Page 45 of I'll Be There
More silence.
And if she couldn’t talk to her pastor, who could she talk to?
“I’m not sure...after everything...that I want to go back to Montana.” She moved her hand over the scars on her arm. “But I can’t ask him to give up a job he loves.” She sighed. “The truth is, his not being here feels like…the future.”
Dan’s mouth tightened into a grim line.
“It’s not that Conner’s irresponsible. He just has other priorities, also...” She gritted her teeth. “I know he loves me. But...maybe we’re not ready for this.”
“Mmmhmm.”
His reply shot her gaze up. “You’re agreeing with me?”
“No. I’m listening. But I’m also hearing what you’re not saying.” He leaned forward. “Liza, no one is reallyreadyfor marriage. You have no idea how much sacrifice, how much surrender, how much change the Lord will require of you. But there is so much joy, too, waiting if you’re willing to give to each other. So, I’m not worried about you being ready. I am, however, worried about your crisis of faith.”
“My...what are you talking about? I’m not having a crisis of faith.”
“Mmm.”
“I have faith—”
“A crisis of faith isn’t about you, Liza. It’s about who you believe God to be...and whether He is measuring up, in our minds.”
She shook her head.
“Hear me out. See, we make God out in our minds, tell ourselves how we should behave to elicit that kind of favor from God, then believe that if we are just enough, if we do everything right, everything should—and will—work out. Sure, there’ll be a few rough spots, but we can handle it because we think we’ve figured God out.
“But what if God ‘behaves’ out of character? Like when He asked Abraham to sacrifice his only son? Or, like with Job, God allows the unspeakable into our lives?” His gaze bounced off her arm, her scars. “What if He feels untrustworthy? Or cruel? This is a crisis of faith. It’s only solved by trusting God’s character, His love for us, regardless of what He may do.”
Liza drew in a breath. “‘Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.’”
“Job 13:15,” Dan said. He leaned forward and placed his folded hands on his desk. “You were very nearly slain, Liza. By a wild beast. I can’t imagine you coming out of that without feeling shaken. And maybe your crisis of faith isn’t with God’s love in the abstract, but with your reality of how to embrace God’s love in the midst of your scars. You can’t see how God could love you...and wound you. Scar you. And that terrifies you when you think of your future.”
Her eyes burned. She looked away. Lifted a shoulder.
“Life is threatening because you no longer understand what God’s love truly looks like.”
She closed her eyes.
His chair scooted out. She opened her eyes just as he sat down in the chair opposite her. “You and Conner chose one of my favorite hymns for your wedding. ‘Come, Thou Fount.’ In the middle the lyrics say, ‘Here I raise my Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help I’ve come. And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.’
“The Ebenezer, in the Old Testament, was a stone that Samuel set up after God protected them from the Philistines. It means, ‘Thus far the Lord has helped us.’”
He touched her hand. “These scars are your Ebenezer marks. Thus far, Liza, He has helped you. He has brought you through. And He won’t stop now as you step into marriage. God is trustworthy, before, during, and after our wounds.”
She ran a finger under her eye.
“When your heart’s desire is the will of the Lord above everything else, then life loses its threat, because His love will carry us through every situation.”
His love will carry...like Conner, sleeping at her bedside in the hospital, holding her hand even as the nightmares foundher. Conner, nearly crying with her as she fought to regain use of her arm, her hand, in rehab. Conner, stealing her away from the pinnings of the hospital to show her a mountain view, to offer her his life, shared with hers.
“It’s a good song,” Liza said softly. “Conner picked it. He loves the part that says, ‘Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wand’ring from the fold of God; He, to rescue me from danger, Interposed His precious blood.’”
And who couldn’t love—couldn’t trust—a man who knew he’d been rescued?
Footsteps sounded outside, in the lobby, and she turned, expecting to see him appear in the doorway, wearing his jeans, a T-shirt, his blond hair tangled behind his ears.
She tried not to let her expression give her away as Pete appeared at the door. Handsome, yes, in a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and blond hair held back in a man bun, but not the right hero.
