by Janette Oke
Christine clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
“I just had the most delightful conversation,” he said, a smile playing about his mouth. “Thomas. Tommy, he prefers. You’ve worked with him.”
Christine nodded.
“Such a wonderful young man. So open—so honest with God. So eager to share his faith. He was a . . . an . . . actually, I felt like God sent him to me to verify that this is where I am meant to be.”
Christine could only stare.
“He has such . . . such simple . . . passion. I pray that God might make me more like him.”
More like Tommy? Some segments of society labeled Tommy a retard. Crazy. A dolt or a fool. To be more like him seemed an unusual prayer. Christine now watched the young chaplain with new interest.
He turned back to the pages before him. “You’ve been here some time now.”
Christine nodded. He leaned back in his chair, toying with the pencil he held in his broad hands. “Consistency is good for any ministry,” he noted.
It was much more like a warm, informal visit than an interview. Christine was surprised at how quickly she was able to relax and share her heart. This young man really was there to serve, and he intended to do so with his whole being. With all the resources available. Young men and women were going off to war. They needed the assurance that God was with them.
That they had made peace with their Maker through the sacrifice of His Son, the Savior. It was a matter of spiritual life and death.
Christine could not believe how long they talked. They shared many of the same thoughts and feelings. The same dreams and goals. The same sense of commitment. By the time she left the little office, she felt that surely God was going to raise the ministry of Hope Canteen to a new level.
“So what do you think of him?” Jane was quick to ask when Christine took her place back in the kitchenette.
Christine felt flushed with inner joy. “I think he’ll do fine. His heart certainly—”
“A dreamboat like that and you’re thinking of his heart?” Paula cut in with a giggle.
Christine turned and stared. What in the world was Paula talking about? She hadn’t even noticed if he was good-looking. What difference did that make? The important thing was whether or not he would throw himself into the work of Hope Canteen as an important ministry. His looks had little—nothing, actually—to do with it. She picked up the soda glasses she had just filled and took them out to the tables.
Christine was not looking forward to her next date with Eric. There was no way they had anything in common. There was no hope for any future relationship to develop—so why was she even going through the motions? It was ridiculous.
But she had made a commitment to herself to let him know this in person. She would see it through.
He arrived right on time at six. He was dressed in slacks and a casual shirt opened at the neck and sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He looked even more handsome than he had in his expensive-looking suit.
“Bob—at your service,” he kidded when she opened the door. Then he openly appraised her full skirt and pink sweater and nodded. “You look great.”
She did mumble a courtesy thank-you.
“I hope you like this place,” he said as the car moved away from the curb. “It’s a bit noisy at times. A lot of young servicemen go there. So, as you might well imagine, there’s quite a collection of the young ladies from town as well.”
Christine raised an eyebrow. She did hope this was not one of those offensive downtown pubs catering to all kinds of raucous and offensive behavior.
“They have good food—and after we’ve eaten, if we find it’s too noisy for decent conversation, we can go somewhere else.”
How long a date is this to be? wondered Christine. You told me dinner. But she said nothing. She would work her way through the evening, and if she felt uncomfortable she would ask to be taken home.
The place was already filled with a young crowd. It was noisy; there was no arguing that. In fact, the entire feel was one of high energy. But it all looked like wholesome high spirits, and Christine did not feel at all uncomfortable, but rather invigorated. Eric found a table off in the corner where they could converse comfortably in spite of the hearty laughter and swirl of activity around them.
The food was indeed delicious. Christine soon found herself enjoying the evening in spite of her misgivings.
After they had eaten, Eric suggested they go for a drive along the river. They just drove and talked, enjoying the scenery and the warm breeze through the open car windows. He made no effort to park someplace along their route, and Christine appreciated the fact. It wasn’t late when they arrived back at the house.
“I’m going to be on call for a series of nights now,” he explained as they pulled up in front. “But I do want to see you again—soon. How about Sunday?”
Christine had failed to give her prepared speech. Now she chastised herself at the same time she found herself nodding in agreement.
“It will have to be rather early,” he told her. “Morning service and a quick lunch. I need to be on the ward by two.”
Christine nodded again.
“Tell you what. I’ll take you to your church this time. But you must agree to come with me to mine next time. I want to show you off.”
That didn’t seem like the best reason to attend church, but Christine again nodded.
“If it’s a Sunday when I have the day off, I’ll have Mother invite you for dinner,” he went on, and now Christine felt her stomach tighten. What could she say? She had already agreed, in a way.
He walked her to the door with further details about picking her up for church Sunday morning. When Christine entered the front hall, she bypassed the living room where she could hear voices. When there was a brief lull she called out, “I’m home,” then went immediately up to her room.
