carl and Sandy’s son was one of the exceptions. “Sure. Tell me a good joke.”

  “Ok.” Woong scrunched up his face in thought before finally reciting, “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Isaiah.”

  “Isaiah who?”

  “Isaiah prayer for you every day. Get it?”

  Scott let out the expected chuckle. “That’s a good one.”

  “Now it’s your turn,” Woong stated as Carl pulled out of the parking lot.

  “My turn to tell you a joke?”

  Woong nodded. Scott thought back to his two years at Bible school. He’d learned some riddles there. If only he could remember one.

  “Ok, how about this.” He smiled at Woong’s eager expression. “What were Goliath’s last words?”

  “Goliath?” Woong repeated.

  “Yeah. Goliath. You know, the giant David killed with the slingshot and the stone.”

  “What were his last words?” Woong squinted and scratched his cheek. Scott had never met a kid with more expressive features. “I don’t know. I give up.”

  Scott beamed. “Ok. Goliath’s last words were, ‘Such a thing never entered my head before.’” He laughed before he realized the rest of the car was silent.

  “I don’t get it.” Woong frowned, but he didn’t wait for Scott to explain the punchline. “But now it’s my turn. Dad told this one in church last Sunday, so if you heard it then just pretend like you didn’t, all right? How does Moses make his coffee? He-brews it.”

  It was a short drive to Carl and Sandy’s home in Medford, especially in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. By the time Carl pulled his Honda into the garage, Scott realized two things. First, the Lindgrens were even bigger saints than he’d realized for the patience they showed Woong, who apparently was only quiet when he was eating or sleeping.

  Second, if Scott tried really hard and had enough distracting him, he could go a full twelve minutes without letting thoughts of Susannah Peters creep into his mind and darken his mood.

  CHAPTER 11

  “The Lord takes such great delight in you,” Grandma Lucy spoke into the microphone. Susannah tried to gauge how Pastor Greg felt about his renegade congregant, but his expression was a blend of polite stoicism and patience — perfectly indecipherable.

  “He rejoices over you with his singing. His delight is in you, the workmanship of his hands, the masterpiece of the artist of artists, the great author and finisher of our faith when we put our trust in him.”

  The words were a blend of Scripture verses and Grandma-Lucy-style embellishments. Most of the time, Susannah found these sorts of impromptu service closings encouraging. She liked to think that one day she might have Grandma Lucy’s boldness and conviction. But today, she was only tired. Tired and ready to get home.

  To the family that was waiting for her.

  “Blessed are those who mourn,” Grandma Lucy quoted, “for they will be comforted. Blessed are those who weep tears of sorrow and grief.”

  Susannah knew those kinds of tears all too well, had experienced them in the most inopportune times since August. That day had started perfectly. It’s strange how she remembered the gorgeous weather so vividly, that unexpected cool spell bringing an early end to the merciless heat of summer. Scott’s flight was due in five days, but by the bustle at home, you’d think he was half an hour late.

  Susannah’s mom decided to make Amish friendship bread for his arrival. She’d prepped the starter ten days early like always, but she’d underestimated the Washington summer heat. Susannah came home from her shift at Winter Grove to find her mom scrubbing yeasty flour off the kitchen cupboards after her Zi
ploc bag had burst, exploding starter in every direction.

  “God must be punishing me for my vanity,” her mom lamented. “It’s what I deserve for trying to show off my baking skills to your friend.”

  It always struck Susannah as strange to hear Scott described as her friend, as if he was nothing but another student from youth group or homeschool co-op who was stopping by for a quick visit instead of the man she hoped to marry who was traveling all the way across the country just to meet her.

  Susannah helped her mom clean the mess and offered to buy a bag of starter from Safe Anchorage Farms. “Connie always has some batches ready to sell.”

  “I know that,” her mom sighed, “but I really wanted to do it from scratch.”

