The Isaac Project

by Sarah Monzon

  Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop.

  The sound of the organ and the shuffle of bodies as everyone stood roused me from my introspection.

  So much for clearing my head to hear the message.

  Lifting the hymnal from the back of the pew in front of me, I leafed through its pages to find the closing song. I could at least participate in one part of the service. I closed my eyes and lifted my voice, singing as a prayer. “Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way!”

  The song washed over me like a cleansing rain. Out of all six-hundred-plus songs in the hymnal, this was by far my favorite. It held the most personal meaning for me. Every time I heard it, I felt a bit of the agony and all of the peace from when it first became my mantra two years before. When I was engaged to Leslie.

  We’d had a whirlwind romance, and she’d awakened desires best saved for marriage. I was ashamed of what our relationship became, now that I looked back on it.

  During the time we were together, I couldn’t read the book of Song of Solomon because of the Shulamite’s warning not to awaken love before its time. The caution poked at my conscience, and in the heat of the moment, I didn’t want it being poked. I didn’t read much of the Bible then, to be honest. My burning passions were battling against the quiet voice of my conscience saying such actions with a woman were better reserved for marriage.

  Oh, I didn’t jump into bed with Leslie, but we did skirt the line a little too closely. Taking the advice of Paul that it’s better to marry than to fall into sin, I proposed and she accepted—for all of three weeks. She decided she wanted a little more fun out of life before settling down with one man. I was devastated. That is, until I gave all my heartache and guilt to God, finally releasing my hold on them and telling the Lord to have His own way—and He did. His way was and always will be better than my own.

  The song concluded, and the pastor prayed a benediction over the congregation. People spilled into the aisle, causing major congestion. Instead of fighting the crowd, I sat back down on the hard wooden bench and waited until the flow of traffic started to move. The second my spine touched the backrest, Lisa leaned over Sam once more. Why didn’t she switch seats with him instead of craning around his tall, thin frame? Maybe it had something to do with her hand and forearm resting on his thigh as she bent over to close the distance between us. Sam didn’t look at all upset about his personal space being invaded.

  “So what was with the scowl?” The police department should’ve put her on salary as an interrogator.

  The closing song, the one part of the service to which I’d actually paid attention, had managed to carry away the foul temper that had clung to me all morning. The lyrics have thine own way, Lord had reminded me that God did have a plan for people’s lives. Just as He had a plan for my life two years ago. Just as He had a plan for Becky’s life now.

  As I was singing those words, it was as if I had put Becky back in God’s hands. I didn’t know when or why or how I had taken her out of His hands, but my preoccupation with the situation clearly showed I was trying to figure it out on my own. Which was absurd, since I’d never met her, and it wasn’t any of my business to begin with. But I kept feeling drawn—no, pulled—back. But no more. God would have His own way.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter now.” And it truly didn’t.

  “Tell me. I want to know.”

  She wasn’t going to let it drop. I looked at Sam. “Is she always this nosey?”

  “Always,” he said with a grin.

  “I had a bad dream last night that I couldn’t shake. That’s all.”

  “What about?”

  Man, was she persistent. “Your friend, actually.”

  “Oh?” If possible, she looked even more intrigued.

  Sighing, I told her my dream. “Your friend was kneeling in front of a grave—her grandfather’s, I assumed—when a man storms into the cemetery and demands to know why she’s there. Before she can say a word, he starts to beat her and doesn’t stop until she can’t move.”

  “Really.”

  The way she said it didn’t sound like a question at all. I expected her to be a bit stunned that I’d had such a violent dream about her friend, but she didn’t seem surprised. If anything, I was the one surprised. Surprised at the gleam that shone from her eyes and the cat-that-got-the-canary look that had taken over her entire face.

  That look was never good for anyone. Especially the person on the receiving end.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked with suspicion.

  “Like what?” She tried to mask her face in innocence, but her eyes shone with untold secrets.

  Sam sat beside me, trying with all his might to hold back his laughter. Although no sound made it past his lips, his shoulders shook with his contained mirth.

  “Okay, what’s so funny? What aren’t you guys telling me?” My wariness was rapidly turning to dread in the pit of my stomach.

  Swallowing back his amusement, Sam clasped me on the shoulder and tried to look serious. He was failing, however, because his eyes still danced in merriment.

  “You’re the one,” he pronounced as if that would clear everything up. Of course it didn’t.

  “The one what?” I tried not to sound as exasperated as I was feeling.

  “The one Lisa has been looking for.” His last word ended in a snort as he laughed through his nose.

  We were starting to garner strange looks from the people milling around in the aisles, but at this point, I didn’t care. Clearly Sam was enjoying himself, cackling like an idiot. I was about ready to wipe that smirk off his face if he didn’t start making some sense

  “What do you mean?” Surely I wasn’t hearing right. Lisa had been looking for a husband for her friend. I couldn’t be that man. These two must have lost their minds.

  “You told Lisa that she should ask God for a sign so she could know who He had planned to be Becky’s husband.”

  “So…”

  I looked to Lisa. Maybe she would make more sense than my addle-brained cousin.