Why did she feel so agitated? They’d had a delightful evening. He had been an enjoyable and thoughtful companion. She had seen admiring and envious glances of other young women. But the fact that he came from a well-to-do family hadn’t made him a snob. Just because her uncle Jon and aunt Mary had money didn’t mean they felt superior to others. She had been passing unfair judgment on his parents without even having met them. It wasn’t right.
So why was she so uncomfortable? Was it because of Boyd? Had she been so hurt by her mistake of the past that she was afraid to commit herself again? But that wasn’t right either. Nor was it fair to Eric. She must be able to accept him for who he was.
Christine prepared for bed, still wrestling with her conflicting emotions. Okay, she finally told herself. I am wrong to prejudge— that I know. I am also wrong to refuse to give this new relationship a chance. I would be equally wrong to throw myself into something without careful thought and prayer. I need to take this . . . this friendship one cautious step at a time, allowing God to lead me. Just as He has given me peace about working at Hope Canteen, so I believe He can give me peace over this part of my life.
She felt much better as she picked up her Bible for her evening reading. It fell open to Proverbs as she spread it in her hands, and words she had underlined and promised to live by drew her attention. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
Yes, Lord, she whispered. I will trust you with this. I have no idea what and how you might bring the right thing to pass, but it will be rather exciting to walk with you to find out.
She felt much quieter and more confident as she later knelt in prayer.
Sunday, she thought as she began undressing for bed. Sunday Eric was to visit her church. He would probably talk with her aunt and uncle. Perhaps Aunt Mary would even invite him for dinner—if there was time. She trusted their judgment. How they responded to Eric would surely give her some kind of direction as to how she should proceed. That thought put Christine’s mind further at ease. She was not in
this totally alone. She had other heads and hearts to guide her.
And she would meet his folks, if that was what he wanted. She would try to have an open mind. Perhaps they were decent, God-fearing people with as much desire to follow the Lord’s leading as she herself. They, too, could act as guide to the relationship Eric seemingly wished to establish. She would seek to be sensitive to them as well.
Oh, I wish Mom and Dad were here, she found herself thinking as she climbed into bed. Choosing a life’s partner was a serious matter, and though she knew that ultimately she would be the one who needed to make the final choice, she still felt thankful that she would not need to rely on her own conclusions. God had placed many people in her life who could act as signposts as to what path she should take.
Feeling much more at ease, Christine prepared for sleep, which she did hope would come quickly. Tomorrow would be another busy day, and she fully intended to once again spend the evening at Hope Canteen. A young woman she had spoken to on her last night there seemed very open to the good news of the gospel. Christine’s last thoughts were whispered prayers that the girl might return with a readiness to make a commitment. “God, you know all about Krista. Bring her back to us. Bring her to you.”
CHAPTER
Nineteen
Hope Canteen had closed its doors for the night, and the volunteers were chatting as they did their clean-up duties. There was a good deal of excitement as they compared notes. Krista had returned and had prayed with Christine to receive Christ as her Savior. A young man also prayed in a similar fashion, and another young man had promised to do some serious thinking while two others had said they would be back to talk further. It was the most promising response they’d had on any one night.
Smiling, Timothy Marcus approached the working group, an opened bottle of orange soda in his hand. “Good job, team. That young airman really meant business. Would you believe this was his first contact with the gospel of Christ? And the fellow from the navy. He’d been raised in church—was rather a modern-day Jonah—but he knew he’d never run from God.”
He reached out and laid a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Do you know what he told me? He said you were the first one to put his mind at ease about coming here. Your smile and your ‘Come on in, sailor.’ He’d been about ready to turn around and run.”
He patted Tommy’s back appreciatively. Tommy beamed around on the group, then turned back to Pastor Tim with tears in his eyes.
“Thank you, everyone, for your dedication to Christ. Not to a program nor a cause—but to Christ. Remember, none of us works for Hope Canteen—we work for Him,” the young chaplain finished, pointing heavenward.
Christine was sure it was an important reminder.
He set aside his pop and picked up a pail and dishcloth.
“Where are you on the tables?” he asked Paula as he moved out to give a hand. With everyone pitching in, it did not take long for the remainder of the work to be done. Soon they were gathering jackets and sweaters and heading for the various streetcar stops, calling their good-nights to one another.
“Do you go my way?”
Christine was surprised to hear the voice right beside her.
It was Pastor Tim.
“I catch the streetcar at the corner,” she answered.
“Going north or south?”
“South.”
“So do I.”
She had not yet heard which part of the city he called home.
“How far do you go?” he asked.
“Almost as far as the streetcar goes,” she said with a laugh.
“So do I. Just short of Mount Royal. I’m staying with my grandparents until I find a spot of my own.”
“Oh. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle.”
“It’s great having family in the city.”
Christine silently agreed.
