A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  I wanted to do something special, something I would always remember. For several weeks I’d been considering the idea of taking a ride up into the high hills east of Miracle Springs, maybe even as far as the lake region by Grouse Ridge or Fall Creek Mountain. I didn’t really have any definite plans—I just wanted to get high up so I could see the sunrise over the Sierras further east.

  It was still dark when I got up, and for the first hour of riding I had to make my way slowly until the faint gray light of dawn gradually began sending the darkness away. In the distance, as I climbed higher and higher over the rugged terrain, gnarled weathered oak trees sat on the horizon, silhouetted against the clear early morning sky that was gradually brightening in the east. Everything was so still and quiet—just a horse and rider moving as one through a smooth grassy meadow of the foothills, dotted sparsely with massive trees, then suddenly encountering the steep rockiness of the mountain region.

  Of all the horses I had known and ridden, Raspberry remained my special friend. He was a golden brown color, except for his white stockings and the blaze of white running from between his ears forward to his nostrils. His bulging muscles glistened with sweat. What a magnificent beast he is, I thought as he glided with liquid ease, responsive to my every change of the reins, alert to everything around him. I think he enjoyed the morning’s ride as much as I did! We galloped across the gently sloping meadows, then slowed to ascend steeper paths upward, and I almost felt Raspberry knew what I was thinking ahead of time!

  For an hour we rode, many thoughts passing through my mind, the beauty of the surroundings giving way to reflections on what this day symbolized. What was it that made this, my twenty-first birthday, different from all the ones that had come before? I didn’t feel any different . . . or did I?

  Perhaps it was a deeper sense of accountability—accountability toward others . . . toward God . . . an accountability for my own life, my own self.

  Even though there were still areas of my life where I felt like a little girl—tentative, unsure of certain things—people would look at me from now on as a “grown up” adult. I was no longer a young girl, but a woman. On this day I was stepping over a threshold into being totally responsible for my own actions, my own thoughts, my own attitudes—accountable for my own decisions, and responsible for making good and right decisions.

  God had brought me so far!

  Such a short time ago, it seemed, I hadn’t known much of anything about what life truly was. I didn’t know about God and how he was involved in people’s lives, how he wanted to be intimate with us. I hadn’t known much about who I was or where I was going, or even who I wanted to be and where I wanted to go.

  Yet God had given me such a sense of purpose, so many desires of who and what I wanted to be and become as a person, as his daughter. I wanted to be pure before him. I wanted to love God with my whole being. I wanted to be able to love others with his love. I wanted to be able to tell people about him, about my life with him, about the thoughts and feelings that were in my heart toward him. I wanted to meet and know people who shared that same commitment, those same desires—people who were also on that same road of life.

  When I found my thoughts drifting toward marriage, I surprised myself. I didn’t think such things very often, and usually figured I’d never marry. But on the occasions when it did cross my mind, I wondered what kind of man God might have for me to share my life with. I’d even fall to imagining about it sometimes. And then I’d realize that in spite of what I’d said to Zack, I did have certain feelings and ideas about the man I would marry, if I did. He would be strong and sensitive and loving. But strong in an inward way, not strong the way boys and men talked about strength. Strong to me was the quality of character that made someone willing to stand up for what they believed, even to make sacrifices to do it. Almeda was strong in that way. So was Pa. And sensitive to me meant the kind of man who could tell what another person, especially a woman, was thinking. Sensitivity meant respecting the thoughts and feelings of others, a gentleness, and especially the ability to talk and share and be open with feelings. Women didn’t have much trouble doing that kind of thing, but men usually did. I wanted to marry a man who knew how to talk and share and feel—a man who knew how to cry and wasn’t ashamed to be an emotional, open, tender man. That was sensitivity to me. I wondered if such men even existed! As hard as it had been for him at first, Pa was learning to be that kind of man, and I loved him so much for it!

  And of course first of all, such a man would have to be a Christian, sharing with me the desire to follow God with all his heart in everything. How could a man and woman be friends for a lifetime if they didn’t share that most important thing of all? And if marriage was something God had for me, I didn’t want to just be a wife, and have a husband. I wanted to have a best friend to live the rest of my life with!

  Raspberry stumbled momentarily on a rock in our path, and suddenly my thoughts were jolted back from marriage to the present. We were climbing pretty steeply now. It was completely light, and over the mountains ahead of us hues of pink were starting to spread upward from the horizon. The summit up ahead looked like a good place to stop. From there I’d be able to see the sun rise over the peaks in the distance. I urged Raspberry on.

