Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
A Prairie Heritage
Stand-Alone Singles
An Excerpt From The Christian and the Vampire
About the Author
Lost Are Found
A Prairie Heritage, Book 6
by Vikki Kestell
Also Available in Print Format
Joy Thoresen Michaels has lost the two most precious people in her life: her husband and her only child. She cannot receive her husband back from the dead, but she has hope for her son—hope that he will be recovered:
“I spoke a moment ago about my prairie heritage—the enduring faith my papa and mama lived as an example for me. It is because of their faith that I have such hope for Edmund even though he is, today, lost to us.
“You see, what is lost to us is not—is not—lost to God! I remember Papa saying this very thing: In God, the lost are found. Our Lord sees the entire world—and nothing in all of his creation is hidden to him! I am comforted to know that wherever Edmund is, God is there with him.”
Four families bind themselves in a solemn pledge: They vow never to stop searching for Edmund and never to stop trusting that God will restore him to them, whether in this life or the next.
Lost Are Found, the conclusion of this spiritually rich series, chronicles how God answers those who utterly trust in him, no matter the circumstances—and no matter how long the wait.
Visit Vikki’s website, www.vikkikestell.com for updates or follow her on Facebook.
Lost Are Found
© 2014 Vikki Kestell
All Rights Reserved
Scripture Quotations Taken From
The King James Version (KJV)
Public Domain,
and
The New International Version (NIV)
The HOLY BIBLE,
NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984
International Bible Society.
Used by permission of Zondervan.
All rights reserved,
and
The New King James Version®.
Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Awesome God
Words and Music by Rich Mullins
Copyright © 1988
by Universal Music–MGB Songs
International Copyright Secured;
All Rights Reserved.
Reprinted by Permission of
Hal Leonard Corporation
Faith-Filled Fiction
A Division of Growing Up in God
http://www.faith-filledfiction.com/
http://www.vikkikestell.com/
Dedication
I dedicate this book to those parents
who know the pain of losing a child.
God, our Father, knows your pain;
he lost a child, too.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks
to my esteemed proofreaders,
Cheryl Adkins, Greg McCann,
and Jan England.
I am honored to work with such dedicated
and talented individuals.
I love and value each of you.
To My Readers
This book is a work of fiction,
what I term Faith-Filled Fiction™.
While the characters and events are fiction,
they are situated within the historical record.
To God be the glory.
Prologue
April 1911
The trees above their heads rustled in a warm breeze; new-green leaves and a scattering of clouds shaded the mourners gathered near the freshly dug grave. Next to the grave, a simple coffin rested upon a stanchion.
Joy stood before the mourners, as tall and with as much decorum as she could muster.
“My husband, Grant Michaels, faithfully served his Savior all the years that I knew him. I don’t believe I have ever known a man as devoted to the Lord and his family as he was, unless it was my father, Jan Thoresen.
“To lose Grant . . . again, will pain me the rest of my days on this earth, but . . . but you may be surprised to hear that it will not pain me as much as it did four years ago when his ship went down at sea.
“I confess to you that the woman I was when I lost Grant the first time is not the woman I am today. My faith in my heavenly Father has changed in these last years. Grant and I both grew in our faith and, although our love for each other was deep and abiding, our love for our God was greater, as it should be.”
She paused and looked off in the distance as though remembering something. “I should say, too, that I have had a good example of how to deal with loss and suffering. I have watched my mother bear with dignity her own grief and loneliness. She has set her heart to live a life of service to the Lord and to others. How can I not but follow her example?”
Joy swallowed and waited until her voice was hers to control again.
“My mother has, several times in the past two years, mentioned something I thought rather curious. She has alluded to her “prairie heritage.” I didn’t understand her—I didn’t realize what it meant. I think now I do.
“Some thirty years ago, during the darkest time in her life, she came west, searching for solace. In a tiny country church out on the prairie, she found Jesus and made him her Lord and Savior, and she found consolation in a simple farming life lived for God.
“Farmers may seem plain and unsophisticated, but the hardships of the prairie require honest work, spines of steel, and faith that cannot be shaken. This is the heritage she found out on the prairie, this faith that cannot be shaken, and this is the heritage she and my father passed to me as I was growing up and the heritage I hope to pass on.
“We are here to say goodbye to my beloved husband and to testify how he lived for Christ. We will see him again in the Resurrection. I am confident in this and look forward to That Day. His testimony will live on in all of us—and in our son.
