01 The Calling of Emily Evans

by Janette Oke

  She really never doubted that. Now Big John’s next question haunted her. How could He be the Son of God, and yet God himself? Was He a created being, as some groups taught? Was He a lesser God, as others taught? How could one explain Christ as God without the concept of the Trinity?

  Emily struggled on.

  “What evidence do I have,” she murmured, “that Christ is God?” and she dug more deeply into the pages of her Bible.

  He does have power, she thought as she read the story of the healing of the lepers. But she quickly reminded herself that His followers were given power to heal as well. Hadn’t Peter healed the lame man at the temple gate?

  But Christ’s power was different, she mused. With His own power He had raised himself from the dead. A live man doesn’t have such power, Emily reasoned, much less a dead one.

  It sounded like a solid argument.

  But Emily needed more.

  Again and again she found words like these: “I came from the Father and to Him I shall return.” They were spoken from the lips of the Christ. He also stated, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” And He told His followers that He had existed from the beginning.

  Then Emily began to discover some special evidence. Jesus Christ forgave sins. It was only God who could wipe man’s sin from the record books.

  Emily found too that the creation references interchanged God and Christ as the Creator.

  But it was as Emily gathered the scriptures pertaining to the worship of God that her heart began to sing with joy.

  Scripture was very specific. God would allow the worship of no other being than himself. He was a “jealous God.” Man was to bow down to one God and one God only.

  God’s chosen people had learned that lesson through great tribulation and loss of land and even death. They had finally been broken from their idolatry under the rule of the Babylonians. God would not tolerate the worship of false gods.

  Yet God allowed, yes, demanded, the worship of His Son, Jesus Christ. The religious leaders could not accept the position of Christ as God, and had rejected Him as an imposter.

  “If they would have just understood the reality of the Trinity,” Emily said to herself, “they could have accepted Christ and stayed true to the Father as well.”

  In the book written to the Philippians, Emily found the apostle Paul’s statement: “At the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

  Emily added page after page, as her notes grew, of accounts where Christ was worshiped, accepted worship, and was approved for worship by the Father.

  “They have to be One!” cried Emily. “There is no other explanation. God would not share this honor with another, lesser, being.”

  It was enough for Emily. She still could not explain the Trinity. Three persons—yet One. But she was at peace in her own heart. Christ Jesus was not an imposter. He was not just a son of God. He was God himself. One in essence, one in Spirit—one with the Father in purpose and being.

  Emily let the tears fall unchecked.

  “My faith has been restored,” she whispered to herself as she lovingly laid aside her Bible. Then she quickly added, “No, not restored. Strengthened.”

  After a great deal of thought and prayer, Emily approached Big John with her findings and some simplified notes. She handed them to him with an earnestness new to her.

  “This is what I have discovered to support my beliefs,” she said simply. “I do hope that you will study them. They are grounds for a living faith. Jesus Christ is God. The Trinity is a reality. I still can’t explain it in human terms, but I know that God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit do exist—as one.”

  The big man took her notes with no comment, then muttered something about the weather, his arthritis and his difficult sister. Emily felt it was all bluff. She smiled warmly at him, purchased her small bag of cookies and left the store.

  Emily’s cupboards now were truly bare. She had used the last of her eggs the night before. All she had left were a few cookies that she doled out carefully whenever she had guests, a few teaspoonfuls of sugar and enough tea for a skimpy pot.

  “Lord, I don’t know what to do,” she confided. “I can’t beg. But I don’t think you want me to starve. I hate to do it, Lord, but I guess I’ll have to visit somebody. I—I determined that I would never do my calling just to get a meal—but this time ...”

  Emily decided that though the day was cold, she would get her team and drive to the Reillys’. Not only would Mrs. Reilly welcome her and feed her well, but she would send her home with more eggs and milk as well. That would keep Emily going for several more days.

  “Maybe I should even explain why I’m there,” Emily told her conscience. She pulled on her heavy coat and tied a warm scarf snugly about her neck. After running a caressing hand over Walter’s sleek fur, she checked her fire to make sure it was banked properly and walked to her door.

  The thought of stepping out into the day made her shiver. She took a deep breath and pushed against the door. The frost had sealed the edges. Emily pushed harder and felt it give.

  Her breath preceded her in silvery puffs of steam.

  “It’s too cold for man or beast,” she said aloud, closing the door tightly behind her.

  But as Emily turned to go, her foot kicked against something. Her first awful thought was of Mr. Travis. She had found him on her doorstep once before. If he were there now, he would be frozen stiff.

  But it was not Mr. Travis. A small basket, bulging with contents and lightly dusted with snow over its brown paper wrapping, lay at her feet.

  Emily picked up the basket, wondering what it held. She’d heard no knock at her door. She returned to the kitchen and tore the brown paper from the bundle.

  “It’s food!” she exclaimed, unable to believe her eyes. “It’s food.”

  She found a small bag of sugar, another of flour, and went on to pull out vegetables, cheese and bread.