  “That was the sign I’d asked for.”

  I must have looked completely confused, because she continued.

  “You see, so far all the guys I’ve told about Becky either laughed, got all weirded out, or made fun of her. I knew before I even started I’d need a sign from God just like Eliezer did. I know Becky really well, but I don’t want to be responsible for choosing her husband. This way, it’s more like God is the one responsible since He has to show me a sign. Becky may have a list of things she’d want in a man, but the main thing is someone with a heart for God. So I told God that the sign would be for the man who was supposed to marry Becky suggest I ask for a sign. This would show me that he knew the story from the Bible and that he had enough of a personal relationship with God to recommend I seek God’s guidance.”

  She looked at me expectantly, as though this was some sort of algebra problem and only I had the right answer. I’d seen that look on Marty’s face a hundred times. But this wasn’t a+b=?

  What could I say? I had sympathy for Becky. I felt bad that her grandfather was dying. Truly, I did. But that didn’t mean I was ready to go and marry the woman! It was simply out of the question.

  “Sorry”—I shook my head—“but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  11

  Luke

  HAVE THINE OWN way, Lord. Have thine own way.

  The lyrics repeated themselves over and over again like a broken record. Was I letting God have His own way? I’d jumped the gun in a relationship once before without asking what His will was in the matter. But surely His plan didn’t have anything to do with me moving to California to marry a complete stranger. Besides, what about love? Becky might be content with a loveless marriage, but that wasn’t the kind of union I wanted for myself.

  Love is a choice.

  My uncle’s words rang in my ears. I didn’t want to admit the accuracy of the statement, but I couldn’t deny i
t either. The statistics of divorce in this country were staggering. If a couple were in love on their wedding day, then what happened to end their marital bliss? Did they base everything on the flightiness of feelings instead of a lasting commitment to love their partner through thick and thin, richer or poorer, sickness and health?

  Have thine own way, Lord.

  What’s Your way, Lord? What is it You want me do?

  Love thy neighbor as thyself…

  I couldn’t have been more taken aback if I’d been hit by a battering ram. I talked to God all the time, but that was the first time I’d heard Him talk back.

  I looked up at the sky, my hands stretched out in front of me, palms up in supplication. “What’s that supposed to mean, love my neighbor? If that’s Your answer, then I don’t understand. I need a yes or a no. Am I supposed to go to California and marry that woman? Is that Your plan for my life?”

  As if the words of 1 John 4:19 were illuminated in neon lights on a billboard, I saw them clearly—we love because He first loved us.

  Was it really that simple? The reason followers of Christ love Him is because He loved us first. Deep in my heart I knew this was a promise from God as well as His divine direction. He was telling me to go to California. To marry Becky. To love her. And in loving her, she would love me in return.

  ***

  Rebekah

  “Stay, Lady,” I commanded, although I’m not sure why I bothered. The way her head rested on Mr. Peddlemyer’s leg, tongue lolled out the side of her mouth, eyes half-closed, I doubted I could have gotten her to move from that spot.

  “Stop your worryin’.” Mr. Peddlemyer waved a purple-veined hand at me. “Your dog and I will be just fine, won’t we girl?”

  I smiled at the pair before walking through Grandview’s front door, nearly bumping into Rita.

  “Hey, Rita. Is Poppy in his room?”

  She bit her lower lip and hesitated before answering. “No, he no in his room right now.” She jerked her head to the left. “He in front room.”

  My brows came together. What was with her nervous behavior?

  The petite CNA scurried away before I had a chance to utter my thanks.

  The front room was empty save my grandfather. He sat in the middle of the tufted sofa provided for guests and residents alike. The TV was off, and he held no book in his hands, but he stared straight ahead. Curious, I followed his gaze to the stark white wall.

  “Poppy?”

  My voice had no effect on his line of vision, so I stepped directly in front of him.

  He didn’t look up.

  I squatted to be eye level with him, but he seemed to look right through me.

  “Poppy.” I placed my hand on his knee.

  He blinked and focused on my face. I smiled.

  “Evelyn?”

  My smile faltered at my mom’s name. I forced it back in place.

  “No, Poppy. It’s me, Rebekah.”

  “Rebekah?”

  I nodded and blinked back traitorous tears.

  “Where’s Evelyn?”

  “Poppy, Mom—Evelyn—died a long time ago. Remember?” Please remember, Poppy.

  He closed his eyes tight and leaned his head back. When he opened them again, resignation showed in their depths.

  “I remember. How could I forget?” His fingers brushed my cheek. “And I could never forget you, my Rebekah Anne.”

  Time was running out. Its tick, tock, tick, tock clanged in my ear.

  Lisa, please hurry!

  ***

  Luke

  One would think I’d be nervous as I sat next to Lisa and waited for the call to go through, but I wasn’t. There was a peace I couldn’t explain about my decision, except to say that it was the peace of knowing I’d made the right choice. I would choose to love Becky. And with time, she’d love me in return. My pulse raced, but it was more from anticipation than anxiety.

  “Becky?” Lisa smiled. “Hey, I was just calling to let you know The Isaac Project was a success.”

