by Bart Tuma
‘My prayer is not that you take them out of the world, but that you protect them form the evil one.’
“See, Jesus didn’t pray that we would be taken from the pain and feeling of the world, but that we would be sheltered from that which can kill us for eternity. There is a difference between being sheltered from the physical world we live in for a short time and being sheltered from the spiritual world that is for eternity. We aren’t little robot babies that God programmed to never stub our toes. We’re people feeling all that goes along with being people, and that includes pain and that includes joy and that includes love. Erik, all I’m asking you to do is to be honest with the pain you feel, and at the same time not to shut off your hope for the future.”
Erik sighed. “John, you make it sound so simple, but it doesn’t feel simple when I get alone.”
“No, it doesn’t always feel simple at all,” John, affirmed. “Not when you’re hurting. It would be easiest to just give up. But then where would you be? It’s hard to know anyone loves you when you’re hurting, but give God a chance to prove Himself.”
Again there was silence as Erik simply stared straight ahead to the long fields of grain. As John had talked about not giving up, he remembered the culvert he would run away to as a child. Giving up was to return to the culvert. He’d been in that hole already. He didn’t want to return to it.
“Thanks, John, I need to go.” Erik said abruptly, his words giving John no clue which direction he would go. He opened the car door and started to climb out.
“Your aunt and uncle told me to tell you that you don’t need to work today or tomorrow if you need some time to rest,” John added, causing Erik to pause a second. There was nothing in John’s voice to suggest whether he thought Erik should do this. Evidently, he felt as though he had said enough, but he did carry the message from the Coopers.
“Yeah, I might do that,” and Erik rose from the car and shut the door behind him. He climbed back on the tractor, but didn’t start the diesel. He waited until John’s Buick had left the fields and then Erik climbed back off the tractor and went instead to the 54 Ford pickup.
Erik did not go back to the bunkhouse to lie on the bed and dream as he normally would have in the past. Today he headed the pickup west into the Rockies. Although the Cooper’s farm was in the barren plains, it was still only fifty miles east of the Rocky Mountains. The continental divide made a sharp contrast to the terrain. Only miles west of the harshness of the plains lay the grandeur of the mountains. The mountains were Erik’s favorite place, as they always seemed to put a different perspective on everything. He needed a different perspective far from the depression of the bunkhouse, so he turned the pickup west. He saw the peaks of the Rockies covered with snow on the horizon. It was so different from the farm he was leaving. Maybe there was hope.
To get to the Rockies from the Cooper’s farm he first had to drive back through Fairfield. As he entered the town he remembered the thoughts he had just the day before. He remembered the excitement that he felt when he thought of his future. Now, a day later, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Yes, there was no question Christ had come to him, and, yes, he still knew that reality. At the same time everything around him was the same.
It was a silly thought, but as he drove this road that he had driven hundreds of times, he had expected somehow for things to have changed, not just him. He didn’t know if there should be more flowers or less heat, but things should be different. What he saw were the same lifeless plains. It was stupid to expect such a dramatic change, but somehow, because of his new hope, he thought everything would be different. He quickly realized that these thoughts were in common with the fantasies of his dreams. Christ was real and Erik had experienced Him in the real world, not illusionary dreams. His dreams were fantasy, as were some of his expectations of Christ, but the truth of Christ was total reality. The reality just didn’t fit what he had expected.
After passing through Fairfield the road turned west, straight towards the Rockies. Each mile brought a new change to the terrain and took Erik closer to the beauty of the mountains. After ten miles the flat plains became hilled pastures. The soil was rich here, rich enough to grow wheat. Here the sod would not be broken by a plow as it was was used instead to feed the large herds of cattle on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation.
After another ten miles, pine trees started to appear. Erik wondered how these lone trees east of the Rockies survived. They seemed to have broken loose from the rest of the forest that lined the mountains. Maybe a bird had carried a pinecone and dropped it far from its origin, but those solitary pines showed a change was coming as Erik drove west. Erik didn’t know if those pines were weaker in their isolation from the others or stronger than the others to survive far from the established community of fellow trees.
Finally he came to the thick underbrush that hid the beaver dams. Erik remembered the fishing trips with his dad. Even after his father died, he would come to these same beaver dams to catch the brook trout. He hadn’t wanted to forget those memories of his dad that brought comfort to him like a warm parka on a winter’s walk. Today he glanced at the dams, but he didn’t slow the pickup. Today, Erik was not looking to the past. He was somehow trying to make sense out of the present and his future.
It was only a few more miles until he became completely engulfed by the mountains and all the change they brought. The transfer from the plains to the mountains happened gradually, but it was the change he had hoped to see when traveling the road to Fairfield. Things were different here. There were more flowers. There was less heat. It gave Erik a chance to think differently.
Chapter Nine
The mountains were beautiful to Erik. They contained green colors that never touched the plains below. They smelled of a mixture of pine and wild flowers. Even though it was August, there were still fresh blossoming flowers in the high meadows. Some of the plants were buried with snow except for this brief time when the summer sun set them free. They would only see the sun for one month and they literally sprang up from the ground overnight when the snow left. They came so quickly that one day there would be snow, and the next, mountain irises. On the prairie the summer sun brought drought, but here it brought life. The bushes that had been laid to the ground with the weight of the snow now flexed their branches to the air.