“Which is why, while we are here together, I will also speak of our little boy. My arms long to hold him. I have wept until I have no tears left. I tell you, my heart is broken, but I will also proclaim to you that my faith is not.
“Where is Edmund? Where is our baby? I ask this question every hour of every day.
“I do not believe he is . . . dead, but I could be wrong. If I am wrong, then I know with certainty that he has merely gone home to join his papa, ahead of the rest of us. I say home, because life upon this earth is not our real home, you know. Here we are merely sojourners and pilgrims. We are merely passing through.
“But because I sense in my heart that Edmund is alive, I will not forget to pray for him. I have set my heart to remember him in prayer daily and to believe that, even though he is apart from me, God will make himself known to Edmund and, on That Day, the day when we see Jesus face-to-face and every injustice is revealed and recompensed, we will see each other again and al
l this grief will vanish away.
“I spoke a moment ago about my prairie heritage—the enduring faith my papa and mama lived as an example for me. It is because of their faith that I have such hope for Edmund even though he is, today, lost to us.
“You see, what is lost to us is not—is not—lost to God! I remember Papa saying this very thing: In God, the lost are found. Our Lord sees the entire world—and nothing in all of his creation is hidden to him! I am comforted to know that wherever Edmund is, God is there with him.
“How do I feel about the man who took our son? I confess that I am tempted to hate him and to curse him, but . . . I cannot call myself a Christian if I do.
“And so, here and now, I declare that I forgive Dean Morgan for every wrong he has done me. I leave his life and our vindication in God’s hands. I believe that the just and righteous God I serve will make all things right in the end.
“I will not hate and I will not be afraid; I will not allow my mind’s eye to wound me with fearful imaginings. And I will not lose hope.
“This is how I stand before you today; this is how I will live: with faith that cannot be shaken. From now until I draw my last breath, I will believe that, if I cannot hold Edmund in my arms, my heavenly Father will hold him in his arms—until he brings us all safely home to himself.
“Like my papa, I declare, that in God, the lost are found.”
A ripple of amens followed Joy as she stepped toward the grave. Tears washing her face, she kissed her hand and placed it on the coffin, letting it linger. Then she straightened and, composing her face, she turned away.
Edmund O’Dell was next to walk to and stand beside the coffin. As he did so, he was remembering the most remarkable conversation of his life.
My friend, I don’t have many months left to me—No, no. Why do you deny this? It serves no good purpose. Nothing can be done to help me, and death comes to us all in due time, doesn’t it? My departure will be my entrance into eternal joy, and I am glad beyond measure that you, too, have received the Savior’s gift. Someday you and I will meet again, in the glorious presence of God the Father and his Son!
Now, because I am dying, Edmund O’Dell, my dearest friend, I must talk plainly: I know you once had feelings for Joy. Please do not protest. I knew this the first time I saw you look at her—while you still thought her a widow.
I do not mention this in condemnation! Rather, I say this to one of the most honorable men I have had the privilege of knowing. I have never feared you, Mr. O’Dell, because I know your worthy heart, just as I know that Joy’s heart belongs to me. No, you did not dishonor me, and I say this to your credit, realizing the struggle you endured.
Why did I write and ask you to come to Denver? Before it is too late, I wish you to make me a solemn promise. I wish you to promise me that when I am gone you will watch over Joy and our son. In time, if it is God’s will and when Joy’s grief allows her to love again, I hope you will marry her and raise my son—my son to whom I gave your name.
I cannot think of any man I would wish to be a father to my son besides you! I say, “if it is God’s will,” because he will lead and guide you in this. I am content that, if you pray and follow his direction, all will be well.
I am asking a difficult thing of you, my friend, I know—but it is so strong in my heart, and I sense death closing in on me. I cannot let what time I have left slip away without speaking to you and asking for your sincere word.
Will you give me your word on this?
O’Dell, too, rested his hand on the casket for a moment. “I will miss you, Grant, and I will miss your example of godly manhood. As long as I live, I will not stop searching for Edmund. When I find him, I will cherish him as my own. I will not relinquish my promises to you.”
Chapter 1
And all these, having obtained
a good testimony through faith,
did not receive the promise,
God having provided something better for us,
that they should not be made perfect
apart from us.
(Hebrews 11:39, 40, NKJV)
The Lord is not slack
concerning his promise,
as some men count slackness;
but is longsuffering to us-ward,
not willing that any should perish,
but that all should come to repentance.
(2 Peter 3:9, KJV)
We live in a fallen, sinful, unjust world that will one day come to a fiery end. To put it plainly, life can be hard and filled with unanswered questions—even for those with faith.
