“I would therefore,” he went on, “like to take this opportunity to apologize to all of you, and especially to you, Corrie, for my impatience at the time, and for putting you through that period of uncertainty. I was wrong. I had stepped out from under the Lord’s guiding hand, and I am truly and humbly sorry.”
I smiled back at Christopher and nodded slightly. If I had any need to forgive him, I had done so long before.
Chapter 45
Two Kinds of Obedience
“You see, friends,” Christopher now went on, “it is possible to hear the Lord correctly, but in our impatience to obey wrongly. Several months ago I spoke to you about the need to obey promptly when the way before you is clear. If you have wronged someone, for example, to delay restitution is to disobey. Obedience in such a case must be swift and immediate.
“But in other situations, such as this which I faced where the specificity of the obedience was not yet clear, waiting is a vital and necessary component of the obedience. I was doing my best to walk in the light I had at the time. But I did not yet have the full light of God’s direction, so to act was premature.
“The revelation was a growing one, and I needed to give it time to develop within me until the path the Lord was laying out was clear. This is not to say that there are not times when you must step out in obedience in the face of uncertainties. Yet often we must wait patiently for more light.
“Earlier this year I did the one when I should have been doing the other. I did a thing that is sometimes a right and proper thing to do. I believe my motives were honest. But in my impatience, I stepped out too hastily ahead of the leading. I got God’s message mixed up.
“Now, did I sin in what I did?
“Perhaps not, I don’t know. I did not so much do wrong as make an honest mistake. I mistook the specifics of God’s initial leading. I should have listened more attentively to the reservations Corrie was voicing at the time. You see, that was a circumstance too—the fact that Corrie felt uncomfortable about the proposed move. But by then I had already convinced myself that we were to go another direction. My failure to listen to her caused tension between us . . . yet another circumstance I should have heeded, for when the Lord is truly leading, tension ought not to be present.
“As I now look back, I can see all sorts of warning signals indicating that I was mistaken. Yet somehow I was blind to them at the time.”
Christopher stopped and took a deep breath.
“Now, there are two important questions this brings up,” he went on. “One, how do you tell the difference between these two kinds of leading from God—when you should obey instantly and when you must wait for further clarification of specifics and circumstances? And two, what do you do if and when you realize you have made a mistake?
“Let me address the second question first.
“When you’ve made a mistake, the most important thing is to summon the courage to go back and undo it. As difficult as it might be, apologize where you need to, then start out fresh by trying to hear God’s voice accurately. You may have to undo a decision you’ve already made, as we did. Our tickets were already bought and paid for!” he laughed.
“It may mean that you will have to be willing to look foolish. Imagine the embarrassment, for example, of being at the wedding altar and suddenly realizing the whole thing is a mistake! Yet better to admit it, egg on your face and all, than to base a marriage on something other than God’s leading.
“I can tell you I have felt something like that many times this year. Here I am your pastor, and yet my very being here in this pulpit began with a huge blunder on my part. I cannot recall it now without a certain lingering sense of humiliation.
“But that is part of our human weakness. We do make mistakes. I will make many more as your pastor, and I hope you will continue to be forgiving and patient with me. I am struggling to understand how to live my Christian faith just as are all of you. Yet looking foolish is still better than going ahead with a mistaken decision.
“For imagine what the consequences might have been had I been too stubborn and proud to admit my mistake. Corrie and I would now be in the East, lonely and probably miserable. I would probably not be pastoring, or if I had managed to find a church my ministry would be ineffective because I would not be where the Lord had planned for me to be. My ministry would be based not upon the Lord’s leading, but upon my impatience. And you here in Miracle Springs would not have the pastor God intended for you.
“This is not to say that God cannot redeem situations and turn them to good in spite of our mistakes. He certainly can and does. But my point is that we can perpetuate a great deal of mischief and heartache in our own lives and in the lives of others when we are not willing to retrace our steps and humbly listen for his voice instead of our own.”
Christopher paused. “Imagine yourself walking through a stretch of forest in the hills east of here, trying to get back home,” he said. “If the path you are on is an unfamiliar one, and suddenly you realize you have taken a wrong turn, what is the quickest way back here to Miracle Springs? Clearly it is to turn around and go back to wherever you made a wrong turn. To keep going on the wrong path will only take you further and further from where you are trying to get.
“Do you see what I mean? Sometimes to keep moving forward is the worst thing to do. Progress in such a case lies only in turning around to get back on the right path that leads back down out of the mountains to where you are trying to get. Such is, I believe, the importance of being able to admit our mistakes.”
Christopher paused, took out his watch, and glanced down at it.
“Ten to twelve,” he said, smiling. “Give me another five minutes, and we will be done.”
“Take as long as you want, son!” Pa called out from the front row.
“I appreciate your support, Drum,” rejoined Christopher. “But everyone may not agree with you.”
“Then they can lodge their complaints with me!”
