Page 135 of Doyle

“A big life.”

“Yeah.”

“So when she died, you thought the vision died too.”

He nodded.

“But I submit to you that you answered the call to Hope House because it’snotdead. You just can’t see it clearly.”

“That’s the thing. I wish God would tell me what to do. I feel like ever since Juliet died, He’s gone silent. I don’t know. Austen says God’s will for me is joy. And love...”

“It is. That’s the result of the salvation of your soul.”

“I met this guy who said that God’s will is just a state of being, not a direction.”

“I think it’s both. Consider what Proverbs says: ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.’ It’s relationship, trust, and then following.” He took a sip of coffee. “Consider Peter. Jesus said, ‘Follow me,’ and Peter obeyed. But he didn’t realize that he had to hold on to Jesus, keep looking at Jesus, to stay afloat. And then, in his deepest grief, Peter just went back to fishing. Jesus had to call him out again and send him on his way.”

“Are you saying that Jesus is calling me out again?”

“I don’t know, Doyle. I do know there is a time to grieve. But we’re not supposed to stay in that forever. Paul talks about pressing on, moving ahead into the abundance God has for you. That’s my paraphrase of Philippians 3:14, by the way.” He winked.

Abundance.Doyle’s own words stirred inside him:God is sufficient. “Sufficient strength, sufficient hope. Sufficient.”

No, more than sufficient. But abundant?

“I don’t know, Dad. I went to Mariposa hoping for some clarity on my future. All I got was... confusion.”

“That’s because you’re asking for the wrong thing, Doyle. What your heart needs isn’t clarity... It’s trust. That’s what was shattered when Juliet died. If we had clarity on God’s big plans, we might never follow. But He gives us direction for the next step and asks us to trust Him. That’s where you need to start.”

His dad drew in a breath, nodded, gave Doyle a tight-lipped smile. “God isn’t done with you yet, son. You’ll always miss Juliet. But your future didn’t have to die with her. Tia is right—pull yourself out of the lake, come to shore, and let the Savior continue His good work in you.”

He stood up. “I meant to tell you, Dave Birch asked that you stop by. He saw you in town and mentioned it at church on Sunday.”

“Great.”

“You saved his life. Don’t forget that.” He poured out the last of his coffee and picked up the thermos. “Oh, and bring some firewood to the bonfire pit. Your mother wants a cookout tonight. Con and Penny are coming over.”

Super.So he could be haunted by the ghost of Tia. “Thanks for the muffin.”

His father headed to the house as Doyle loaded up the wheelbarrow. He dumped the wood near the bonfire circle on the sandy shore of the resort beach, then headed into the house to change.

Abundance.The word felt almost cruel against his grief.

An hour later, he found himself pulling up to the Birches’ ranch house. The hosta had exploded around the front walk, and the big pine in the front yard towered above the house.

He spotted the wooden swing hanging from the oak on the side yard, and a memory tried to nudge in.

Nope.He took a breath, climbed out of the King’s Inn truck, and headed up to the house. Stood on the stoop?—

The door opened. Misty Birch stood in the frame, wearing a pair of shorts and a pink shirt, her glasses shoved up into her whitened hair. “Doyle? Oh, it’s been... too long.”

Then she stepped out and pulled him into a hug. She’d lost weight, for sure, but didn’t seem frail. When she let him go, she held on to his arms, smiled up at him.

Juliet’s eyes.

“Dave is out back.”

“I’ll go around the house.”

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