  “Where did this come from?” she asked herself. “Whose is it?”

  Then softly in Emily’s inner thoughts came a beautiful scripture verse: “My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” breathed Emily. “Thank you.” And she set her basket on her kitchen table and sank to her knees at the nearby chair.

  “Forgive me for doubting, Lord,” she wept. “I should have known you had it all under control—all the time.”

  And Emily carefully portioned out the food that had been provided. It would do her for many days to come if she used it sparingly.

  But the following week, another food basket appeared on Emily’s doorstep.

  I wonder who is bringing them? she pondered. Someone is certainly an Angel of Mercy.

  All through the remainder of the long winter, Emily continued to get weekly supplies. None of her congregation knew anything about the baskets when she shared with them her wonderful provision. Emily had thought that it might be Sophie, though she knew Sophie was hard pressed to care for her own family’s needs. Then she wondered if it was Carl. He was always watching out for her. But Carl was just as surprised and excited as anyone when he heard the news. The Reillys were not bringing it. They would have brought it openly had they known Emily was in such need, Mrs. Reilly told her.

  Others too were surprised that Emily had been so low on provisions.

  “But the cookies?” asked Mrs. Cummings. “You always had store-bought cookies.”

  “That was all I could afford,” admitted Emily. “I just didn’t have enough money to purchase all the ingredients for baking at any one time.”

  “Oh, my,” said Mrs. Reilly sorrowfully, “if only we’d known. I can’t forgive myself for allowing you to go hungry.”

  But Emily only smiled. “Don’t feel guilty,” she assured them all. “God meant it for
good. I learned more about leaning on the Lord this winter than I have in my whole life. I learned the wonderful truth about faith and trusting God.”

  Along with the continuing food baskets, her congregation sometimes blessed Emily with a bundle of carrots, a small bag of potatoes, some canned goods or baking, an occasional roasting chicken or piece of beef, and often—very often—with eggs and milk. And, as an added blessing, the Sunday offerings increased.

  A letter from Ruth included the news that the two new mission workers who had been approved by the district at the last conference were doing well at their postings. Verna, who had quit the year before, was now married to the grocer in the small town where she had gone to serve. He was an older man, widowed with two small children.

  Emily smiled. “Imagine me married to my grocer,” she chuckled. “Wouldn’t we have one jolly time growling at each other!”

  The more serious side of Emily kept her praying for Big John McMann. But she wondered if she was making any headway at all.

  Emily had begun to feel a thawing on the part of his sister. Vera McMann greeted her warmly when she went to the store. And she came for tea about once a week.

  Still, the woman forbade the discussion of “religion,” and Emily chafed that she couldn’t share the reason for her faith with Vera.

  “Lord,” she prayed, “I’ll love her and you talk to her.”

  So Emily poured tea and chatted about the weather, the present wave of the flu, and commented on the news Miss McMann heard over her wireless.

  At one point Emily wondered if it was she who was leaving the groceries at her door, but after some candid statements, Emily realized that the woman knew nothing about the food.

  Emily’s visits with Sophie and her children were bright spots in her week. They never missed a service at church. On Sundays, Sophie’s sign hung boldly in her window: “Closed for Worship.” At first she had worried that her business would suffer, but she happily told the little congregation that her receipts had actually increased.

  One early spring day when the eaves were dripping and water was running in muddy streams down the sides of the town’s narrow streets, Emily decided to don her rubber overshoes and take a walk in the woods.

  It was a long time since she had visited the creek she loved, and she was sure it was pulsating with new life now that the sun had filled it with melted snow.

  Dressed warmly in an old coat, Emily found the creek to be just as she had expected. Here and there, through the winter ice and snow, the stream had managed to flow southward, clearing its path as it wound among the slope of the hills.

  Emily sought out her familiar log and settled herself to gaze at the blue stretch of sky above her head.

  “I’ve made it through another winter, Lord,” she breathed quietly. “Thanks to you and your care. Now we face another spring. As wonderful as it is, it is a hardship too. The mud will be deep for a while. I won’t get much calling done. I do hope my garden is more workable this year—though you did get me through last winter without it. Still, I can’t expect those food baskets to keep dropping from heaven forever. But thank you for them, Lord. I much prefer those to food gifts from ravens.” She paused a moment and pictured her heavenly Father on His glorious throne smiling with her at her little joke.

  “It’s been a good year. A hard one in many ways—but I’ve learned much from you. It was hard to lose Nicky—but wonderful to welcome Sophie as a sister in the faith. And thank you for Mrs. Woodrow and the way she has grown spiritually since giving her life over to you. I’m sorry that I was not able to talk to Mr. Woodrow before he died. Of course, only you know what might have happened in his heart before he passed on into eternity.

  “Thank you for bringing Carl here. He has been a real blessing to me. I’m glad he caught on so quickly that we can only be friends. He’s such a good friend to have, Lord.

  “I guess the thing that has bothered me the most—the of tenest—is the Travis family. Lord, it seems that there should be some kind of a solution to that problem. Surely someone could do something before one of the family members is hurt very badly. If I should interfere, in spite of what Mrs. Travis says, Lord, please make that clear to me.