At this altitude even the small streams ran swiftly with new water. Erik found one, following its babbling, and sat by the stream mesmerized by the water that bubbled with freshness and energy. It too had been freed from its winter’s sleep. After a time he ascended even higher up the slopes.
It was this beauty and the freshness that had led Erik to undertake the six-mile hike to the face of Chief Mountain. He had never taken this hike with his dad. This was a route he had discovered years after his dad died. That is why he chose this trail. He wanted to be alone, alone even from his past. He knew the sharp ascent and unimproved trail would take him beyond any wandering tourists. He needed to be away from the farm and he needed to be clear in his mind without interruption.
Erik sat on a cliff whose ridges overlooked Hidden Lake. Hidden Lake was at the base of a grass filled meadow. It looked to Erik as if God had taken a giant ice cream scoop and removed the surrounding granite to form a lush meadow that was hidden from the casual observer. The water of Hidden Lake carried a deep blue tint that was only possible with the effects of the glacier runoff. The blue carried the impression that it also hid secrets in its deep trenched waters. A high mountain stream fed its color as it emptied into the lake hardly wider than a pond, but certainly as deep as the sea. Erik could even see an occasional trout jump to feed on the afternoon hatch. The sides of the mountain were sheer rock and void of growth. In the bowls made by the intersecting peaks the glaciers had deposited rich layers of runoff soil. In these bowls the lakes and meadows formed the soft side of the hard cliffs. In these bowls was the greenery of meadows. It was a beautiful sight of postcard perfection but with a vibrancy that no photo
graph could ever capture and do justice.
The eastern edge of Chief Mountain was filled with sheer cliffs chiseled by glaciers centuries earlier. From the plains you could easily distinguish Chief Mountain from the rest of the mountain range; it rose almost as a pillar with its rock ridges, and it was set further east from the rest of the peaks. Erik guessed that it was called Chief because it was separate and more distinct than any of the other mountains. The other mountains seemed to be melded together into a unit, but Chief Mountain was its own entity. Chief Mountain was his favorite.
To his left were mountain sheep carelessly playing, unafraid of Erik, knowing his awkward human limbs could not carry him to their playground. However, as he found a solid rock perch to rest, it wasn’t the sheep or the lake or the meadows that held Erik’s attention.
He looked east toward the plains. From his vantage point, he saw beyond the green foothills to the plains, to the prairie that housed the Cascade County farms. From this distance he couldn’t pick out a specific town, or for that matter, even the brownness of the land. The air above the plains was too thick with dust from the drought to see that distance. But as he looked to the east he fell deep into thought and, with a telescopic effect, began to see things his eyes could not literally reach.
He saw Fairfield, and he pictured the diner in which he had the conversation with John. He saw an unmarked spot on the prairie where he had driven in despair and felt life and hope for the first time, and he savored the innocence of that moment with God. He saw the Coopers farm with the John Deere tractor waiting for his return to work, and the bunkhouse with its staleness and bare walls.
He thought about the Coopers and how hard they had tried to show their love to him. Erik’s thoughts were not romantic dreams or negative laments as he had held so often in his bunkhouse. He looked at his surroundings and he communed with God.
“Lord, so many times I have dreamed about the future, but I knew the dreams would never be true. It seemed as if I didn’t have a future. Nothing to plan for or aspire to; I just wanted to get out. Get out of the farm and get away from Fairfield. But now, Lord, if You do have a plan for my life, if You have called me by name like John said, there must be a purpose for me. For the first time it seems as if a future, not just a repeat of today, but a future, is possible. Lord make me a future. Show me Your purpose. I want to do something and be someone. Lord, show me what I can do for You.”
Just the evening before Erik marveled that God would answer him, and now his heart was excited that God might not only touch him, but also have a purpose for him.
As he thought and prayed, he still looked to the east toward the plains. It seemed odd to Erik to look towards the deserted plains when he was in midst of such beauty, but it was the plains that pulled him. It was on the Plains that the work needed to be done mixed with a purpose directed by God. The work that needed done would not be done with a John Deere tractor, but in his partnership with Christ. It was the Plains that held his attention. It wasn’t a conscious decision to look east. Erik’s eyes were pulled there as if he had left something behind that could only be found by looking back.
For the first time Erik began to realize that he was part of that land and a farmer. As he knew before, a farmer wasn’t an occupation, but an identity. A farmer was as much a part of the land as the wheat fields planted in it. Erik had never wanted to admit to being a farmer. That barren land was Erik’s identity. He never wanted to admit it and he never wanted to be part of it, but the land had formed him into a farmer. No matter what happened in the future or where life would take him, his identity would still be that of a farmer. He would always be a farmer.
That reality didn’t bring joy or freedom to Erik. If God has designed him to be a farmer, He must also have a plan for Erik within the land; a land that, although short in distance, was still far from the beauty of the mountain meadows.