  But in spite of the difficult climb, I couldn’t keep my thoughts on the ride itself. I found myself thinking about myself and what kind of person I was—the kind of thoughts you usually keep to yourself and don’t tell anyone, even your parents or closest friends.

  God had given me certain talents and strengths, although sometimes it was hard to admit good things, even to myself. But I knew I had done a lot of growing up in the five-and-a-half years since we had come to California. I’d been fifteen-and-a-half then, and so young. Now here I was looking at life as an adult would. And I wanted so badly to put to good use all that God had given me. I wanted to use the gifts and abilities and strengths he had put inside me to help other people, to grow still closer to him, and to glorify him.

  “Oh Lord,” I found myself praying, “help me to cultivate what you’ve given me. Don’t let me waste anything. Help me to grow to the fullest, so that I can be the person you want me to be!”

  Even as I prayed I realized how much he had already done within me. The growth hadn’t all been easy. I’d cried a lot of tears since Ma’s death out on the desert. I’d cried with Almeda. I’d cried with Pa. And I’d cried alone. Yet I had grown and matured so much through it all!

  And I wasn’t the only one who had changed. I’d seen so many other relationships develop and deepen, from Pa and Mr. Royce to Uncle Nick and Katie, Little Wolf and Zack. Mr. Lame Pony was having more to do with people in the community. Rev. Rutledge had changed and become a friend to our family. I saw so much growth in so many people.

  I thought about what it was like to toss a pebble into a pond. The rock starts a motion of ripples that spread outward in concentric circles, which eventually goes the entire length of the water in every direction. I was reminded of Almeda, one woman, left alone at her husband’s death, yet with faith alive and growing inside her heart, like a rock thrown into the middle of this community.

  Then we had come. And through Almeda’s walk and life with God I saw something I desired to share, something I wanted and knew I needed. As I searched for the truth, with Almeda helping and guiding and teaching me, our friendship developed and deepened, as did my faith. I became a daughter to her in many ways.

  Then Pa was gradually drawn by the same thing I had felt. His faith in God began to grow deeper too, not just from Almeda, but maybe even from me and seeing Rev. Rutledge reach out to him. God was already spreading his life out into the community through more than just one or two.

  After Pa and Almeda were married, the circles of deeper faith continued to widen. As Zack and Emily and Becky grew, we all started praying more together as a family. Then things began changing for Uncle Nick. And then God, in his mysterious ways, worked through tragedy to bring Kati
e into the ever-widening circle.

  God, O God, I thought, you have transformed me and the people around me in so many extraordinary ways! Where will it go from here? What are you going to do next? Whose life will you change . . . whose heart will you get inside of next?

  As we crested the peak, Raspberry struggled up the final bit of the steep climb. Then the path leveled out and continued along for some distance over the high ridge.

  I reined him in and sat still in the saddle for another moment or two, glancing around in all directions. What a beautiful view! The long ride, the climb . . . it had all been worth it for this one moment!

  Slowly I dismounted, taking the reins in my hand, and walked to a lone tree, growing by itself on the high plateau. I tethered Raspberry to its trunk and patted the red splotch in the middle of his white forehead, the reason for his name.

  I walked on farther, climbed onto a big boulder, and sat down on top of it. The sky in the east was now full of vivid colors, all melting into each other as the brightening flame on the horizon gathered in intensity.

  Suddenly, from behind a snow-capped peak in the distance, a sliver of the sun shot into view. The intense ray pierced my eyes like a blinding arrow. In a second the whole eastern horizon was changed as brilliant, flashing rays spread out in all directions. All other colors instantly vanished in the core of blinding orange fire.

  I turned around and looked in the direction from which I had come. Down in the distance the early morning haze still clung to the trees and ridges and hollows, some of which wouldn’t see the sun for several more hours. And then, still farther off, I could just glimpse the big valley into which all the rivers of these mountains poured.

  I am twenty-one, I thought to myself. Twenty-one! It hardly seemed possible! What would my future hold? I wanted so much to do what God wanted me to. I wanted always to be growing in my knowledge of him, growing in what the Bible called righteousness. I never wanted to let myself relax in my faith and take the easy way. I wanted to hold on to the standards that God had established, the way he wanted his people to walk.

  “God,” I prayed as I sat there, “I want my whole self to belong to you. I give my all to you. Show me how to do it. I know I can only do it with you beside me and in me.”

  I could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my back. I sat still for a long time. Everything was still and quiet. The only sounds to meet my ears were the songs of birds celebrating the sun and the springtime.

  Seized by a great surge of joy, I wished I could soar like those birds. I had grown in the years since coming to California from a timid and uncertain young girl into a confident, though occasionally still struggling—could I actually say the word?—into an—adult.

