On the Run (36 page)

“I can’t . . . you. You’re breaking—”

I spoke more loudly. “This is Ivy. We’re—”

Speaking louder, I realized, does not help much when a call is breaking up with patches of static, because Mac said, “Ivy? That . . . where . . . you?”

We struggled for a couple more minutes, but only garbled, scattered words came through. Once I did hear Mac say something about
not coming?
so I was relieved that that much had apparently gotten through to him.

But finally it was all just static, and I pushed the off button.
Sorry, Mac,
I thought regretfully. Regretful that he was undoubtedly still worried about why we hadn’t shown up, regretful that once more our plans for time together had gone awry. No Tom Yum Po Tak.

I returned the cell phone to the helpful couple and wandered over to a little railed-in viewpoint a few feet above the rough landscape of arroyos and sagebrush surrounding the rest area.
This is disappointing, Lord. But you know that, don’t
you? And it’s okay. You know what you’re doing. You’re with us
wherever we go. If it’s in your will, Mac and I will meet again,
won’t we?

I went on talking to him, and I wasn’t aware that Abilene was leaning against the rail beside me until I opened my eyes.

“Praying?” She sounded curious.

“I like to keep in touch.”

“You can pray just . . . anywhere?”

“Any place, any time.”

She was silent for a long moment before finally saying, as if she knew she’d had a starring role in my prayers, “I’m a problem, aren’t I? Things would be a lot less complicated for you if I’d never knocked on your door that night.”

“I think the Lord led you there, and he put me and my door in that exact spot, at that exact time, purposely for you to knock on. A blessing for both of us.”

“
Both
of us?” She peered at me. “I can see how you’ve been a . . . a blessing to me—” She stumbled over the word as if it were alien to her. “But me, a blessing to
you
?”

“Oh yes,” I said, not a doubt in my mind. “A regular, old-fashioned, sent-straight-from-heaven, let’s-all-say-hallelujah blessing!”

Abilene laughed. “I’ve never said hallelujah in my life. I’ve never even known anyone who said hallelujah.”

“It means Praise the Lord. It doesn’t seem to be used as much these days, but it’s a good word. Try it.”

“Hallelujah,” Abilene murmured, her tone wondering.

“Praise the Lord,” I echoed. Then I leaned over to pat her hand under a sky full of God’s stars. “And don’t you ever forget, not ever, that you
are
a blessing.”

Contact the author:

Lorena McCourtney
P.O. Box 773
Merlin, OR 97532
email: [email protected]

She’s One
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