A Hope for Hannah (Hannah's Heart 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  As if reading her thoughts, Jake said “This wasn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. I shot the deer to try to save money. We shouldn’t blame each other or anyone. God is still in charge, and He knows what He’s doing.”

  Hannah nodded, thankful that Jake understood.

  “God will give us children as He wishes,” Jake said firmly. “Perhaps several children.”

  Hannah stood—unable to eat—and walked over to him and put her hand on his arm. Jake stood too and pulled her into an embrace. “God will keep us,” he whispered. “Yes, God will keep us.”

  “It’s just so hard—so very hard,” Hannah said, gently crying into Jake’s shoulder.

  “It’s harder for you…probably harder than I know.” He then released the embrace but held her out at arm’s length, his hands gripping her arms. She let the strength flow through her—his and hers together and perhaps even God’s—she thought through her tears.

  “I suppose so,” she said. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Jake, part of this is because you are a minister now…and…I don’t know how to be a minister’s wife. Everything is changing so fast—for both of us. I just don’t know how I can keep up.”

  “You make things much easier for me,” Jake whispered. “You don’t know by how much.”

  “It’s hard for you?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” Jake said. “I never asked for this. Never dreamed of preaching. Never even thought of it. Even that very morning I never thought of it. It wasn’t until I heard the bishop say my name, and even then it seemed impossible. Do you think God would work like that? I know our faith says He does, and that is how the old people believe things work. Yet why choose me?” Jake shook his head. “I prayed hard and asked God to help me. I asked for help from His Spirit. Yet, I didn’t know how it would go. Getting up there the first time—you don’t know how afraid I was. Now John says I preach too good. I don’t know what too good is. I don’t know what preaching is at all. How would I know when it’s too good?”

  Hannah was surprised by Jake’s words. Could it be that he too was afraid of the changes that she feared? Her fingers tightened on his arms.

  “Hannah, losing my job felt awful—like part of me had been torn away. How was I supposed to provide for you and the baby on the way? I tried to save money and bring in cheaper meat. Then I bring this upon us—the loss of our child.” Jake’s eyes looked weary and torn.

  “No,” Hannah said, moving closer to him again.

  “But I have you.” His face lit up. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

  “I’ve wanted so much to be all you need in a wife,” Hannah whispered, her hand touching Jake’s head. “I’ve done so badly. I thought wrong thoughts. Wished wrong things.”

  “It’s okay,” Jake said. “None of that matters now. God will help us. I know He will. He already has.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, felt a little of his faith, and drew on his strength.

  “I’d better write that letter,” Jake said, startling her.

  “You’d better eat your dinner first,” she said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Neither am I, but we had better eat,” she said, taking her seat again. Though she too was still not hungry, she wanted Jake to eat.

  As she cleared the dishes, he moved to the desk to write his letter.

  “You’ll have to let me read it,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t read the letters you write to your parents.”

  “That’s because you never ask to,” she said. “I do the dishes, you write, and then I read.”

  Jake grunted, but he did start the letter.

  After Hannah was finished in the kitchen, she found him at the desk, still busy with his pen.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Slowly.” He held his hands over the paper.

  Without saying anything, she pulled it out from under him and read out loud.

  Dear Dad and Mom,

  Greetings from your son in Jesus’ name. If this is a terrible letter, you can blame it on Hannah. She made me do it.

  I hope this finds you well. We have had a great sorrow today. Hannah lost the child she was carrying through an infection, we think. We still have each other, though, and God, and so we have much to be thankful for.

  “That’s all I need to read,” Hannah told him and kissed the top of his head.

  “Give it back, then,” Jake said. “I’m not done writing.”

  She handed it back, noticing his eyes were a little red around the edges.

  “You should write more often,” Hannah said. “Your mom would like that. They might even come and visit us.”

  “Writing and visiting have nothing to do with each other,” Jake said, taking up the pen again. “Not unless you’re telling them you’re coming to visit, and even then one still has little to do with the other. The letter just bears the message.”

  Hannah noticed how his fingers wrapped around the slender pen, so firm and yet tender. She kissed the top of his head again.

  “Are you preaching to me?” Hannah asked.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Then I agree with Bishop Nisley,” she said with another kiss. “You shouldn’t do such a good job of it.”

