When Tomorrow Comes (27 page)

She moved on to the account of the burning bush. Moses certainly had not been expecting to encounter the Hebrew God in the middle of the desert—and in such a strange, unheard-of way.

“Take off your sandals,” God said
.

Christine stopped reading.
“Take off your sandals.” What
does that mean?

Certainly it was a cultural thing. But what was the significance?

Christine began to ponder the words, something she had not done previously with this passage. Sandals were necessary for protection in the desert. Moses needed them. But God told him to take them off, to lay them aside. Nothing Moses possessed of earthly connection or material goods prepared him to stand in the very presence of God. He was before a holy God, standing on holy ground. He was to show a proper humility of spirit.

Yet the very fact that God was there, speaking to him, was an indication that this holy, all-powerful God was willing to stoop down and intervene on behalf of His people. But before He could do great things, it had to be understood just who He was.
“Do you know who I am?”
He might have been asking. Through this seemingly simple action, God was confronting Moses.
“Moses—I am God. I am your God.”
And as Moses understood, he fell on his face.

After a few moments of contemplation, Christine read on about God giving Moses a task to perform. An awesome task. One Moses had not sought. Nor did he feel capable of carrying it through.
“You’ve made a mistake here, Lord,”
he seemed to be saying.
“I’m not your man. They’ll never listen to me.”

Christine thought back to when she and Henry were children and loved to act out Bible stories. Henry had always made a very impressive Moses. He would strike his brow and stagger around, calling out, “Oh, not me. Not me. I can’t do it. They won’t listen to me. I’m on the lam. Don’t send me back, God. They might kill me. And I can’t even talk right.”

He would continue in this manner until they fell in a heap in a fit of giggles. She smiled now just thinking of it.

She always got to play the part of God, telling Moses there would be no change of plans. Once she had even whacked Henry on the leg, telling him to get up and get on with the task. That had not gone over well with either Henry or her folks.

“God didn’t hit him,” Henry had stated firmly, rubbing the spot.

“He should have,” Christine maintained. “He was acting like a baby.”

She thought of that now.
“He was acting like a baby.”
How often had she acted like a baby, she wondered, when God gave her directions?

“What is that in your hand?”
she read next.

Did Moses wonder why God had to ask such a question? Surely He could see what Moses had in his hand. No, the question was not asked because God needed to know. Moses needed to know.

“A staff.”

He might have said, “My staff.” It represented most of Moses’ life. He was a shepherd. The staff was needed to protect himself and the sheep from marauders, to guide the sheep, to instruct the sheep. It was Moses’ tool of the trade. His money in the bank. His sense of security. When he was out alone in the desert, it was about all he had.

“Throw it on the ground.”

How well she remembered this part of the story. She had always felt so powerful, so totally in control when she ordered Henry to throw down his staff, which was either one of her mother’s kitchen spoons or a small stick from the firebox.

Henry reacted according to their own unwritten script. He would clutch whatever it was he was holding, close his eyes, and sway back and forth. “I can’t. I can’t,” he would moan and groan. “It’s mine. I don’t want to give it up. I want to keep it. Please. Please,” and he would fall on his knees, begging.

She smiled, then quickly sobered. It wasn’t funny anymore. Suddenly she saw a totally different picture. The staff was no longer a piece of wood. It was whatever one was clinging to that kept one from accepting God’s plan.

“Throw it on the ground,” God said. “Give it up.”

Tears began to squeeze from under Christine’s eyelids and roll down her cheeks. Was there something in her life that kept God from being free to lead her? Was it the sense of unforgiveness over her past mistake? No, no, she felt she could honestly say she had gratefully accepted His forgiveness.

Was it that she still wanted her own will in choosing her future mate?

No. As much as she admired Eric—perhaps even loved him—she had not been willing to go ahead with plans unless she felt God’s approval.

Suddenly, the thought catching her totally off guard, Christine saw what she was clutching tightly. It was the North. But surely He wouldn’t ask her to give that up. There was nothing wrong with the North. She loved it. She felt she could even be of service there. Surely that was not wrong. . . .

“Toss it at my feet,”
she felt God whispering to her heart.

I can’t, Lord,
she started to answer and then heard again her own voice of days past:
“He’s acting like a baby.”

Christine gave herself a mental whack.
Give it up. It’s not
worth hanging on to it and missing out on God’s best
.

But all my hopes, my dreams, my love?

“Throw it down.”

Christine opened her hand and held it upright—empty. Her admission—her agreement to let it go.

In spite of the tears that followed, she had never felt such overwhelming peace.

“Christine,”
a soft voice seemed to whisper,
“If I want you
in the North, don’t you think I can take you there? You don’t need
to work it out. Trust me. And if not the North, don’t you think I
could give you contentment—peace—even joy—wherever I ask you
to go?”

Christine nodded. God seemed so close. She wondered momentarily if Moses had felt the same sense of His presence as he tossed down his rod.

“Now,”
God seemed to say.
“What’s your hesitation in accepting
this young man?”