  “And then there is the matter of Big John and Miss McMann. Lord, I have failed in trying to share the Good News with them. I don’t see where I have made any progress at all—though she is friendly now. Almost seems to want my company. If you simply want to show your love to her through me, I’m willing, Lord.

  “And Big John? He still growls and grouches when I come in—though he doesn’t taunt me anymore about being called to preach. I’m thankful for that—I wonder if he ever checked the scriptures I gave him. Only you know that, Lord.

  “And thank you for caring for Ruth—and each of the others who have gone to serve you. Be with Morris as he leaves for Africa. Ruth says that he is to be married before he goes. I never really felt he would take time to find a wife—but you work out some marvelous things.

  “Be with each member of my little congregation. I thank you for the Reillys. She’s been like a mother to me—and it sometimes makes me miss my own mother even more. But it’s been good to have her, Lord. I love to have someone to talk with who is motherly and wise—and who has loved you for a long time. When I visit with Sophie, she’s more like a sister.

  “And, Lord,” Emily hesitated. “Be with Shad, wherever he is. Help him to put aside his bitterness—whatever caused it—and to open his heart to you. He needs you, Lord—and I know you still love him.” Emily paused again. “And sometimes I’m—I’m afraid I love him, too,” she added.

  Emily finished her prayer with tears in her eyes. She wondered why she was unable to forget the man who seemed to have so completely stolen her heart—but who was so wrong for her to love.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Letter

  When summer arrived, Emily planted her garden after Carl spaded it for her. She hoped the absence of the weeds might encourage her seeds to grow more prosperously.

  “If it does well, I’ll share it with you,” she had promised Carl.

  “No need for that,” he assured her. “Ma always plants a big garden and she sends her stuff to me already canned.”

  Emily laughed. “Well, I won’t make any such promises,” she said lightly, and thanked Carl warmly for his help.

  The garden was doing much better than it had the year before. Emily counted on it supplying vegetables for the entire coming winter.

  “My pa is sick.” A voice suddenly interrupted Emily’s concentration as she weeded her carrots.

  Emily lifted her head and saw Rena standing nearby. “Sick? How?” she asked, wondering if Mr. Travis was beating his wife again.

  “He keeps throwin’ up and he’s too weak to get out of bed,” said Rena.

  “Does your mother need help?” asked Emily.

  “She said to fetch you,” answered the girl.

  “What about Dr. Andrew? Does she want him to come?”

  Rena shook her head.

  “But I can’t do anything for a sick man,” Emily told her.

  “She doesn’t want you to. She just wants your—your company,” said the child, and Emily went to her kitchen to wash the soil from her hands and get a light wrap.

  “Let’s go,” she said to Rena and the two set off for the Travis farm.

  She found the man in even worse condition than she had feared. Rena was right—he was very sick. His face was sunken, his skin had a yellowish cast, his eyes were bleary and unseeing. From time to time he thrashed about the bed, and then fell back exhausted, the sweat standing out in beads on his forehead.

  Mrs. Travis had said nothing as Emily slipped in by her side. Emily sat silently for many minutes and then reached for the woman’s thin hand. “I will fix you some tea,” she whispered, and went to the kitchen.

  She took the tea to Mrs. Travis and kept vigil with her, occasionally quoting a psalm from memory in a soft voice until the evening shad
ows began to lengthen.

  “The children should be fed,” Mrs. Travis murmured wearily.

  Emily left for the kitchen to see what she could find to make a meal. The cupboards were almost as bare as Emily’s had been the winter before. She did find enough to make a batch of pancakes, and soon the griddle was sizzling, the smell of pancakes filling the air.

  Timmie and Rena ate hungrily, and Emily continued to flip pancakes until they declared themselves “stuffed”; then she fixed a plate for the mother. But Mrs. Travis only picked at the food. Emily encouraged her to eat even though she did not feel hungry.

  At last Emily removed the plate and washed up the supper dishes along with the stack that lined the tiny cupboards. After she finished, Emily prepared the children for bed and read them a story about Jesus blessing the children.

  When she was sure the children were sleeping, Emily fixed another cup of tea for Mrs. Travis and offered it to her as she moved her chair beside the woman. Mr. Travis was quiet now. He had ceased to vomit and twist about. It seemed to take all his effort just to suck in another breath. Emily felt anxious and uncomfortable. Would they just sit and watch him die?

  “Shouldn’t I get Dr. Andrew?” she asked the woman again.

  “He’s been,” said the woman shortly. “Nothing that Doc can do now. It’s just a matter of time.”

  The woman reached out and took the fragile hand of the man on the bed. She stroked it gently—lovingly, and Emily couldn’t help but cringe inwardly.

  “Suppose you wonder how I can still love him,” she mused aloud. “Well, I haven’t always loved him. Sometimes I hated him—with such a passion that I could have killed him. I wanted to at times because of the way he was hurting the children.”