Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  A quartet from Bethel sang, Dr. Cortland prayed, and after the quartet had sung again, Phil spoke once more.

  “I want these men before me to stand. Thank you. I have counted, and I think there are twenty-seven of you here. Each man of this number was brought to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ by Sam Pawley. What part this is of the full number of fish that Sam caught for His Lord, only He Himself knows. Fourteen years ago a young student at our seminary led Sam in off the street and told him the story of God’s love. Sam found salvation in Jesus Christ and left his life of drunken misery to become a soul winner for his Lord. Every night since then he has labored up and down the street to bring men to Christ. He wasn’t fluent, he wasn’t well educated. He had no talent. But he had a flaming passion for souls and was filled with the Spirit. What more could any man have? I am going to ask that those of this group of men who desire to do so tell us now what Sam did for them.”

  One by one they spoke—some haltingly, some passionately, some tearfully—all telling of lives won from sin and redeemed by the Lamb and all testifying that it was Sam who led them home.

  One poor fellow could not speak at all as he stood to his feet. Several times he essayed to give his testimony, but the words would not come. Then Phil, with his face shining, spoke for him.

  “Just today Dan Hagan came to me and told me that he, too, was one of the Lord’s redeemed ones, because Sam wouldn’t give up. Even when the rest of us doubted and Dan himself said it couldn’t be done, Sam believed and prayed.”

  The last to speak was the man at the organ, and his voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “Some of you know me. I am soloist at Grace Church on Wellington Boulevard. At every opportunity I give my testimony in song for my Lord. Twelve years ago I was completely down and out—so low and vile that my mother wouldn’t have known me. Sam Pawley found me and fed me and washed me and led me to Christ. Through Christ’s redeeming power I became a new man—a new creation. Sam shared his room and bed and food with me as I started the long, hard trail back from the depths. He stayed with me and helped me until I had grown enough to walk without him. I want to sing my testimony here today, and if there’s one listening who doesn’t know the Lord as his Savior, I beg him to accept Him now. It is so desperately urgent—the most urgent thing in all of life.”

  Then he sang. It was a song that Hope had heard often since coming to the Institute, but never had she heard it sung like this. The powerful, rich tones rang through the arches above them and echoed in the hearts of the listeners.

  “Glory! I’m saved! Glory! I’m saved!

  My sins are all pardoned, my guilt is all gone!

  Glory! I’m saved! Glory! I’m saved!

  I’m saved by the blood of the Crucified One!”

  It was a strange song to sing at a funeral, but the listeners did not think of that. Nor did they deem it strange that a man who could sing to the critical congregation at Grace Church should sing at the funeral of a humble laborer in Sherman Street. They felt the presence of the Holy Spirit and knew that heaven was very near to them all.

  Stan, at Hope’s side, twisted uncomfortably, and his hands twitched nervously as they lay in his lap. Billy drew a quivering breath and leaned closer to Ben’s encircling arm. Eleanor’s face shone with a glory that could only come from a glimpse into that better land where Sam had gone.

  Hope thought, I don’t feel like crying. It isn’t sad. It’s just beautiful and comforting. I don’t see why Christians should fear death. It isn’t death I fear—it’s life.

  Late that night while Billy lay sleeping in the bed across the room, Hope, unable to sleep, looked back over the events of the past three days and wondered about the changes they would make at the Institute. Tom Berg would take over Sam’s work. That had been arranged. What about the rest of them? Would Billy and Ben be married and go someplace else to live? Would Billy give up her Institute work? What would Stan do now that it was clear that Billy loved Ben? He surely could not be expected to stay on under such circumstances, where he would have to face his successful rival every day. How strange the Institute would seem without him!

  Three days only and yet such changes as had been wrought! Sam gone, never to return, Ben and Billy planning marriage, the kindergarten room blackened and charred, the shop and sewing room water-soaked and streaked with smoke. Would they ever be able to fix things up so that the work could go on? A mood of deep depression came over Hope. This was just another one of those things that were always coming into her life. She had felt happy and secure here and had begun to build up confidence and to believe that God had a place, this place, where He could use and bless her. But it was the same old story of failure and frustration. She should have known it would be so!

  She lay sleepless, envying Billy who could sleep so soundly in spite of upsetting happenings. Why shouldn’t she? Billy’s life was blessed with an abundance of love from all about her, and whenever she planned anything her plans seemed favored by a beneficent Providence.

  Hope envied Eleanor, too. With a devoted husband and a lovable little son both pouring out affection on her, no wonder her face shone with joy. Would it shine if all those contributing causes were removed? Surely not.

  The only person who might feel as lonely and unhappy as Hope did was Stan. He had said nothing about his disappointment over Billy, but Hope was sure it must be deep and keen. Now that the funeral was over and life must go on, would he be willing to stay? What did lie ahead for them all?

  As Hope turned restlessly on her pillow she looked through the tower window, then sat up quickly. Someone was out on the porch. Slipping from her bed, she wrapped her robe about her and tiptoed to the window, then drew in her breath sharply. It was Stan, and he must be ill, for he was sitting on the step leaning his head on the broad balustrade at the side. No one would be sitting outside just for pleasure on this chilly night. As Hope looked, he raised his head, started to rise, then dropped his face into his hands and his shoulders shook as if he had drawn a tremendous sigh. He was ill. What should she do? She knew Ben was away, for she had heard him leave an hour ago in response to a telephone call. She’d have to waken Phil.