He chuckled. “Of course the city wasn’t my first choice. I would have much rather been sent to some little rural church or even a smaller town.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But here I am.”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice either,” admitted Christine.
“That rather surprises me. You seem like a city girl.”
“Me? Afraid not.”
“You from the farm?”
“I’m from the North.”
“The North?” He sounded surprised.
“My dad is a Mountie. I grew up in the North.”
“And you loved it.”
“I loved it.”
“You don’t really need to say it. Your voice says it for you. So what did you like about the North?”
And as they waited for their streetcar to arrive, Christine told him. The more she talked, the more nostalgic she felt. She knew she’d best stop before she found herself in tears. “Where did you grow up?” she asked in order to divert herself.
“Camrose.”
“I’ve never been to Camrose.”
“You should come. It’s a great place. Farming community.”
“Your father was a farmer?”
“No. He had a dry-goods store. But I worked on a farm from the time I was big enough to lift a fork. For my uncle. He has a farm just on the edge of town. I used to ride my bike over from school as soon as I was done for the day. Nearly pestered him to death with, What could I do? He finally decided as long as I was taggin’ along behind him anyway, he might as well put me to work. So he hired me. I love the farm.”
“But you’re a preacher instead.”
“Yeah.” His tone sounded nostalgic too. “Guess it was rather like Amos, the shepherd prophet, or like Elisha. I believe God, figuratively speaking, was telling me to break up my plow, offer up the oxen as sacrifices, and go preach. What could I do?”
Christine saw the teasing grin but also the seriousness in the dark eyes. Indeed, what could he do?
Their streetcar pulled up and they climbed aboard. They took a seat together and continued to talk.
“I’ve been thinking of starting a Sunday morning worship service,” Tim went on. “I know there are many of these young servicemen who wouldn’t feel comfortable going to one of the city churches, but who might attend a service at the canteen. What do you think?”
Christine thought a moment. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“We’d need a little nucleus of volunteers.”
She nodded.
“It might start out really small—but I hope the numbers would build.”
“It would help if we had a piano—or something.”
“I play the guitar, and I have a friend who plays the accordion. It would work for a while. I don’t know where we would get a piano. Do you play?”
Christine shook her head. She had always felt sorry she hadn’t been able to learn to play. Her mother played so beautifully, but there had been no instrument in the North on which to learn.
“Do you know if any of the other girls do?”
“I heard something about Bernice playing.”
“Bernice? I don’t remember her.”
“No, she hasn’t been around much lately. Last I heard, she had become interested in one of the young airmen. There was even talk of an engagement, but I think he was shipped out. I’ve not seen her or heard of her for several weeks.”
She saw his concerned look. There was the risk of wrong relationships being established when young men and women were put into such intimate contact in wartime.
“Is her name on our list? I’d like to get in touch with her and see how she is doing.”
“I’m not sure. But Violet might know how to find her. They seemed quite close.”
“I do not like to ask our volunteers to give up their own churches, but if we started a Sunday service, would you be available to help?”
“I would hate to miss my own service,” Christine said honestly. “But I’ll pray about it.”
“That’s all I would ask.”
The streetcar swayed around a corner and rumbled along the street leading out to Mount Roya
l. Christine knew he would soon be disembarking. She’d been told he not only spent long hours at his office, he also walked the streets during the day, visiting some of the cafe s and bars, handing out information about the canteen, and issuing invitations. She was sure he was feeling weary by now.
“Well, this is my stop coming up,” he announced as he stood to his feet. “Thanks again for your help. We would never be able to run the canteen without the services of the volunteers.”
Christine smiled just before he turned and lightly sprang down the steps. She heard his retreating whistle before the streetcar moved on. The song was “Count Your Blessings.” She smiled again.
As always, it was difficult to find an empty seat as Eric and Christine were ushered into church on Sunday. “I see why you say you need to build,” he whispered in her ear.
She saw a few heads turn as they made their way almost to the front of the sanctuary—mostly young people who no doubt were wondering if they were “an item.” Well, she wasn’t there to worry about that. She was there to worship.
They squeezed in beside an older couple whom Christine did not know, smiled a good-morning, and picked up the hymnal to share.
She was surprised at his wonderful tenor voice, and he sang out heartily. It seemed to inspire those around them—including herself. She paid more attention to the hymns and sang more fervently than usual.
She stole a glance his way a few times during the service and noticed that the minister had his full attention. Once she even heard a whispered “Amen.” She liked that. She liked to think he had come to church to worship God—not to spend time with a girl, even if the girl was she.
He had been invited to dinner, so he drove her straight to the house. Aunt Mary had assured him that they appreciated his time schedule, and dinner would be served as quickly as possible. She planned the meal accordingly, having a casserole in the oven and the salad already made and in the refrigerator. Lucy had volunteered to stay home to prepare the meal, but Mary would have none of it.