I rode out from home in late morning. The sun was climbing in the sky to the south as it always did this time of year. It was a wonderful day for a ride, and I couldn’t have enjoyed myself more—except for that nagging knowledge that I might have to say goodbye to it all. How could I ever do that?
I headed up toward one of my favorite places of all, Fall Creek Mountain, even though I doubted I had time to make it that far. That area would probably still be covered with snow anyway. But I still set out eastward, climbing steadily through the foothills, winding through still-snowy pine woods and then out into open pastureland where most of the snow was by now melted away.
As I rode, my thoughts were first occupied with what had been on my mind for the past several weeks. I had expected difficulties and hardships. What marriage doesn’t have them?
But I hadn’t expected them so soon!
We’d only been married eight months, and this was really hard. I didn’t want to go to the East. I wanted to think that maybe Christopher wasn’t hearing accurately from the Lord. But how could I think my perspectives would be any clearer when my own wishes in the matter were so strong?
Gradually as I made my way northward over Chalk Bluff, I began to think back over my past.
Already the snow was deepening beneath my horse’s feet. I decided to see if I could get to the top of Remington Bluff, and if so that was as far as I would go. I could see it not too far away—the slope leading up to the top looked pretty white. I struck out toward it.
I made the crest of the bluff about forty minutes later. It was still warm up there, and open as it was, half or so of the snow on top was melted off. There was enough clear ground for me to dismount.
My feet got cold through my boots, but I walked about, gazing out over the foothills below me, reflecting on all that I’d experienced since arriving in California over these same Sierra Nevada mountains—finding Pa after Ma’s death, meeting Almeda, finding the new gold mine, beginning to write and then writing for the paper, all the dangers we’d experienced. Then getting involved in politics, going East for two years, meeting Christopher, falling in love, writing letters back and forth, and finally getting married earlier this year.
“Oh, God,” I sighed, “you really have given me a wonderful life, and I am very thankful for it all.”
I had been from the East Coast to the West and back again in both directions. Now it appeared I was about to embark on that cross-country journey yet again.
I thought what a huge country it was and how long was the journey, with so many unexpected things that could arise along the way.
Suddenly it struck me how similar that was to one’s spiritual life. You could never tell where he was going to lead you or what he was going to show you next. It was an adventure no less unpredictable and as exciting as a journey across this great land.
But if the Lord was the one leading the journey, just like Captain Dixon had led the wagon train that we’d been part of back in 1852, then how could I be anxious? Wherever it led, it had to be good!
“I’m sorry for doubting you, Lord,” I prayed. “I’m sorry for wondering whether you have been speaking to Christopher or not. I’m sorry for not trusting you both more than I have. I know I have much to learn about being a wife, about trusting someone else instead of making my own mind up about what you want me to do. Help me learn that, Lord. Deepen trust in my heart for both the leaders in my life—you and my dear husband, Christopher.”
I walked about a little more. My feet were almost frozen, but the rest of my body was warm, and it was so quiet and beautiful and peaceful that I wasn’t ready to leave.
I remembered all I had learned the year before about how the Lord had shown me that he had given me Christopher as a home for my heart. I had been so happy then. Was I going to so quickly forget?
No, I couldn’t do that. The Lord was still good. And he would do his best for me—as hard as it might sometimes seem.
Christopher was my home now—not Miracle Springs.
“Thank you for reminding me of that, Lord,” I said quietly. “I will be content wherever you take us. I will be content because I am yours and Christopher’s. As Rev. Rutledge said several months ago, I give my anxiety over this to you, Lord. Here—” I said, gesturing with my hands as I remembered him doing in the middle of his sermon—“I place my anxiety and worry and concern and even the doubts I’ve had into your hands. I give them all to you, Father. I don’t want to carry these concerns any more. I trust you, as much like a child as I know how to be, to do what you want with them. I want you to make this decision for us. I relinquish my own will and desire. Help me to learn more and more how to lay down my own will for yours.”
I sighed, breathing deeply of the warm mountain air.
It felt so clean, and I felt alive and happy. It felt good to let go of something that had been so troubling me. I knew it was in God’s hands now, and so I could be thankful for it. I would be thankful for it!
My feet were too cold to continue! I turned and ran back to my horse, spraying up snow with my boots. I mounted and led her back the way we had come, through the tracks her hooves had made earlier.
Whatever the future held, wherever the Lord took us, I would be content.
He and Christopher both lived in my heart. We all three loved one another. How could I not be content with such an arrangement?
I rode down out of the mountains, feeling the exuberance of the warm breeze on my cheeks mingled with the lingering hint of a wintry aroma left by the storm. Gradually my feet began to feel life in them again!
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. “I do love you, and I am thankful for the life you have given me.”
About the Author
Michael Phillips is a bestselling author of a number of beloved novels, including such well-known series as SHENANDOAH SISTERS, CAROLINA COUSINS, CALEDONIA, and THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER. He has also served as editor of many more titles, adapting the classic works of Victorian author George MacDonald (1824–1905) for today’s reader, and his efforts have since generated a renewed interest in MacDonald. Phillips’s love of MacDonald’s Scotland has continued throughout his writing life.
In addition to his fifty published editions of MacDonald’s work, Phillips has authored and coauthored over ninety books of fiction and nonfiction, ranging from historical novels to contemporary whodunits, from fantasy to biblical commentary.
Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland but make their home in California. To learn more about the author and his books, visit fatheroftheinklings.com. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/michaelphillipschristianauthor/. To contact the Phillipses or join their email family, please write to: [email protected].
Books by Michael Phillips
Fiction
THE RUSSIANS*
The Crown and the Crucible • A House Divided • Travail and Triumph
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke • Flight from Stonewycke • Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke • Shadows over Stonewycke • Treasure of Stonewycke
THE SECRETS OF HEATHERSLEIGH HALL
Wild Grows the Heather in Devon • Wayward Winds
Heathersleigh Homecoming • A New Dawn Over Devon
SHENANDOAH SISTERS
Angels Watching Over Me • A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton
The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart • Together Is All We Need
CAROLINA COUSINS
A Perilous Proposal • The Soldier’s Lady
Never Too Late • Miss Katie’s Rosewood
CALEDONIA
Legend of the Celtic Stone • An Ancient Strife
THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*
Jamie MacLeod: Highland Lass • Robbie Taggart: Highland Sailor
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER
My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* •
On the Trail of the Truth
A Place in the Sun • Sea to Shining Sea • Into the Long Dark Night
Land of the Brave and the Free • A Home for the Heart
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE AND CHRISTOPHER
The Braxtons of Miracle Springs • A New Beginning • Grayfox
THE SECRET OF THE ROSE
The Eleventh Hour • A Rose Remembered
Escape to Freedom • Dawn of Liberty
AMERICAN DREAMS
Dream of Freedom • Dream of Life • Dream of Love
The Sword, the Garden, and the King
Heaven and Beyond
Angel Harp
Murder By Quill
From Across the Ancient Waters
Angel Dreams**
SECRETS OF THE SHETLANDS
The Inheritance
Nonfiction
The Eyewitness New Testament (3 volumes)
The Commands
The Commands of the Apostles
George MacDonald: Scotland’s Beloved Storyteller
*with Judith Pella **with Chris Schneider
The Braxtons of Miracle Springs Page 25