  When her repeated rapping and calling at the door brought a sleepy Eleanor to answer, Hope cried, “I was afraid I couldn’t rouse you. Won’t Phil come, please? Stan is ill out on the porch alone, and Ben is gone and I didn’t know what to do!”

  Phil had heard her, and in a moment he appeared, saying as he thrust his arms into his coat, “It isn’t the kind of illness that needs a doctor, Hope. I’ll go to Stan, and you girls go back to bed and pray for us.”

  Hope did that, although she did not know just what Phil meant. But if praying were her part, she would pray. An hour later she heard Phil and Stan come out of the living room and go to their rooms.

  26

  Hope was awakened the next morning by Billy. “Get up, you lazy bones! Do you know it’s eight-thirty and you’re due at devotions in half an hour?”

  Hope sat up with a bounce. “Eight-thirty? Oh, breakfast, I have to—”

  “Forget it. You were sleeping so soundly that I hadn’t the heart to waken you. I got breakfast for Stan and Ben, and it was good. Ben said so.”

  “He would,” said Hope. “I feel like a slacker. I don’t know when I ever slept so late.”

  “You were a dead one all right. You must have been awake all night to be so sleepy.”

  Hope made no answer, and Billy went on, “Everybody’s dopey this A.M. Ben was up all night and looks like a cold fried egg. Stan ate an orange and drank a cup of coffee and left without even kissing the cook.”

  Hope turned from the mirror and stared at Billy in exasperation. “Billy! Aren’t you ashamed? You can’t expect him to keep showing his feelings for you after you’ve promised to marry Ben. No wonder he feels bad. He loves you and—”

  “Of course he loves me! And I love him and always shall, but I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth. I couldn’t. Oh, Hop
e you’re really hopeless. Stan wouldn’t let me tell you before, but I’m going to now and he can’t stop me. You should have caught on a dozen times. Hope, Stan is my uncle!”

  “Your—your uncle?” gulped Hope.

  “Yes, my sure ’nuf uncle—my mother’s baby brother. Her only brother. We’ve always loved each other—sort of special. However, not like I love Ben,” Billy added hastily.

  “But you said you tried to elope.”

  “We did. I was three at the time. It’s one of the family jokes. No, Hope, it isn’t little Wilhelmina that Stan loves now.”

  Hope did not hear that last sentence, for her mind was busy trying to grasp the stupendous fact that Stan was not, and never had been, in love with Billy in the way Hope thought he had been. All her thinking for months had been founded on a false premise, and she felt stunned as she realized that the truth she had just learned carried with it some tremendous implications. It made a difference in everything. Her mind drew back from the acknowledgment of just how much difference it did make.

  Billy’s voice interrupted, “Come on—hurry! It’s three minutes to nine, and Phil said we’re to meet in the living room because the insurance men are using his office.”

  So the climactic news had to be shelved for later deliberation.

  When the girls entered the living room, Ben was nodding in his chair, while Eleanor and Philip sat at the piano discussing an arrangement of a new chorus. Stan was nowhere to be seen, and it was only after Phil had taken his place at the table and was opening his Bible for the morning reading that Hope heard him come in. Glancing at him as he slipped into the seat between her and Billy, she was surprised to see him in a dark suit rather than the informal tweeds or khaki that he usually wore. She had only time to wonder fleetingly at the white flower in his lapel before Phil began.

  “In the midst of the changes that have come to us this week, it is a precious and a comforting thing to have the assurance that the One whose we are and whom we serve does not change. It is in Him that we meet here and on His grace we stand. Let’s read today the forty-sixth Psalm.” Hope turned the pages of her Bible, conscious that Stan was watching her, and when she had found the place she shared the book with him. Together they all read,

  “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.”

  and on through to the triumphant finish,

  “The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.”

  When they had concluded, instead of asking each of them to pray as usual, Phil spoke again.

  “We have suffered loss this week and have seen sorrow. We face difficult and trying days as we prepare to carry on our program with inadequate facilities. However, we are not working alone nor in the dark. We can be sure that the great plan and purpose of which we are a part is still operating. As an earnest of the presence and guidance of our Master, we have received today a sign of the working of His Spirit even in the midst of this turmoil. I believe that Stan has something to say to you now that will make you all very happy.”

  Stan unfolded himself from his chair and stood up. He looked more angular and awkward than usual, but in spite of his evident embarrassment, he had an air of determination that was new to him.

  “I don’t quite know how to begin. I guess it all goes back to Sam. You know how Sam and I argued. When I came here I was pretty well satisfied with myself. The rest of you didn’t seem to doubt my fitness to be among you as a worker. I have worshiped with you and prayed aloud before you. But from the start Sam knew I didn’t belong. How he knew I can’t tell, but he went after me with his Scripture verses and his everlasting arguments, and he never let up. I would get mad at him and I’d tell him off, but he just kept up—‘disregardless.’”

