Wild Grows the Heather in Devon

by Michael Phillips

  “I was reflecting along those very same lines, Bobby,” said Charles. “I think the Lord may have given Jocelyn a word of revelation to help us all to pray for Amanda with greater faith. In fact, the more I consider the thing, it may have more power for us than for Amanda.”

  “Why, Papa?” asked Catharine. “Why us?”

  “Let me ask you a question, Catharine,” replied Charles. “When you pray for Amanda to wake up and see God and herself in a true light and to come back home, do you truly believe she will do so tomorrow or, say, next week?”

  “I don’t suppose so,” replied Amanda’s sister. “I pray, but it is hard to think of Amanda changing all at once.”

  “Exactly. But can you envision her having just one tiny instant of seeing—maybe remembering a happy occasion from childhood?”

  Catharine nodded. “That’s not so difficult to imagine.”

  “That’s it—of course!” now exclaimed Timothy. “Praying for such tiny slices, as it were, helps us increase our faith to believe our own prayers. You’ve hit upon it, Charles! We can pray, genuinely believing, that God is going to send that momentary flash of light, and that it will penetrate.”

  “My whole attitude has been different today,” said Jocelyn. “For the first time, I really do believe as I pray for her. I can sense God’s answer on the way immediately—the loosing of an arrow of clarity from his bow.”

  “A good analogy, Jocelyn!” said Timothy. “You ought to be a preacher!”

  “But it’s true,” said Jocelyn. “I’ve never felt anything quite like it when praying ever in my life. There is a strong and deep assurance that it will happen. I truly think that Amanda has had such a moment today. You’re right, Timothy—it’s my faith to believe my own prayers that has suddenly grown.”

  “Which is why I believe the Lord gave you this revelation,” rejoined Diggorsfeld, “that we might all join in praying arrows-of-clarity prayers.”

  The others nodded in affirmation.

  “This is exciting,” Timothy went on. “I think the Lord has truly spoken to us. I’m convinced this is his way of telling us that Amanda’s eyes are going to open.”

  “And it doesn’t matter,” now said Maggie, “if the fog gathers back over her heart the next moment. For the arrow of clarity has done its work. She will have seen something, remembered something, experienced some brief seeing. In time another such moment will come . . . and another . . . and like my Bobby says, they will all add together.”

  “I’m going to start praying for Amanda like that tomorrow,” said George enthusiastically.

  “Why wait until tomorrow, my boy?” said Charles. “Let us pray for her now—all of us. With seven people praying for one moment of clarity, who knows what God might show her!”

  As of one accord, the seven began joining hands, gathering and shifting themselves closer together, until the circle of prayer was complete.

  “We thank you, our God,” prayed Timothy Diggorsfeld, “for this dynamic and down-to-earth word of insight you have given our sister. May each of us wield this weapon of prayer warfare as David wielded the tiny stone with which he slew a giant. May we be bold to pray with new faith for tiny stones—or arrows—of clarity to penetrate the surrounding fogs with which the enemy has encircled our dear Amanda. Send our prayers to their mark, heavenly Father, that your perfect will may be done in Amanda’s life.”

  “Give the lass a glimpse o’ truth this very day,” prayed Bobby.

  “And another tomorrow,” added Maggie.

  “I add my prayer to Bobby’s, Lord,” said Jocelyn. “Part the fog in her heart and let in the rays of sunshine.”

  “Help Amanda to see the truth, God,” said George. “Open her eyes.”

  “Open her inner eyes,” added Charles, “the eyes of her heart.”

  “And her ears too,” prayed Catharine.

  “Bring memories to her mind,” said Jocelyn, “good and happy memories of our family, and of Charles and me. Help her to see and feel our love, even now.”

  “And may she be given arrows of clarity about you most of all, Father,” said Charles. “I know what it is like to be spiritually blind. But you sent a moment of clear thinking to me, and it eventually changed my life. Do the same for our daughter.”

  And thus, in the very cottage which held the secret that would open the door to her own personal future, did these seven loving family members and friends offer up prayer for the daughter of Charles and Jocelyn Rutherford.

  It was a secret that was intertwined with Amanda’s own destiny. Its disclosure could not come until after the day of her awakening . . . for she only could bring it to light.

  Until then, the secret would remain silently hidden between the pages of truth.

  98

  Thank You!

  The next morning Charles and Jocelyn, with Catharine, George, and Timothy, drove slowly up to the small church in Milverscombe.

  After last evening’s time of prayer at the cottage, an expectant hush had remained with them all. Breakfast had been subdued, and no one said much on the drive into the village. For the first time since Amanda’s leaving, a renewed sense had come over the four Rutherfords that they were a family, and that Amanda was still one of them. They were praying now with confidence that their prayers were indeed finding the mark. And this fact at once brought Amanda nearer their hearts than she had been in months. She was newly present with them, because they were praying for her with new faith.

  As they got down out of the carriage, Jocelyn smiled to one of the village women. She nodded shyly in return and continued inside. Behind the woman now came Bobby and Maggie, full of smiles and greetings as the Rutherford carriage emptied. How glad Jocelyn was that they could all be here on this morning and that Timothy had been able to remain with them through the weekend for a change. It was the first occasion upon which he had been able to attend church with them. Usually, his responsibilities to his own flock took him back to London on Saturday evenings. Today, however, he had managed to obtain a substitute.

