by Janette Oke
Something in what the kindly man said stirred a response within Belinda. Was that what she had done? Left God back in her homeland? Was that why her trip abroad had become so dismal, so unsatisfying? She knew she had missed attending church, but had she misplaced God, too? After all, God was not limited to buildings. His true dwelling was in hearts. Had Belinda shut the door of her heart when she stepped on the deck of the sailing vessel? If God had no place in her thoughts or plans from that time on, no wonder she had been miserable.
No! No, that wasn’t when it happened, Belinda realized as she thought further. She had left God out of her life even before leaving Boston. Perhaps the downward slide had begun before she left her own small town, maybe starting with her restlessness. Had the restlessness been a result of her constant care of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth? She had allowed her nursing duties to keep her from daily quiet times of prayer and Bible reading. And I was getting all nervous and upset about Rand and Jackson, she remembered.
Things had only worsened in the flurry of activity in Boston with Pierre. They had been so busy running here and there that Belinda had put aside her Sunday church attendance, as well. Gradually, thoughtlessly, she had drifted into a life that didn’t include God.
Belinda looked across at the gentleman beside her. She did not wish to be rude, but she needed some time alone. No . . . no, she needed time with her God. She had been floundering—starving— and not even realizing why.
“Excuse me, please,” she said to the man. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, but I . . . I . . . need to return to my stateroom.”
Belinda was thankful that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was not there.
She needed privacy. With almost frantic gestures she began to rummage through the baggage stored beneath her bunk. Where was her Bible? She who had read her Bible daily had not held it in her hands for weeks.
At last she drew it forth from the bottom of a suitcase. With tears streaming down her face, she clasped the book to her bosom.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “God, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me for forsaking you. I . . . I’ve been so lonely, and in my foolishness I did not even know why.” Belinda fell on her knees and cried out to a forgiving Father.
It was a while before the inner storm was spent and peace again entered Belinda’s heart. She rose to sit on her berth and opened her Bible. She sat reading favorite portions from her precious book, thankfully noticing how each passage met her need, and wondering how she could have ever become so careless as to neglect it.
She had been raised with Bible reading. Her earliest memories were of sitting on her father’s lap as he read to the family from the Bible each morning. She had always been impressed with the importance of Bible reading and time spent in prayer. She knew!
She knew! She had learned it well. She had become a believer herself when she was but a girl and had allowed God to lead and direct her life throughout her growing years. How was it possible for her to let the pleasures of the world and the deceitfulness of living a life of leisure and wealth lead her so far off course? How could Satan so subtly and slowly have drawn her away from her source of spiritual life? It had developed so gradually that Belinda had been unaware of its happening.
It’s not that the Lord doesn’t want me to enjoy beautiful things and interesting places, Belinda decided. But He wants me to do those things with Him, not without Him. Thankful that through the kind words of an elderly man God had jarred her back to the truth, she read on, refreshing her parched soul.
At last, feeling renewed and alive again, she laid her Bible gently on the bedside table. She smiled softly to herself, hardly able to wait to share her new discovery with Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. She had not been the Christian witness to the woman she should have been. She prayed God would help her change all that. And feeling assured that she served a merciful and understanding God, Belinda was confident she would be given ample opportunity to share her faith properly in the future.
The future! Suddenly the thought seemed awfully good to Belinda. She had so much to look forward to—so many decisions of life still to be made. She no longer felt crowded—pushed against a wall. Why, even the thought of Jackson and Rand brought no accompanying anxiety. Belinda felt she was ready to offer honest friendship to both of them. Friendship—but no more— at least at present, she told herself and felt no guilt concerning her decision. She smiled again, thankful for the feeling of peace.
She felt no pressure to know what her future held. Perhaps . . . just perhaps God did have a home and family somewhere ahead for her. Belinda would like that, but she was willing to take one step at a time.
A wave of loneliness for the ones at home swept over her. She would love to see them—to see them all. To be held in her father’s secure arms again—to share private thoughts with her mother over a cup of tea—to watch Luke’s steady hand as he held syringe or needle—to chat, to hold, to laugh and cry with her family.
And then Belinda’s thoughts turned to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth— the wealthy woman who was in reality so poor—and Belinda’s heart ached for the woman. For the first time in her young life, Belinda began to sense what it would be like to be alone—really alone. The thought sobered and chilled her. She must do more with her—be more thoughtful and loving. More sharing and giving. The lonely woman needed her, not as nursemaid, but as friend. Belinda knew that at least for now, she would not—could not—desert her.
“God,” she whispered, “I’ll need your leading. Your direction.
I want to do the right thing . . . and I trust you to let me know just what that might be. Oh . . . not all at once . . . but step by step. Help me to be patient with what you have for me now . . . an’ ready to move on when you give me a nudge. Don’t let me rush the future . . . but help me to walk into it with faith and confidence in you.” Belinda breathed deeply, at peace with herself. “And thank you, God . . . for a future . . . for the knowledge that you have it all in your control.”
Belinda smoothed her dress and raised a hand to tidy her hair, then moved forward to take the first step in her new walk with God.
I must find him and tell him, she said to herself with a smile.
He’s a rather strange little man—but his words changed my life. I must tell him—and then welcome him to America. “Mattie” he said his name was, but it’s hardly proper for me to be calling him that. I must ask his name. Belinda opened the cabin door and stepped out into the bright sunshine and tangy sea air.
Barcelona—Rome—Paris—steamship—Boston? What does it really matter? For as the kind man has pointed out, “‘Ye needn’t leave God behind ye now,”’ and wherever one goes—wherever God is, the heart can be at peace, at home.