The Measure of a Heart (4 page)

“I . . . I think I did. At least most of it. I . . . I wasn’t sure when I came to the part about . . . about the Incarnation. About the way they explained it. I mean, I know Mary was Jesus’ mother, and God, by His Spirit, was His father, but I couldn’t understand some of the words they used. I mean—well—I guess I find it hard to understand—but—but easy to believe.”

He smiled. One of his full, approving smiles. “That is faith,” he said to her. “Sometimes it is much easier to just believe without trying too hard to understand—at least all at once. God’s ways are so far above man’s ways that we can’t always understand them with our finite minds. We need to just accept things as He gives them to us.”

Anna nodded. She was sure he was right—but she wasn’t sure just what he was saying, either.

“So you want a new book?” he was asking.

“If—if I could please,” she answered.

“Come,” he invited. “You can pick your own.”

Anna would have liked to linger over the choosing, but she knew her mother was by now needing her help with the Sunday dinner. She let her gaze slide over the titles and settled quickly on a new book.

“Do you read this to the family?” he asked in surprise.

She shook her head. “I—I don’t think the little ones would—would understand some of these words,” she admitted.

He smiled softly. “I don’t think they would either,” he agreed. “Why don’t you pick another of those from the top shelf. Maybe this one. Stories of Jesus’ Ministry. Might they like that?”

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” breathed Anna as she reached for the book. She had almost, in her eagerness for knowledge, chosen selfishly. Now she would have a book to study and a book to read to the rest of the family.

She thanked the young man profusely and turned to go.

“Anna,” he called after her as she was about to leave. “What can you tell me about the Sturgeon family? I’m invited there for dinner.”

Anna turned to him. “They live on the Main Road . . . about—”

“I know where they live,” he explained gently. “Tell me about them.”

Anna didn’t know what to say. She moistened her lips and thought for a minute. What did he wish to know?

“They—they have four girls—” she began, but before she could even go on he was nodding his head.

“I thought as much,” he said wryly and suddenly she thought he looked weary. Perhaps he had been spending too many hours over the stack of books on his kitchen table, concentrating too hard on his Sunday sermon preparation.

Chapter Four

A Brief Summer

Anna spent the summer listening to soul-stirring sermons and drawing deeply from the well of knowledge in the books she regularly selected from the young interim pastor’s library. He knew as he shook hands with his parishioners that when he turned from the last one, she would be quietly waiting for him. Always he had a question or two about the last books she had borrowed, and she often amazed him with her perceptive comments and hunger for knowledge.

“What does it mean to be sanctified?” she asked him one Sunday. And another Sunday, “What is your position on pre-destination?” And still on another, “Do you believe that Christ will return pre-tribulation, mid-tribulation or post-tribulation?”

He scarcely knew how to answer some of her candid questions, but he was always honest and straightforward. If he was in the position of still sorting through some issue for himself, he told her so. Then he invited her comments on her studying. Anna was hesitant to share her opinions, and he had to draw her out. There was so much she didn’t know. She was thankful for books that could give her enlightenment, even though the authors often disagreed between them on interpretations. Still, they did give insight.

But Anna was panicky that she would never make it through the big stack of books before the summer ended. Soon the interim pastor would be leaving for the city, wherever it was, where his seminary was situated, taking his supply of books with him. She hated to let them go. But of course she would welcome back the elderly pastor and his wife. Maybe she would even be able to discuss with them some of the things she had learned over the summer months.

More than ever, Anna wished she had been born a boy. If she had, she was quite sure she would have chosen to be a preacher. That way she could just go on studying and studying throughout her entire life. He had said that—and had told her on more than one occasion—a pastor must never, ever consider that he knows all there is to know.

“The more we study and want to learn, the more God reveals about himself,” he had told her. “That is how we grow and mature in our Christian walk. One must walk in the light of God’s Word, but how can we do that unless we know what the Word says and understand its meaning?”

He had written down verses of scripture that she was to look up in her own Bible when she reached home. She had found the verses. In fact, she had committed to memory some of them because she had considered the portions to be of such importance—and she would recite the verses softly to herself as she picked up a new book to study.

“Study to show thyself approved unto God” was one of her favorites. She was more than willing to agree with the scriptural admonition, throwing herself into the study books with heart and mind.

Anna was completely unaware of the glances that were cast her way as she waited for the young minister each Sunday. Girls older and prettier than she wished there were some way they could get equal attention. But neither Anna nor the young seminary student took notice. Their interest lay only in the knowledge that they both sought and shared.