To Christine’s amazement, she had no answer. There didn’t seem to be any reason at all. There was no reason why Eric, who shared her faith and her sense of God’s purpose for life, should be turned away simply because she could not see him as part of her North. He was a fine young man. One dedicated to his God, his family, and his patients. Not only that, but he had gained her respect—her heart, yes, her love—with his kindness and integrity. She couldn’t believe that she had struggled so long over something so simple. Perhaps the battle had not been over Eric at all but was, in fact, over the issue of who or what had priority in her life. Now that she had relinquished her own plans and dreams and was willing to allow God to control her future, she felt totally at peace. She had her answer.

Eric called the next afternoon. “I am free for the next four hours. Can we talk?”

Christine agreed, anxious to see him.

But she wasn’t without concern. She now knew how she felt. Had Eric reached the same conclusion? With a bit of a struggle, Christine was finally able to give up that question to God as well. If Eric had not, that was God’s plan and she would accept it. Somehow He would get her through the disappointment. She was His child. She would trust Him.

There was nothing about Eric’s demeanor that indicated his direction one way or the other. He was polite, as always, but not more intimate than he had been before.

“How about a walk along the river?” he suggested, and Christine agreed.

“You might want a sweater. There’s not much sunshine today.”

Christine went for her sweater, informing her aunt that she would be out for a while, and they set out.

“How did your week go?” There was more meaning in his words than a social question.

“I . . . I learned a lot.” She smiled. “Mostly from Moses.”

“Moses? My lessons were from the apostle Paul.”

He picked up a smooth stone and skipped it across the water. Christine remembered Henry doing that. He never seemed to be able to walk near water without skipping stones.

“I would love to hear all about your lessons. Shall we discuss them first—or after?”

“After?” queried Christine.

“After we decide if we are to continue seeing one another.”

He skipped another stone, not looking at her.

Christine was hesitant. “I . . . I’m not sure.” She wondered if they would still be speaking . . . after.

“Let’s wait until after. I’m rather anxious. . . .” He did not continue. Christine wondered if he felt as agitated as she did. He turned from the flowing water to give her his full attention. She could see a tightness in his jaw, and his eyes were serious.

“One thing I learned was about drawing lots,” he said.

Christine frowned. Surely he wasn’t suggesting they toss a coin to determine their future.

“Well . . . more like a vote than a lot perhaps.”

“A vote?”

“A secret ballot. I’m wondering if you are worried that whatever one of us has decided might influence the other.”

“I thought of it.”

He indicated a bench at the side of the trail, and she understood and let him guide her to a seat. Ducks swam up to the shore, expecting a treat. When one was not forthcoming, they scolded loudly.

“So I thought maybe, to be sure that doesn’t happen, we should each write our answer on a piece of paper, then exchange them and unfold them together.”

It seemed rather like a childish game, but Christine nodded.

“Have you made up your mind? It’s important that we are sure,” he said, looking at her intently.

“I feel God has given me direction . . . yes,” she answered, feeling suddenly shy.

“Okay—here’s the question so we both know exactly what we are answering. ‘Do you feel God has given His okay for us to pursue a relationship?’ Yes—if you feel He has. No, if you don’t. All right?”

“I understand.”

He handed her a prepared slip of paper. The question was even penned at the top so that there could be no misunderstanding. “A pencil?”

Christine smiled. “You did come prepared” was her attempt to joke even though she felt a nervousness tightening her stomach.

They turned their backs to each other and wrote out their answers. When Christine turned around she held her breath. She was now committed. Whatever his paper said, hers was already written in black and white.

“All right, let’s exchange,” he said as he slid a little closer. “On the count of three.”

Christine squeezed tight her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could look.

“One. Two. Three,” he counted, and she unfolded his paper. There was the one word, in big, bold capitals, YES. She closed her eyes again, her heart whispering her gratitude to God.

She heard his whispered, “Thank you, God,” and opened her eyes. Her paper was directly in front of him with her longhand “Yes” making a light on his face that touched her deeply.

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face toward his. She had never seen him so serious. “We need to talk . . . and talk . . . and talk,” he whispered. “I want to know . . . everything . . . about you.” His arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her close. His blue eyes, serious and inviting, were very near her own. “So where do we start?” He smiled. “I don’t suppose we need to be in a particular hurry. We’ll have an entire lifetime—but even then I’m not sure it will be long enough.”

She felt tears on her cheek, but she was not sure if they were hers—or his.

Neither of them was aware when the ducks finally gave up their begging and swam away.

A Midwestern Plains Series
That Delights and Inspires

Beginning with the opening pages, Lauraine Snelling’s newest historical fiction series will put a smile on your face. From the Torvald sisters’ cross-country trek to receive a most unusual inheritance to the lassoing of a cowgirl’s heart by an unexpected suitor, these historical novels overflow with humor, faith, and joy.

DAKOTAH
TREASURES
Ruby
Pearl
Opal
Amethyst