  As I sat there basking in the sunrise, the dawn reminded me of the day Almeda shared her story and her feelings with Katie. Almeda had said that Mr. Parrish gave her a place to stand. I remembered her words, and I could almost hear her voice when she said, “Not only was he giving me a place to stand, it was a place of warmth and smiles.”

  I got down off the boulder and walked back to the tree where Raspberry was waiting patiently for me. I mounted and we moved on for a short distance in the other direction, gazing toward the mountains, then back westward toward the valley below, where the sun’s rays were now probing the hollows and caressing the ridges above them.

  Suddenly the overpowering radiance of the sun became a revelation to me. I have been given a place to stand, too, I thought. A place right here, a place in this new state, “the sunshine state.” God has given me a place in the sun!

  A sense of calm and peace and assurance flooded over my being. Even as I felt the sun’s warmth on my arms and back, I felt God’s presence wrapping around me.

  I sank to my knees on a patch of nearby grass. Lifting my face toward heaven, I was filled with a heart of gratefulness.

  “Thank you, God, for being so near to me, so present with me. Thank you that I am here. Thank you for bringing me to California. Thank you for the place you have given me to stand . . . and to walk. And thank you for everything my future holds . . . whatever it may be.”

  I lingered a while longer on the grass, soaking in everything I was feeling. Then I slowly stood.

  The sun was already climbing into the sky, its fiery beams waking up every inch of the sleepy earth. I walked back toward Raspberry, gave his nose a pat, untied him, and remounted.

  “It’s time we headed back, my old friend,” I said.

  Down the way we had come, we made our way toward home. I knew my family would all be up by now and wondering where I was. I smiled at the thought. I probably should have told someone where I was going. But I had wanted to be completely alone, even in the knowledge of where I was!

  My heart was still welling up within me, full of God’s peace and love. My thoughts and prayers seemed to take up where they had left off on the ride up.

  “God,” I prayed again, “help me take care of the good things you are doing inside me. Never let me take for granted all you’ve given, and the life you’ve put within me. I give my life to you, Lord, and place into your hands whatever my future holds.”

  About the Author

  Michael Phillips is a bestselling author with more than seventy of his own titles. In addition, he has served as editor/redactor of nearly thirty more books. He is known as the man responsible for the reawakened interest in George MacDonald of the last thirty years. In addition to the MacDonald titles adapted/edited for today’s reader, his publishing efforts in bringing back full-length quality facsimile editions also spawned renewed interest in MacDonald’s original work. Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland, but make their home near Sacramento, California. Visit Michael’s website at www.fatheroftheinklings.com

  Books by Michael Phillips

  FICTION

  THE RUSSIANS*

  The Crown and the Crucible • A House Divided • Travail and Triumph

  THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*

  The Heather Hills of Stonewycke • Flight from Stonewycke • Lady of Stonewycke

  THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*

  Stranger at Stonewycke • Shadows over Stonewycke • Treasure of Stonewycke

  THE SECRETS OF HEATHERSLEIGH HALL

  Wild Grows the Heather in Devon • Wayward Winds

  Heathersleigh Homecoming • A New Dawn Over Devon

  SHENANDOAH SISTERS

  Angels Watching Over Me • A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton

  The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart • Together Is All We Need

  CAROLINA COUSINS

  A Perilous Proposal • The Soldier’s Lady

  Never Too Late • Miss Katie’s Rosewood

  CALEDONIA

  Legend of the Celtic Stone • An Ancient Strife

  THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*

  Jamie MacLeod: Highland Lass • Robbie Taggart: Highland Sailor

  THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER

  My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* • On the Trail of the Truth

  A Place in the Sun • Sea to Shining Sea • Into the Long Dark Night

  Land of the Brave and the Free • A Home for the Heart

  Grayfox • A New Beginning • The Braxtons of Miracle Springs

  THE SECRET OF THE ROSE

  The Eleventh Hour • A Rose Remembered

  Escape to Freedom • Dawn of Liberty

  AMERICAN DREAMS

  Dream of Freedom • Dream of Life • Dream of Love

  The Sword, the Garden, and the King

  Heaven and Beyond

  Angel Harp

  Murder By Quill

  From Across the Ancient Waters

  Angel Dreams**

  SECRETS OF THE SHETLANDS

  The Inheritance

  NONFICTION

  The Eyewitness New Testament (3 volumes)

  The Commands

  The Commands of the Apostles

  George MacDonald: Scotland’s Beloved Storyteller


  *with Judith Pella **with Chris Schneider

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