We will not see perfect justice on earth before and until The Righteous Judge returns. But we can know The Righteous Judge who will make all things right when he returns.
We can know him now . . . and knowing him makes all the difference.
Fall 1990
Kari Hillyer perched on the very edge of their bed, still and watchful, trying hard to keep her weary back straight and rigid. Her hair, a soft brown shot with a thread of gold, hung down that weary back all the way to her waist.
She made an effort to ignore the wisp tickling her cheek, but she was tired.
So tired.
Every man in my life has either left or betrayed me, she brooded. And, guess what? Today isn’t any different.
Then she blinked as she realized that she wasn’t as crushed as she’d thought she’d be . . . right now, as her husband announced that he was discarding her.
I’ve already been crushed to the bone over the last seven years. This she knew.
“Kari, pay attention; this is pretty important.” David Hillyer’s temper, never far from the surface, was heating. “This is our marriage I’m talking about.”
He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb as though destroying her was, after all, very hard work.
“I’m listening,” Kari whispered. She did not look at him although David usually demanded direct eye contact when he was “communicating” with her. She tucked the offending curl behind her ear and made another effort to straighten her posture.
“What I said was that I will take the house. You can’t afford the mortgage payments on what you’ll be making, so it seems best to me that I keep it.” He shrugged. “I’ve paid for it, after all.”
He paid for the house?
Their home?
Kari’s thoughts flew over the years they’d lived in the rambling stucco house nestled in the foothills of Albuquerque’s Sandia Mountains. Feeling like a stranger peeping through a window at someone else’s life, she dispassionately weighed David’s statement against the many bright promises he had made when they had first seen this house.
“We’ll turn this place into a showcase, Kari. You just wait and see!” he’d boasted. “Ample money and some dedicated effort should do the trick.”
But how had he expected “a showcase” to magically appear when he was never available to do any of the work? Or when he had argued against and refused to let her spend any money on repairs or upgrades? In fact, David hadn’t allowed her to buy anything without his permission in years.
She recalled the hopes she’d nourished, the yard she’d painstakingly landscaped herself, and the walls she’d textured, painted, or papered—all on the stringent budget that only David controlled.
Just like he controls me.
Despite David’s iron hand on their bank account, Kari had found ways to make their home a place of simple beauty: She’d forgone buying clothes for herself to eke out a few dollars for wallpaper, and she’d trimmed her own hair, spending money she could have spent with a beautician on house paint instead.
And she’d reveled in the joys of everyday tasks—the carpets she’d vacuumed, bathrooms she’d cleaned, and countless meals she’d fixed—because it was their home. The first real home she’d ever known.
Now their home was nothing more than another dream dashed to dust. Just one more disappointment in a long line of the same.
She sighed over the necessity of givi
ng it all up, of relinquishing her fragile hopes . . . this time for good. Kari looked up from where she sat on the edge of their bed.
“No.” It was all she could muster.
David frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
She forced herself to face him directly. “I mean . . . no, you won’t be able to keep the house either, David.”
David’s face tightened. “What the devil does that mean?”
“Well, it means . . . New Mexico being a community property state . . . we will need to sell the house and split the equity.”
Kari figured she wouldn’t have to wait much longer—she’d provided the spark, and David’s temper would ignite momentarily. But not quite yet. No, she pretty well knew what had to play out first. She shivered a little, foreseeing what was coming.
“And I . . . I’ll need some money to start over.”
Oh, why had she added that? How she hated sounding so—so weak and dependent. Pathetic!
“Kari.” David gentled his voice. In the manner of a parent patiently explaining a great disappointment to his child, he shook his head, even managing to look regretful.
“Kari, this might be difficult for you to hear right now, but do you recall the prenuptial agreement we signed? We discussed this quite painstakingly before we married, do you remember? The agreement stipulates that if we divorced within ten years, whatever each of us contributed financially to the marriage would determine how the property was divided.”
Kari’s memory was working perfectly. She’d left her job as a librarian at The University of New Mexico—where David taught and they had met—less than a year after their wedding, right after they had bought this house. David had insisted that she make a home for them—and for the babies they’d be having soon.
Except, of course, David had changed his mind about the babies.
“Just let me get a bit more put aside before we try to have a baby, okay?” was how his change of heart had started. Then it was “If I’m appointed Department Chair, they’ll expect me to put in a lot more hours the first semester. It won’t be a good time to be worrying about a pregnancy.”
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