John had said that Jesus had not prayed to His father to take the believers from the world. Erik knew that his world was not the beauty of the mountains, but his world was the survival of the plains. He might have prayed that Jesus would take him away from the farm, but he knew that time had not yet come. He was a young man who had to make something of his life. No matter what he thought of the farm, it was his life and he could not leave it until whatever purpose God had for him there was done. Maybe his parents had run away, one to drugs, one to alcohol, but he needed to finish something in that land. He didn’t even know what that something was, but he knew it would only be found in the fields of the barren plains.
He prayed again. “God, if you really want me to go back to that place, please generate within me a love for the land. Maybe, I shouldn’t say, land, ‘cause I don’t think I can ever love dirt. Give me a love for my purpose within the land. I have no family. You knew my parents were dead long before me. Lord, give me a new family with new love and new hope. My past had nothing, please, Lord, make me a future that includes love. Bring new life to my hardened heart.”
He smiled as he realized that in the last few minutes he had prayed more than he had his entire life previously. He smiled that instead of praying for escape, he had prayed to find strength and purpose to remain.
“It look me twenty-two years to mess up me life, I wonder with Him how long it will take to make a new one.” Erik spoke aloud to no one but the mountains goats, but it seemed as if he had just signed a contract for the rest of his life.
The plains stretched before him below his mountain perch. He would go back to the Coopers and to John and to God. That land was his, given to Him by God, and he was part of that land and the lives that inhabited it. If God was powerful and loving, He would not only send Erik to the plains, but would meet Erik on those plains.
Finally, it was time to leave the mountains. He no longer had the luxury to merely think and dream. He had already wasted the bulk of his life wondering and dreaming. It was time to act, not dream. Erik brushed his jeans of the meadow grass and he started towards the plains.
As he worked his way down the mountain trail the sun began to set behind him. It was August in the Big Sky country so the sunset was late, but the mountain peaks began to hide its warmth. He quickened his pace so he wouldn’t be stranded in the darkness. The sound of a large stream to his left mimicked a large gust of wind through the pines. As long as he kept the sound to his left, he knew he would reach the main trailhead. Occasionally, he would stumble on a rock hidden by the twilight shadows, but he never lessened his pace. The shadows gave way to grayish tones as the mountains reached into evening. It almost seemed as if the beauty of the forest had entrapped him by having Erik linger too long. Now the mountains held him in an ever-increasing darkness. That which had been so beautiful was now a blackened maze. Erik wasn’t afraid, but he was aware the cliffs of Chief Mountain would not allow for any stray step. Erik mused how something so beautiful could be changed into danger so quickly. The plains held no such beauty but also no such danger. When he finally noticed the trail moving from a sharp descent into the gradual slope of the meadows, he felt more comfortable. He would make this trip again, but he would not let its beauty hide from him the reality of its cliffs.
His thoughts still raced as he made his way along the easy last two miles. He remembered the fight two nights before. It was obvious that the barmaid, Laura, was another one of his fantasies, and he wondered if there would ever be someone who would fill the need of companionship for him. She had filled a purpose, but not the need. He still needed a family and that would only be obtained by finding a real girl who would make for a real relationship.
Erik didn’t know if he could have a long term relationship with anyone. People had always left him in the past. Could he really be that close and that trusting of anyone? If he hadn’t been able to accept the Coopers love, would he be able to accept a girl’s arms either? The more he thought, the more he realized he was once again thinking too much. As John had told him, he needed to keep it simple. He needed to go back to the farm and
simply believe that things were different and God would help. Other than that, he knew nothing about what the future would bring. It was not a decision to leave the mountains so much as it was his destiny.
Chapter Ten
The last pair of foothills gave way to the level plains and the lights of Fairfield. It was a long drive after a long day and Erik hadn’t eaten since the quick lunch in John’s car. The hike to Chief Mountain had left him weak with hunger. He’d need to get something to eat in Fairfield. He didn’t want another stop, but he was too hungry and afraid he might fall asleep at the wheel if he didn’t.
Since leaving Chief Mountain, Erik’s eyes and mind had only focused on the headlights that pierced the darkness. The last days had carried more thoughts and emotions than he could handle. Now he was only left with a sleep deprived stare, and the need to eat and get to his bunkhouse bed. He could visualize the lopsided bed and the smell of the room. Some days he felt disgust at their condition, but tonight even the bunkhouse bed would feel good.
It was approaching 11:00 and the only thing open would be the Point drive-in. The Point was at the fork of Highway 2 west and roads that headed north. Every car, truck or occasional tractor had to pass the mammoth, neon Point sign, which was the only thing that distinguished Fairfield from the eighteen other towns on Highway 2. The restaurant at the Point was a square cinder block building with large pane windows slanted outward to give the illusion it was bigger than the seventeen seats within. A corrugated tin canopy kept the sun from a single row of intercom spaces without. The intercoms hadn’t worked in years, but people didn’t park for convenience but the opportunity to eat without having to talk. Inside, in addition to the seats, was a U shaped counter which ended at the waitress station. The grill was in full view of everyone, and its open vent carried an irritating hum.
