What Dreams May Come

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

“Good morning, brother.”

Scott glanced at the large clock hanging up in the foyer. “It’s afternoon now, isn’t it?”

Carl chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I’m still not used to this late service. Well then, good afternoon. How’s that?”

Scott shook his pastor’s hand. “That’s better. And how are you?”

Carl patted his pot belly. “Wife’s still got me on that high-fiber, low-carb diet of hers. So I’d say that I’ve been better, because what I’m really craving is a nice steak and baked potato dinner.”

Scott smiled. “It’s a good thing Christmas is coming up then, isn’t it?”

Carl nodded. “You’re joining us Christmas Eve, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Unless your wife’s going to replace her traditional ham with tofu.”

Carl chortled. “Not even my Sandy would be that crazy.” He clapped Scott on the back. “You enjoy the service,” he said, “and then why don’t you come over and eat with us? Call it early supper or late lunch. You can take your pick.”

“You sure?” Scott asked. “Wouldn’t want to impose last minute.”

Carl shook his head. “Not an imposition at all.” He grinned and nudged Scott playfully. “Besides, you come over and Sandy’s just that much more likely to fix up something sweet for dessert. Not her usual whole wheat almond milk pudding or whatever that health-nut stuff is she’s been trying to force feed me.”

Scott nodded. “It’s a deal.” He glanced into the sanctuary, already crowded ten minutes before the start of service. “I guess I better find a seat. You know, you keep preaching the Word like you’ve been doing, this place is going to need a whole new addition to hold everyone even with the extra service.”

Carl nodded. “That would be a nice problem to have, wouldn’t it, brother?”

Scott glanced around the sanctuary even though he wasn’t sure what or who he might be looking for. He’d attended St. Margaret’s since arriving back in the States, but he knew less than a dozen members here by name. He still wasn’t sure where he fit into the fellowship. A thirty-something-year-old bachelor was something of a congregational misfit. He was too old for the college and careers group, or at least he felt like it the time or two he’d tagged along for Frisbee golf or bowling. He’d spent the first decade of his adult life on the mission field and never settled down long enough to marry, so he didn’t belong in any of the Bible studies or prayer groups for couples, parents, or divorcees, either.

He liked St. Margaret’s Church. Liked that there were groups for everyone. Everyone, that is, except for singles in that in-between age group where you’re not fresh out of the nest but certainly not middle-aged either, where you’ve spent your entire adult life on the mission field and don’t want to admit how difficult it’s been adjusting to a comfortable, relatively stress-free life in the States.

Well, maybe stress-free wasn’t the right way to put it. For the past two years, Scott had overseen the home office for Kingdom Builders, the mission agency he’d worked with ever since he finished his Bible college certificate. And now that their community engagement manager had left to work at some girls’ home up in Vermont, Scott was in charge of the recruitment arm of the ministry as well. Sometimes he jokingly grumbled about working sixty or seventy hours a week on his pitiful missionary salary, but then he realized that even if he had more free time, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.

Things were different earlier this year. He’d leave work at 5:30 each day, half an hour before Susannah ended her shift at the assisted living home. Just enough time for him to get home and heat up a quick freezer meal before calling her. Ask about her day. Listen to the smallest details — the Bible verse she’d read that morning or the resident she’d been able to pray with during her shift. The way she chattered about her work, you’d think she’d received a special Mother Theresa-like call from God to change bedsheets and spoon-feed the elderly way out there in central Washington.

Until you got her talking about missions. About how she physically hurt sometimes with the burning desire to carry the gospel to the nations. Nobody within a fifty-mile radius could deny that she was called to foreign soil. Not that Scott had actually been within a fifty-mile radius of Susannah Peters, but over the years he had met enough missionaries and prospective workers to get a feel for the kind of believer who would be most effective in the field. The day he’d interviewed Susannah for the Kingdom Builders summer internship, he emailed his field director and told him he’d found the next William Carey. Or maybe the next Hudson Taylor, he couldn’t remember. Either way, from that first phone conversation on, Scott knew this was a young woman with an incredibly unique calling and passion.

Which was what had made the past four months so complicated.

But that’s life for you. If he’d learned anything from his decade overseas, it was that God has a way of keeping you on your toes. Never get too comfortable. Never settle down.

Even Scott’s stint in Massachusetts was temporary. His two-year commitment to the home office was up in March, and then he was off to wherever God might lead him next. The Kingdom Builders had fields all across the world, and every single one of them was in need of mission support. When people asked what he did overseas, Scott’s go-to response was that he was the “missionary to missionaries,” offering spiritual guidance and soul care to the men and women working on the front lines. It was the perfect job for him, really. Perfect for someone with no family connections, nothing tying him down.

Of course, now that he was overseeing the home office, he was more stationary, but he managed to find reasons to leave the country every three or four months, even if only for short stints.

He enjoyed the lifestyle. Appreciated the freedom. He rented a small bachelor pad in Medford, just a ten-minute walk from the Kingdom Builders home office. With the Boston public transportation system running so efficiently, he never even bothered buying himself a car. The fewer roots he established here in the States, the easier it would be to leave the next time God called him overseas for a long-term placement. It’s the way he’d lived for the past decade, the way he’d probably keep on living for the rest of his life. The fact that he could walk into a church service with three thousand other people and realize that there wasn’t a single one here who would miss him if he hopped on a plane tomorrow was a small price to pay for the ministry he was able to lead. The life he was able to enjoy.

A life of excitement. Travel. Freedom.

That’s the way he wanted it. That’s the way it would be.

Scott found an empty seat toward the back of the sanctuary and sat down, wondering what the church service would be like where Susannah Peters lived in Orchard Grove — a quaint, quiet town that he’d never heard of until this time last year.

A quaint, quiet town he’d never been to and no longer had any reason to visit.