“This will be my last Sunday,” he said hesitantly. “I will miss our conversations. You have forced me to dig deeper than I have ever dug before.”

Anna looked up with surprise showing in her eyes. She didn’t understand the comment.

“You’ve asked some tough questions,” he explained. “I had to really study to find some satisfactory answers.”

“I—I didn’t know,” she began. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed then, a soft chuckle of amusement. “Oh, don’t be sorry,” he hastened to say. “It was good for me. I sort of feel like—well, like I’ve got a head start on the year of studies. This has been a great summer for me. I feel—well, blessed that I was asked to take over Reverend Angus’s work for the summer.”

Anna wished she could ask him when he would be leaving, but she felt that it would be improper.

“When will the Anguses be back?” she asked instead.

“Wednesday. Then I will leave the next morning. I start classes a week from tomorrow.”

Anna nodded. She had her answer. He and his books would soon be leaving. She dared not exchange the two she held for new ones. She wouldn’t have time to finish them and return them.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for sharing your books over the summer,” she said softly, holding out the two she held.

“You are more than welcome,” he assured her. “Just wait till I tell the fellows at seminary that a young girl kept me on my toes all summer. They won’t believe me.”

Anna smiled shyly. She wasn’t sure if his words were a compliment or merely teasing.

“I will miss you, Anna,” he said simply. “I’m sure that I’d get more out of my seminary classes if I had you at my elbow, urging me on.”

Anna found herself blushing. She knew she had no place in his seminary classes, and even the idea of being there made her embarrassed.

But he changed the topic quickly and surprised her by saying, “Would you like me to send you a new book now and then?”

“Oh . . . I couldn’t—” she stammered.

“I could mail one now and then—or send it out to you with the Anguses when they come to the city. They come in every now and then for a convention or meeting. Take one now and send it back with them sometime.”

“Oh, but I—”

“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “The Anguses will be glad to act as courier. Send it back with them whenever you are through with it, and I will send you something else.”

“If—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Anna breathed, hardly able to believe the possibility.

“No trouble at all. I’ll be glad to,” he promised.

Anna chose a book as quickly as she could make her decision, then turned to him, unable to express her deep gratitude.

He held his hand out to her. “Goodbye, Anna,” he said simply. “I’ll be in touch.”

Anna went home, a book tucked beneath her arm. The summer hadn’t ended her study after all. She had a new book to read—and he promised that he would send another as soon as she was done with this one. Anna felt blessed indeed. The more she learned, the more she wanted to learn.

A busy fall and winter kept Anna busy with canning and taking in the garden, cooking for the harvest crew, and long days of tucking things in for winter. Evenings often found her with old mittens and socks to be darned or new ones to be knitted. Then her mother spent a few weeks in bed. The doctor called it pleurisy. Anna worried, but carried on the double burden of looking after the household.

She did not have as much time to spend reading as she had wished. The winter days were much shorter now, and even the long evenings seemed to get taken up with necessary activities.

But when she could, Anna returned to her books. True to his word, Austin Barker sent new books periodically. And with the books came brief letters telling of his seminary studies. Occasionally the letters asked questions of Anna. What did she think of such and such a chapter? What position did she feel one should take on a certain issue? What was her understanding of a certain text? Anna always answered as best she could, but she felt so inadequate even to be discussing such important topics with a seminary student.

Anna always returned the previously borrowed book immediately upon receipt of a new one. She didn’t wish to take advantage of his generosity.

Spring came. Anna heard the call of killdeers, the song of the robin. It would soon be time to plant the garden again. She loved the spring. Even loved the hard toil that it brought with it. It seemed to invigorate her—give her a new purpose in life. But she knew instinctively that it would mean less time in the books. Her mother needed her for the many household and garden tasks that awaited them.

Anna wondered that she had been humored for as long as she had. No other girl her age was given time to spend reading and studying. She felt deep indebtedness to her mother—and thankfulness to her father that he hadn’t interfered with the arrangement. She determined that she would not presume on her parents. She would allow herself one hour of study—at night—after the usual duties had been accomplished. And she would work doubly hard at the many tasks that needed to be cared for.

Anna did indeed work hard in the kitchen, the garden, and at the scrub board in the yard under the spreading Manitoba maple. Some nights she was much too tired to spend even one hour in reading. But she tried to make up for it on other evenings.

The boys were growing. Adam, having completed his eighth grade, was finished at the local school. He was now doing a man’s work at the side of his father.

Horace, the next in line, had taken over Adam’s chores, and each boy shifted up the line, taking on added responsibility. Even young Petey, now three, had been given some simple tasks to perform.