What Dreams May Come

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Susannah could lose herself so easily in the old hymns that she actually found herself siding with the octogenarians whenever the incendiary classic-versus-contemporary-music debate surfaced at the Orchard Grove church business meetings.

“There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel’s veins …”

She could picture her Savior there, hanging on that cross, the blood on his brow like great beads of sorrow and love mingled together, testifying to his mercy and grace.

“And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.”

She’d grown up at Orchard Grove. Listened to that old piano every Sunday for nearly two decades. There was another church on the other side of town. More contemporary. More young families. She’d tried it out a few times after graduating. Her mom had encouraged her, probably thinking Susannah’s chances of finding a suitable Christian husband were better in a congregation whose average age wasn’t over seventy-five. But Susannah had always come back here.

Not that Orchard Grove was perfect. They’d gone through more than their fair share of preachers over the last two decades, weathered a scandal or two, but the church still stood, its steeple pointing proudly heavenward in spite of its peeling paint and weather-worn siding.

God, I feel so comfortable here that sometimes I worry I’m going to stagnate completely.

That was Susannah’s biggest fear. Ever since she was twelve, since the day she went on that youth retreat and heard the speaker talk about the unreached people groups of the world, she’d known she was called to the mission field. While still in junior high, Susannah had begged her mom for a set of missionary biographies and promised to write a paper about each one as part of her homeschool studies.

She’d devoured those stories. God, you were so real to those people. You called them, and they followed you.

It sounded simple, really, how these men and women would receive their call, obey their call, and make church history in the course of a hundred and twenty pages or less. Susannah had assumed her own life on the mission field would be that straightforward as well.

What went wrong, Lord? She’d asked that question so many times she stopped expecting an answer. As far as she could tell, it was an issue on which heaven would remain eternally silent.

The worst part was wondering if it was somehow her own fault. Did she lack the necessary faith? Had she missed God’s direction at some point along the way? Allowed other idols to replace her calling? Or maybe the Lord had given up on her. Changed his mind and decided she wasn’t fit to become a missionary after all.

“E’er since by faith I saw the stream thy flowing wounds supply, redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.”

As the singing continued, Susannah sighed, ignoring the tears that streaked down her cheeks. The people at Orchard Grove were used to her emotional scenes by now. It was fitting, wasn’t it, to still be crying four months later? Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t dull the ache in her heart that grew and swelled with each refrain of the familiar hymn.

“And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die …”

Sometimes she wondered if God used the past year to give her a glimpse of heaven and then took it away just to remind her that this world was never meant to be her home. That was one way to explain the loss. The sadness.

She glanced around the sanctuary at the Christmas decorations, the pine-needle arrangements on the windowsills, the holly and ivy laid over the pulpit. Had it been a full year already?

She was looking for a summer mission program. Nothing more. A way to test out her calling to become a full-time missionary. A chance to step out of her little Orchard Grove comfort zone, to see if she could handle the distance, the separation from her family.

It was only supposed to be one little phone call. A ten-minute conversation where she could ask a few questions she had about the Kingdom Builders mission internship.

She would have never guessed it would lead to so much emptiness and confusion.

God, what did I do wrong? Please tell me so I can repent and be forgiven.

Even as she prayed, the words from the hymn covered over her doubts and sorrows. She knew that after the music ended, she’d have just as many questions, but for now, she would rest in her love for her Savior, no matter how silent he remained.

She shut her eyes and lifted her hands, refusing to think about the people behind her who would probably stare.

Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.