  Susannah did her best to cheer her mother up. “It will be more authentic this way. Didn’t Connie get her original starter from the Amish to begin with?”

  Her mom shrugged and pecked her on the cheek. “You always have such a positive attitude. But you’re tired. You just got home from work and haven’t even changed your clothes. You go rest up, and I’ll stop by Safe Anchorage. This is my mistake, and I’m willing to clean up after myself.”

  Susannah should never have let her go. Should have argued that they didn’t need any friendship bread. That Scott would have been happy with week-old dry bread rolls.

  And if her mom still insisted, Susannah should have gotten the starter herself. She needed to pick up some more stationary anyway, and Safe Anchorage always had such nice journals in their gift shop.

  She should never have allowed her mother out that door.

  But instead, she handed her mom the keys. Gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Oh,” Susannah added as her mom grabbed her purse, “did Kitty get her afternoon snack?”

  “No, hon. I’m sorry. I heard the bag explode and was so busy cleaning it up that I lost track of time. I know you had a long day, but would you mind taking care of her while I’m gone?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re such a good sister. I’m so glad Kitty has you.” Another hug. How could she have taken that loving physical contact for granted for all those years?

  “Drive safely.”

  That’s the part Susannah couldn’t remember if she’d said or not. Maybe it was just her memory getting that goodbye mixed up with the hundreds, the thousands of others over the years. Maybe it was her subconscious way of trying to assuage her guilt.

  She hadn’t kept her mom from getting in that car, but she’d told her to be careful ...

  And then Mom was gone. As simple as that. Simple as driving a few miles out to Baxter Loop to buy some starter for the Amish friendship bread she wanted to make to impress her daughter’s cross-country friend.

  Grandma Lucy continued on in her prayer, but Susannah’s mind was stuck on that one single verse she’d quoted earlier.

  “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

  Susannah didn’t want to sound cynical, didn’t want to sound like she doubted the Bible, but she was starting to wonder how long that comfort was supposed to linger before it finally arrived.

  CHAPTER 12

  “So tell me, Scott, have you gotten back in touch with your friend in Washington?” Sandy pulled Tupperware out of the fridge while Woong set the table.

  Scott sat across from his pastor and stared at the Lazy Susan in front of him. “No, haven’t heard anything.” He didn’t like the way his voice sounded so flat, didn’t like the sense of finality he heard in his own words.

  Sandy clucked her tongue. “Well, maybe it’s all for the best. God’s got his plans. We know that much.”

  Scott nodded absently. Carl and Sandy had followed his unorthodox romance from the beginning, starting with that first phone call. Of course, he and Susannah hadn’t talked about any sort of relationship at the time, but Scott spent the entire next week trying and failing to get her out of his mind. He couldn’t talk to anyone at the Kingdom Builders home office. There weren’t specific rules against falling in love with potential recruits, but he doubted he’d be encouraged to pursue anything with Susannah on account of her age if nothing else.

  He’d met lots of girls over the years. Bible college was full of them, and he’d had a few casual relationships that never seemed to go anywhere. Some potential dates ended up intimidated by his single-minded focus for world missions. It sounded exciting, traveling forty-eight weeks out of every year and ministering to missionaries across the globe, but when it came right down to it, most girls he met were interested in a more traditional way of life. Steady job, two kids, nice house in the suburbs, a dog or two thrown in for good measure.

  During his first few years on the field, Scott felt uneasy, unsettled. Asking God when his time would come to meet the woman he could spend the rest of his life with. Finally, he grew to accept and even appreciate the single lifestyle. He meditated often on Paul’s words, how an unmarried Christian can remain focused and devoted to the Lord instead of always worrying about pleasing their spouse.

  He could have remained contentedly single for the rest of his life.

  Until he met Susannah.

  She wasn’t on social media. Her family was conservative by just about every definition of the word, and she was still so young. He hadn’t even known what she looked like when he stumbled through that first awkward confession.