“I think five minutes will do it,” laughed Christopher. “All right,” he went on, “now to the other question I asked—how do you know the difference between situations where you must obey quickly and those where you must wait?”
He paused for his question to sink in.
“Actually,” he said after a moment, “I think it is rather a simple distinction. I doubt it will even take the full five minutes! Where doing good toward some other individual is involved, then I say obey without delay. Has the Lord put before you the opportunity to show some kindness, to speak a gracious word, to forgive, to serve? Then do it now.
“There is no use waiting and pondering in prayer, O Lord, wouldst thou have me exercise kindness and do a good deed toward this soul you have placed before me, or wouldst thou have me wait and keep my kindnesses to myself, and pray for thy guidance?”
I could hear some laughing as Christopher said it!
“Such is a Pharisee’s prayer,” he went on. “Is there a kindness to do? Do it! Is there forgiveness to be asked? Ask it! Is the way from Scripture clear? Then obey the Lord’s words immediately and daily.
“But, on the other hand, do you face a decision that involves not a clear good toward your neighbor, but rather a direction in your own life? Then I say this may be occasion for waiting. Either direction may bring good, yet you do not know which of two courses the Lord would have you pursue. Then it is time to wait patiently for specific circumstances to unfold.
“It may be a choice between two equally good options. Then wait for the Lord, continue to pray, and do not force events, as I did, with circumstances of your own devising.
“You see, friends, the Christian walk of faith, while the simplest of lives, is also one of the most complex. If we were given a mere set of rules, as is the case with many of the world’s religions, such uncertainties as we have been speaking about this morning would not exist. But our Father has made us his sons and daughters, not his slaves, and as such he instructs us to walk by faith, not by sight. There
in sometimes lies the difficulty of being a Christian, but at the same time, the wonderful and glorious challenge. Shall we pray together?
“Our dear Father,” Christopher prayed, “we are so thankful for the life of faith you have given us as your sons and daughters. We thank you that you lead and guide and speak to us. And we thank you that you allow us a part in listening and interpreting and learning to perceive your voice. As weak as we are, you yet trust us to hear you and obey you. Increase our capacity, Lord, to hear you rightly and to obey your voice truly. Help us to obey with hasty and unhesitant love toward our neighbors, and help us to obey with patient waiting when you speak new directions into our personal lives. We thank you, Father, that your ways toward us are always good, always loving, and that in all things we may trust you. Amen.”
Chapter 46
Good Tears and Goodbyes
I suppose down inside I knew that we couldn’t keep living in the bunkhouse forever. That’s fine when a husband and wife are just starting out. But eventually you want a place of your own where you can raise a family, a place that you can call your very own home. As much as I loved being so close to my family, I knew that time would come for Christopher and me too.
Pa and Christopher had talked about building a new house on Pa’s property with Christopher’s share of the money from the mine, and even about us buying enough land from Pa that we could have plenty of room to call our own. And no doubt Mr. Royce would have happily lent us money now if we wanted to build a new house. I hoped we would do that someday because I wanted to live near Pa and Almeda just like Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie did. It felt good and safe to have a community of people close by who could love and watch out for one another.
But for right now, building a new house didn’t seem to be what we were supposed to do. With Christopher pastoring the church now, we felt it was important that he be as accessible to the congregation as possible. It had already come up a time or two in conversation about the benefit to the church if we could live in town.
As we did speak of it more, it was always in connection with the church and our role among the people as the pastor and his wife. Gradually I think both Christopher and I came to realize that we were not the ones who were supposed to buy the freight company from Pa and Almeda. I wasn’t sure Becky and Tad were going to want it either. I knew that in her heart Becky still wanted to marry someday. And Tad still talked with wide eyes about going to sea. So the future of the business remained in doubt.
It was around the first of October that Mr. Duncan’s purchase of the Perkins farm was made final. Mr. Duncan and his family had been renting Almeda’s house in town, the one where she lived before she married Pa. Now, within a month, that house would be vacant. That’s when Christopher and I began talking seriously and praying about whether it was time for us to set up housekeeping on our own.
Even though I could tell part of her didn’t want us to leave any more than part of me wanted to, it was Almeda who brought it up the moment she knew the Duncans would be moving out. She said that if we wanted it, the house was available to us.
We both knew immediately that it was the right thing to do. We wouldn’t have to go through all the work of building a new place at the same time Christopher was doing all he could to establish his new ministry on the right foot. Since the church had made him pastor, he’d been spending lots of his free time visiting and calling on people, getting to know everyone in the community and finding out what their needs were and how he could help them. He didn’t want to interrupt that process anytime soon with thoughts of building a new house. And being in town would not only make the calling easier, but would make him more accessible for work as well. It was important, too, he said, that he continue to put in his fair share of time working at the mine when he didn’t have other work.
All things considered, we decided to make the move as soon as the Duncans were settled in their new place.
At last the day came in the second week of November, just the week after Mr. Grant’s election as the new President of the United States.