  Lisa’s gaze caught mine, and her smile grew. This girl must have been a handful for her parents growing up. Sam was a lucky guy.

  “He’s perfect.” She winked at me. Good thing I wasn’t the blushing type.

  “In fact, he’s right here, so I’ll go ahead and let you talk to him.”

  Lisa offered me the phone with a little nod of encouragement.

  There wasn’t any script or past experience, personal or otherwise, to help me know what to say. One of Sam’s corny Christian pickup lines wouldn’t work in this situation. Although, truthfully, I didn’t know how they had worked in any situation.

  “Hey, Becky. My name is Luke Masterson.” I ran a hand over my head. “How’re you doing?” Was that what you said to the girl you’ve agreed to marry?

  No chipper response. No “I’m fine, thank you, and how are you?” No nothing. Just dead silence returned my greeting. Rocky start.

  I tried again. “How’s your grandfather?”

  “Umm…yeah…uh…hi. I’m hanging in there, and so is Poppy, thanks for asking. We both have our good days and bad days, but that’s to be expected.”

  Her voice was like a river in autumn. The waters had since receded from the deluge of spring rains and snowmelt from warmer weather. Where the river had once playfully rolled over rocks and fearlessly leaped over clefts, it now trickled sedately on its course, more focused on its destination than the joy of the journey. Had her voice had always been like—like an autumn river? Or had it once contained the playfulness of spring before some jerk broke her heart?

  “That’s good to hear. I’ve been praying for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  This conversation was awkward at best. What else was I supposed to say? The dead space actual felt painful. Thankfully, I was saved by the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Is what Lisa said true?” she asked with a hint of shyness. Her vulnerability stirred a protectiveness inside me. It was a good thing Becky’s cheating ex-boyfriend wasn’t there right then, because I would’ve been tempted to use his face as my next punching bag.

  “If you’ll have me, then I’d be proud to be your husband.” I was a little shocked to discover how completely true that statement was. Not twenty-four hours earlier I’d been close to mocking the whole idea of an arranged marriage in the twenty-first century. Now there I was, the prospective groom of one.

  Silence once again grew thick over the line. I dragged a hand across the back of my neck. We should’ve had this conversation over Skype instead of a regular phone call. Then I’d be able to see her reactions, her body language, and, well, her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked gently.

  “Oh yes. Yes, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me,” she said, then paused. “I’m a little embarrassed about what I’m about to ask you.”

  A thread of trepidation snaked down my spine. This was a woman who’d asked her best friend to find her a husband. If what she wanted to ask me embarrassed her…well…there was no telling what it could be.

  “I was visiting Poppy today and talked to Rita, she’s one of the CNAs that takes care of him, and she told me he was starting a downward spiral. He hasn’t been eating much and sleeps most of the day. I’m really worried he won’t last much longer. It seems like he’s just given up.”

  Her voice was shaky, and she took a steadying breath before continuing. “In light of that…and I hate to ask this at all…but…would you be willing…I mean, would it be possible if…”

  “You need me there ASAP.”

  “If it’s at all feasible.” The river became a trickle as uncertainty cut off its flow.

  “Let me talk to my boss, but I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She didn’t need to face this alone.

  Lisa’s wild gesturing caught my eye, as did the concerned look on her face.

  “Uh, Becky, Lisa is over here waving her arms like she’s trying to land a 747, so I’ll hand the phone back over to her.
It was nice talking to you.” Lisa snagged the phone from my ear as I said good-bye.

  12

  Luke

  MY WEIGHT RESTED on my forearms as I leaned against the dollhouse-sized butcher block island in my modest kitchen. The blank, black screen of my iPhone resting on the pale countertop mocked me. Ironic how I hadn’t been nervous to talk to Becky, a complete stranger I’d committed to marry, but the thought of picking up that phone and calling my dad made my palms sweat.

  Mom had taken the news of my upcoming nuptials fairly well. At least she tried to hide her cynicism. Dad, however, liked to lay on the sarcasm as thick as icing on a birthday cake.

  I wiped my hands on my pants and gritted my teeth before picking up the phone and dialing his number.

  “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?”

  “Eh, I’ve been better.” His husky baritone voice sounded defeated. Maybe it wasn’t a good time to give him what he’d consider bad news.

  “What’s wrong? Trouble at work?”

  “No, work is good. It’s Regina.”

  “Is she all right? Are the two of you okay?” Regina was Dad’s third wife. After mom, he’d married a buxom Italian named Rosa. When that relationship went south, he’d moved to Nashville and found Regina, a wanna be country music singer.

  “I don’t know what happened. We used to have such passion. We’d kiss, and fireworks would go off, you know? But nowadays…I don’t know…there isn’t even a spark. No sizzle. I think we’ve flamed out.” He sounded so resigned. Like there was nothing he could do about the situation but walk away.

  See, that’s what happens when you treat marriage like it’s a package of fireworks. The fuel always burns out, and there’s a long, dark night left to follow. I paced the length of my apartment. Truth be told, it was too small for pacing, but I needed to expel some of the nervous energy that talking to my old man had created.