  Jocelyn glanced upward. A deep blue sky was dotted with lazy clouds which thickened as they extended toward the sea. A warm sense of God smiling down filled her heart.

  A new season in their lives had begun.

  Yesterday had brought a breakthrough. For Amanda, for their family, in their prayers . . . and especially for her, thought Jocelyn. What might God be about to do, not only in her daughter’s life, but in her own!

  Everything was different. Change had come to Heathersleigh. But maybe, in the long run, the change would turn out to be good after all. At first it was painful. Amanda’s final words and letter had broken her mother’s heart. But Jocelyn could feel a new peace coming in the wake of the pain.

  They walked inside the church where they had been married, where they now attended services every Sunday, knelt in prayer as they readied themselves for worship, then sat down.

  The service began. The familiar and lovely opening sentences descended comfortingly on Jocelyn’s ears. In recent years they had taken on the gleam of deepened meaning and relevance. And then, as the service progressed, the congregation rose to sing from the psalms.

  “O give thanks unto the Lord,

  call upon his name . . .

  O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good;

  for his mercy endureth forever . . .”

  “O give thanks unto the Lord;

  for he is good . . .

  O give thanks unto the Lord;

  for he is good . . .”

  Jocelyn recalled the day of the wedding when she walked down this aisle on the arm of her father, flowers filling every nook and cranny with heavenly fragrance. So much had happened since that day. There had been disappointments. But today she was thinking how much she had grown. As she now sang, Jocelyn’s heart soared. She was no longer the self-conscious Jocelyn Wildecott as she had been that day, but Jocelyn Rutherford, child of God.

  “O give thanks unto the God of gods . . .
r />   O give thanks to the Lord of lords . . .”

  “O give thanks unto the God of heaven;

  for his mercy endureth forever!”

  “A lesson from the fifth chapter of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians,” the vicar now announced as the congregation took their seats. He began to read. “Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

  The next words were lost on her as Jocelyn’s mind repeated the words she had been singing and had just heard—in everything give thanks . . . give thanks unto the Lord . . . give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good . . . in everything give thanks . . . in everything give thanks . . .

  The service progressed.

  Jocelyn’s mind filled with memories as she sat and absorbed the morning’s service . . . her years with Charles . . . the memorable discussions with Timothy. And throughout, the Scriptures about thanks continued to echo in her ears.

  She realized that her entire life had been a struggle over this one simple yet momentous truth—giving thanks. In it was bound up her past, her identity, her struggle to come to terms with who she was. Now that struggle had taken on new dimensions. She must carry it beyond herself and try to summon thankfulness even for Amanda’s present plight. That was just as difficult as being thankful for her birthmark. More difficult, perhaps.

  Yet if she could not move past this roadblock, which for so long had prevented her from intimacy with God, how could she expect Amanda to be thankful for circumstances that were not to her liking?

  Fragmentary words from the vicar’s homily intruded into the edges of Jocelyn’s consciousness.

  “ . . . the same profound truth with which Paul opens his epistle to the Romans,” the priest was saying, “instructing his hearers that the first step on the road toward spiritual darkness is failing to give God thanks as Creator. In not giving thanks, the apostle says, did their foolish minds become darkened . . .”

  Jocelyn had told George and Catharine that they might perhaps be doors for Amanda. Now it dawned on her with brilliant clarity—that the principle could be applied to her as well. Perhaps in her own way she was being given opportunity to gain victory over the very thing with which Amanda was struggling. Perhaps, in the mystery of the spirit realm, it was necessary for her first to learn the truth of gratitude and apply it in her own life, before the way would open for Amanda to pass through the same spiritual doorway—out of rebellion and into gratefulness.

  “ . . . the injunction toward a grateful heart is found on every page of the New Testament . . . in Colossians, in Hebrews . . . in nearly all the psalms . . .”

  What makes the thought of gratefulness such an internal battle? thought Jocelyn. Why is it so difficult to give thanks?

  Then it occurred to her that the whole issue could be reduced again to the two questions that were at the root of every question in life: Who is God? What is he like?

  Was he truly a good God whom anyone might trust in any circumstance, no matter how sad or bleak or hurtful . . . no matter what one’s daughter said or did . . . no matter what one’s face looked like . . . no matter what blemishes of body or personality or temperament one was born with?

  If so, if God truly was good . . . then truly could one give him thanks in all things!

  Deeper caverns in Jocelyn’s heart continued to open to the sunshine.

  Again into her mind came the words of the Scripture from earlier—In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus . . . in everything . . . in everything!

  Quietly she began to weep. She couldn’t stop. Tears began streaming down her face. But she was now unconscious of the red scar on her cheek. She only knew in a deeper place of her being than ever before that God loved her . . . loved her!

  “ . . . how do we enter the Lord’s gates?” now came the vicar’s words in conclusion. “With thanksgiving. It is the resounding message of God’s Word—give thanks, give thanks, give thanks! Give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good!”