  Stan’s voice cracked and failed him as the favorite word of old Sam came to his lips. After a moment’s silence he continued.

  “You all know why Sam died. He died for me! Of course he didn’t have to, and it was an unreasonable thing that he did. Yet I know now that God was in it. Last night after we had laid Sam away, I came face to face with Stan Dykstra as he looked in God’s sight, and for the first time in my life I realized my need of a Savior. I saw that I was just as great a sinner as any of those men who spoke yesterday had ever been. Sam knew that, and he died because he realized that if I were killed I’d be eternally lost. Oh, how I wished last night that Sam could come back long enough to show me the way I wanted to go. With all my education I didn’t know the one thing I needed—how to find Jesus Christ as my Savior.”

  He stopped again as if he did not know how to say the thing that was on his heart. Billy reached for his hand and patted it reassuringly. That seemed to be what he needed, for he smiled down at her and went on.

  “Well—Sam wasn’t there, but Phil was—and he showed me the way. That’s all. Where Sam is now he knows I’m all right at last—a really born-again child of God. I couldn’t wear Sam’s white flower yesterday, but I wanted to wear it today so that you’d all know that it was really he who led me home. And—I—I—wish my mother were here!”

  He changed so quickly from an earnest young man to a lonesome small boy that their hearts were touched. Perhaps Billy remembered her homesickness for her own mother, for she sprang from her chair and threw her arms about him while tears of which she was unashamed ran down her cheeks. Hope bit her lips to keep back her own tears and was grateful when Phil’s voice was raised in a prayer of thanksgiving and praise.

  Eleanor and Ben came to Stan as soon as the prayer was ended and told him of their joy at the news. Hope hesitated, and it was only after Billy and Ben had gone into the hall and Eleanor and Philip were again at the piano, that she went forward with outstretched hand and said, “I’m truly glad, Stan. It’s wonderful to know for sure that it’s all right between you and God.”

  “Thanks, Hope. It surely is. It’s great to have folks all care so much.”

  Then as she moved into the hall he stepped beside her to say in a lower tone, “I have something else I want to say to you later.”

  The look in his eyes as she raised her own made her face burn, and she hurried to her room. Whatever it was he had to say, she was quite sure she did not want to hear it!

  27

  Anything Stan had to say to Hope had to wait. For several days after Stan’s public confession of his Lord they were all extremely busy. The kindergarten was moved over into the huge old-fashioned parlor of the Palace, the room which had been a problem from the time the Kings had moved in. The sewing classes worked around the kitchen tables, and Stan’s lathe and other equipment were installed in the basement of the house. The church basement was indeed a ruin. The walls were smoke blackened, the door and window frames were charred, the furnishings were broken and water-soaked. It was a discouraging situation, and the hearts of the workers failed them as they attacked the problem of holding classes and keeping the kindergarten going under such adverse circumstances.

  Just what would be done to the fine old church no one knew. Billy’s father was chairman of the trustees, and he would not return from South America for several weeks. Until then, the broken windows were boarded up, the doors locked, and for the first time in its long career, it stood silent and idle. In the Palace the whole Institute staff labored under an extra heavy load of work, so there was no chance nor place for the talk Stan desired.

  Hope was glad they were so busy. Definitely, she did not want to talk to Stan. Since Billy’s disclosure of the relationship between herself and Stan, Hope had felt her old self-consciousness and fear returning. Her sense of security had fled, and as she contemplated any conversation she and Stan might have she grew panic-stricken at the prospect. If she had dared, she would have gone home, but she could not desert her friends when they needed her so badly. Besides, she did not want to go home. Hope had thought that by this time she would be able to go, but, brought f
ace to face with the prospect, she drew back. The forbidding wall was still there. Yet, neither did she want to stay here and talk to Stan!

  The decision was taken out of her hands, however. A telephone call brought word that Stan’s father was very ill, and he and Billy left at once. Although several college students were drafted to help in their places, it still made a heavier load for each of the regular staff to carry. Eleanor took over all the office work, which she could do in her own rooms, still keeping one eye on Chad and her housekeeping. Hope and Romilda worked together in the nursery, and two young mothers gave them occasional assistance. Hope missed the friendly fellowship of the alcove dining nook, but Ben was too busy and too much engrossed in plans for his wedding to think of anything else. Hope worked energetically and tried to forget her loneliness. The days were not hard, for she loved her girls and enjoyed helping them. The difficulties since the fire were a challenge to her efficient spirit, and she tackled them with zest.

  When the girls were gone and the big tower room was dark and quiet with no talkative Billy in the other bed, Hope lay through many hours of the nights turning over in her mind the events of the past and prospects of the future. What should she do? She did not feel that she could ever again be satisfied here as she had been last winter when all of them had worked together. Looking back on it from this monotonous treadmill into which the Institute work had fallen, even the nightmarish days of the epidemic had a certain luster. Then she felt useful even though she ached with weariness and sorrow; now she was just a fill-in. Someone from the college, with training for this work, could be found to take her place, and she would have to start out again to find a place where she could live and work. Oh, she was tired of it all.