Christopher and I loaded up the things of ours that were in the bunkhouse—our bed, a chest of drawers, a small oak writing table, our clothes—as well as a bureau, a secretary, and a few other things from the big house that Pa and Almeda wanted to give us. Then there were boxes and crates of house things, linens and utensils and cooking pots.
Midway through the morning, Harriet Rutledge rode up in her buggy. Christopher and I were outside and had just put a couple of chairs up on the wagon. Harriet got down, then grabbed a small box and carried it over toward us, setting it on the back of the wagon.
“What’s this?” Christopher asked.
“My contribution to your move,” she replied.
Christopher and I glanced at each other with puzzled expressions. Christopher lifted the cover that lay over the top of the box and peered inside.
“Books?” he said.
“Yes,” replied Harriet. “I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to tell you, and now that you two are going to have your own place, I want you to have Avery’s books.”
“But . . .” began Christopher, too astonished to know what to say.
“It is just what he would want,” Harriet went on. “I want you to have my husband’s library. I just brought this box as a token. When you are moved in, we will transfer all the rest.”
Christopher was silent. I knew tears were trying to rise in his eyes.
“Harriet,” he said finally, “I just don’t know what to say. It’s too generous and wonderful a thing for me to be able to respond to.”
“Books are nothing if they are not used,” she answered. “Books are not to gather dust; they are to be taken down and thumbed through and read and learned and grown from. You will give Avery’s library its best and hardest use. You know how happy that would make him. Most of the books on theology came from Mr. Henderson, as you know. They came into our hands when he died, now they can pass into your hands. Possessions are never permanent. God gives them to us for a season. Therefore, use them, Christopher, with my blessing. It will make me happy too.”
Christopher smiled, then nodded.
“Thank you, Harriet. It will be an honor. I will call it my Avery Rutledge Library, and I will think of him every time I open one of them—which, I promise you, will be almost a daily occurrence.”
Everyone helped us load our belongings into Pa’s flatbed wagon. There was a fun and playful spirit as we tramped back and forth from the house and bunkhouse to the wagon, carrying and lifting, people asking if we were taking this or that . . . laughing and joking and gaiety.
Yet underneath the happiness there was a sadness too. I suppose I knew it was there, but I didn’t want to think about it for fear I would start crying.
Of course I was excited to think of moving into a new home that would be just for Christopher and me. But I would miss all this too. From now on, whenever I came here, I would be a visitor. There was another place I would call home. It might not always even be Almeda’s house in town. But wherever it was, “home” would never be here again.
I was thirty-one years old, happily married, and at last leaving the roof of my father for a roof my husband and I would call ours.
The time had come when Christopher and I would make home something we shared only between us, and with what family the Lord chose to honor us with.
It could not help, therefore, be a melancholy moment. I loved this place. It was the only home I had known for more than half my life.
I knew Almeda was thinking similar thoughts.
I turned from hoisting a box of kitchen things up onto the wagon and began walking back to the house. There was Almeda standing near the porch. She had been watching me and now stood still, holding one corner of her apron to her face. Becky and I had already hugged and cried two or three times, and somehow the parting didn’t seem so momentous with her. But Almeda and I had not spoken our goodbyes yet.
I now walked tow
ard her. There were tears in her eyes.
I approached and without a word went straight into her arms. We remained there, both weeping softly. They were tears of sadness, yet good tears too. It was a necessary thing that was happening, a part of life’s process of growth.
We stood apart. Almeda’s hands were on my shoulders. She looked me full in the face, smiling through her red eyes and tears.
“Corrie . . . Corrie!” she sighed softly. “Just look at you now. You’re a grown woman, married, and embarking on a life of your own.”
“Did you ever think it would happen?” I said, half laughing through my own tears.
“What?”
“That I would be married and have a home of my own.”
“Of course.”
“I sure never did.”
Almeda smiled.
“I knew it would happen all along,” she said. “The whole world of men would have been fools to pass up as fine a young lady as you, Corrie Belle Hollister Braxton!”
I returned her smile. “Be honest,” I said. “Did you really know?”
Almeda nodded. “I knew the Lord was saving you for just the right man.”
We stood another few seconds, holding each other’s eyes.
“I’m going to miss you, Corrie,” said Almeda softly, her eyes filling with tears again.
“And I’ll miss you,” I said. “You’re the best friend I ever had . . . until Christopher came along. I’ll never forget all you’ve done for me.”
“You have been a treasure to me, Corrie . . . a gift from God. You have helped make my life so rich.”
“Oh, Almeda . . .” I said, starting to cry again. How do you find the words to tell someone like that how much you love her? “It isn’t as if I’m going far away,” I said. “We’ll still see each other . . . every day.”
“Right,” laughed Almeda, trying hard to smile, just like I was. “Of course . . . nothing has to change.”
Inside, however, I think we both knew that after this day things could not help but change. We would love each other just as much, and we would always remain just as close . . . but it would be different. You can never go back and recapture what some things were like when you were young.
A New Beginning Page 21