  The homily drew to a close. The service continued. Jocelyn stood and knelt and sang and followed along with the familiar service almost without being aware of where she was, those final words of the homily continuing to ring in her ears.

  After the benediction and the recessional, the congregation knelt in prayer, then filed out of the church.

  Jocelyn was uncharacteristically quiet as the Rutherford family walked back toward the carriage. Timothy and Charles exchanged glances but said nothing. Both could sense that Jocelyn had been moved by the service, and neither wanted to intrude upon the holy ground where she was now walking.

  “Charles,” said Jocelyn, “I think . . . I think I need some time alone.”

  “What can I—”

  “I think I will walk home, if you don’t mind.”

  She turned and now walked away from the church toward a lonely side street. She made her way through the village, then through the woods and fields back in the direction of Heathersleigh Hall.

  A lifetime of doubts and confusions and uncertainties now rose to a climax within the heart of Jocelyn Rutherford. She had been walking with God for years, learning gradually to give him her pain and her fears. Now at last came the final relinquishment. As her daughter had been wrenched away, now too final lingering doubts about the God to whom she had given her life were about to be cast from her. She had finally opened the bottommost doors of her being and allowed him to burn away her final hesitations.

  At last, more than a decade after coming to the Lord, she was ready to give him her all.

  Halfway home, in a small clearing of meadow grass, unseen by another soul, suddenly Jocelyn was overcome with God’s presence.

  The next instant she was on her knees, face bowed to the ground, weeping freely.

  “Oh, God . . . my Father—I know I’ve been slow to learn what you’ve wanted me to see about you,” she prayed. “Forgive me! I’m sorry for being so stubborn to hang on to my doubts about your goodness. At last I am certain that you are good! Timothy and Charles have said it over and over, but there was part of me that just couldn’t believe. But now I do. I believe you are good. I’m so sorry for taking too long to see it. I love you, Lord . . . I want to be your daughter—not just with part of my heart, but with my whole heart, my whole being. At last I am ready to say it . . . and to mean it from the depths of my heart . . . thank you!”

  As the words came from her lips, a great cry erupted from her depths. The release sent heaving sobs through her frame. She remained on her knees, sobbing with the anguished joy of liberation.

  For several minutes she wept.

  Gradually her spirit calmed. The catharsis was nearly complete, the butterfly of her personhood was at last ready to take wing.

  “Thank you . . . thank you, Lord!” she said, more quietly now, though the tears continued to flow. “At last it feels good to say the words. Thank you that you have put gratefulness in my heart. I feel so new, so different, even more than when I gave my heart to you for the first time. I truly feel thankfulness inside! I am thankful for that! It feels so good and clean to have a grateful heart.”

  Now, it seemed, the “thank-yous” were bubbling up from a deep place inside of her. “Thank you for how you made me, thank you for my face . . . thank you, God, for placing the fingerprint of your love on me for all to see. What a privilege you have bestowed on me! I carry your fingerprint for the whole world to see! At last I truly mean it—I am thankful, dear Father, for I see it has been for my good, and has drawn my heart closer to you, and it has brought me to this moment.”

  She paused and sighed deeply.

  “And, I thank you for Amanda,” she added. “I am not quite ready to say that I am thankful for the hurt she has caused or for what she is presently doing. But I am willing and eager for you to make me truly thankful. Until then, I will thank you, and I will keep thanking you . . . for I know now, beyond any doubt, that you are good. Thank you . .
.”

  For several more minutes Jocelyn remained where she was, then slowly she rose. She breathed in deeply several times, then slowly continued on her way. She knew the change that had just come was one from which she would never look back.

  ————

  Back at Heathersleigh Hall, Charles stood in the northeast tower gazing down upon the grounds and surrounding countryside. He was waiting expectantly.

  The moment he saw his wife’s approach across the field from the direction of the village, he turned and hastened down the staircase and outside. He ran all the way to meet her.

  She continued to walk slowly toward him, smiling contentedly as he ran up and took her in his arms.

  “I finally know it,” she said. “All the way to the deepest part of myself, I know what you have been telling me.”

  “What is that?” he asked, taking her hand.

  “That God is good,” Jocelyn replied with a smile. “I finally was able to tell him . . . and say thank you . . . and mean it without holding even the tiniest corner of myself back.”

  They walked some distance before either spoke again.

  “You’ve thanked God before,” said Charles at length.

  “Yes,” replied Jocelyn. “But always for specifics, for some certain thing that has happened. This time was different. This time thankfulness welled up inside of me . . . for everything—for all God is, for his goodness, for how he made me, for our life, for my life, for salvation, for my birthmark . . . even for Amanda. It was the first time I’ve ever been able to be completely thankful to him.”

  “I can see the difference in your eyes, all over your face,” said Charles. By now he was beaming.

  “Why does it take some painful circumstance to show us that God truly is good in all things?” sighed Jocelyn as they walked across the grass toward the Hall. “But if Amanda’s leaving was what it took for God to finally get that truth into me, then I truly can be thankful for it. And that makes me know all the more that Amanda truly is in his hands.”