  Two months after their initial phone interview, two months of daily emails and nearly daily conversations by phone, and Scott finally had to tell her the truth. Tell her that he was falling in love with her. That he wanted to meet her.

  She hadn’t said that she loved him back, and he didn’t ask her to. Her mom was strict. Cautious about her daughter’s long-distance relationship with someone she’d never met. Scott wasn’t supposed to know, but her mom had called one of his supervisors at work to make sure that Susannah hadn’t been talking to a serial killer or sex offender or pathological liar.

  Even once it become known around the home office that Scott was in some sort of unofficial relationship with one of the summer internship recruits, it was Carl and Sandy he talked to most.

  “I’ve never met another woman like her,” Scott had said, and Carl never once brought up the fact that technically he still hadn’t met her.

  At some point after his confession, he and Susannah started exchanging snail mail in addition to the daily emails and phone calls. That’s when he finally received his first picture of her.

  He’d carried it to Carl and Sandy’s house to proudly display. Nobody at the home office told him to give up on his relationship with Susannah, but his well-meaning co-workers didn’t understand. Didn’t get how two people who’d never seen each other could know each other that deeply.

  Could love each other that sincerely.

  Susannah had mailed him a copy of her senior photo. She had written a verse from Psalms on the back: My soul yearns, even faints for the courts of the Lord. Sandy had gushed over it. Had fawned over those large, brown eyes, the long, golden hair. Carl patted him on the back and congratulated him. Scott was no longer in love with just a voice.

  His angel now had a face.

  It was just a month or two later that he called her mom to ask if he could fly out to visit. Mrs. Peters was getting ready for her own wedding, said the timing was wrong, asked him to wait patiently, reminded him that she still wanted her daughter to keep from giving away her heart.

  As if someone as loving and compassionate as Susannah could withhold her affection.

  He’d tried again over Easter break. Things had settled down. Susannah’s mom was married, and they’d all moved in with her new husband. Now that she didn’t have the stress of planning a wedding on her shoulders, Susannah’s mom was warm and hospitable when she invited him out for a visit.

  It would have been perfect if the Kremlin hadn’t tightened their anti-proselytizing laws and sent everyone from the Russian field into a dizzying tailspin. Scott was needed in Moscow, then Petersburg.
/>   The Washington trip was postponed again.

  And again.

  He should have realized it was God’s hand all along, but he was too stubborn. Maybe if he had backed off earlier, he wouldn’t be hurting so much right now.

  Just five days before he was due to fly out last August, Susannah’s mom was killed in a car crash. At first, he tried to change his ticket so he could leave immediately. Stay by Susannah’s side during those first tumultuous, grief-stricken days. But she told him she needed time with her family, so he stuck to the original plan.

  And then, just twelve hours before his flight was scheduled to take off, she called him. He could tell from her voice she’d been crying. His arms ached with the longing to wrap her up and shield her from her pain and trauma. He was ready to comfort her. Ready to pour out all his love on her. To walk through this tragedy by her side.

  But she told him to wait. Said something about her sister not doing well. Telling him it wasn’t a good time for him to come visit after all.

  He should have gone. Even now, he wondered what might have changed if he’d followed his gut, the part of him that knew she longed to be with him as much as he yearned to be with her.

  But he figured they’d already waited so long. What could a few more days hurt?

  And then she’d called the afternoon of her mom’s funeral. He was so blinded by his own foolish dreams. Otherwise he might have been prepared.

  “I can’t see you,” she’d said.

  At first, he thought maybe her stepdad was the problem. It wasn’t like Derek had played any major role in her life. They’d only shared a house for a few months at the time of her mother’s death.

  But it wasn’t Derek.

  “I made my mom a promise,” she explained.

  He should have seen it coming. Instead, her words rattled him as much as a three-hundred-foot drop on a trans-Atlantic flight.

  That was the last time he’d spoken with Susannah Wesley Peters, the woman he loved.