  Thirty-two

  The days went by, dull and uneventful, for which Hannah was grateful. She needed the quiet, and even the weather seemed to cooperate. For the most part, the winter days were mild and often included extended periods of sunshine.

  Then a winter snowstorm rolled in and left a few inches of snow on the ground one night. During the next evening, more snow fell.

  In the morning the snow lay a good foot deep in some places. Jake laughed when Hannah suggested he stay home from work. He told her this was typical weather for winter and the main road was open. Besides, Mr. Howard needed him at the furniture shop because sales were increasing. This was Montana, after all, and snow in the winter was normal. He then hitched Mosey to the buggy and left, the thin tires squeaking in the snow.

  To add to her worries, there was to be a minister’s meeting at their cabin that night. Jake had told her about it the previous Sunday during the ride home from church. Why the meeting had to be held here, she didn’t know—perhaps because of who was involved.

  At seven that night, Bishop Nisley and Elizabeth and Mose Chupp and his wife, Clara, would come to their cabin to talk with Ben and Sylvia Stoll.

  Apparently Ben and Sylvia had gone not just to one tent meeting in Kalispell but to all of them. Something would have to be said to the couple.

  “How was this done?” Hannah had asked Jake earlier, surprised that they would attend even one meeting, let alone several.

  “They stayed with some friends so they wouldn’t have to drive back and forth every night.” Jake had said by way of explanation.

  Jake arrived home that evening a little before dusk fell. It was early for him, but they wanted to be finished with supper before the others arrived. Hannah grew tenser as the time approached. She told Jake to leave the kitchen work to her, even though he had offered to help. The first buggy arrived as she was drying the dishes. Hannah made her way to the living room and waited as Jake stepped out onto the porch to welcome Minister Chupp and his wife.

  Hannah could hear Jake say “Good evening” and the sound of shuffling feet as the group made its way up onto the porch. Quickly she got up, opened the door, smiled a greeting, and welcomed the guests inside. Jake stayed on the porch to wait for the others.

  “I’ll take your coats,” Hannah said, motioning to Clara and Mose to take seats on the couch. She had chairs from the kitchen set up around the living room for the others.

  “How are you making out in your cabin?” Clara asked, glancing around. Mose just smiled at her, nodded, and took his seat.

  “Okay,” Hannah told Clara. “I like it. It’s different from what I’m used to.”

  “I suppose so,” Clara said as she sat dow
n. “We’ve been wanting to visit. This is the first chance we’ve had.”

  “We’ve never had church here,” Hannah said. “That’ll have to wait until summer when we can meet in the barn. The house is way too small.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the barn,” Clara assured her. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  The thought caused Hannah’s mind to spin. Knowing their duty to take church would come soon enough, she mentally added that job to their already large pile of church responsibilities.

  “I’m sure they’ll get around to it,” Clara went on, “when summer comes.”

  Mose smiled and nodded again.

  The cabin door opened behind them to admit Ben and Sylvia. Hannah heard John and Elizabeth’s buggy pull in as she stood to welcome the Stolls.

  “Good evening,” she said, putting on her best smile.

  “Good evening,” Sylvia and Ben said together, their faces sober.

  “I’ll take your coats,” Hannah said. All the while, she couldn’t help wondering what would happen. Surely a reprimand of some sort was in order—and a promise from the Stolls not to attend such meetings in the future.

  Elizabeth and John were inside by the time Hannah came back from the bedroom. She greeted them with a “Good evening” and took their coats as well. When she came back the third time, the conversation began in earnest as Bishop Nisley got right to the point.

  “I hope Ben and Sylvia understand the reason for this meeting. We mean only good—all for Ben’s and Sylvia’s good. We are here to help and to inquire out of concern. I hope no hard feelings come out of this.”

  Jake and Mose nodded. Hannah wondered how in the world it had come to be that she and Jake were even at a meeting like this—much less hosting it in their own home—but knew she must get used to such sudden and interruptive events.

  “It has reached our ears,” John continued, “that you attended meetings. Revival meetings, I think they are called by our Mennonite friends. This is of concern to us.”

  “We meant no harm,” Ben said. “We were invited by relatives in Kalispell. They set up a tent there, these Mennonites. It sounded interesting, so we went.”

  “Revival meetings?” John asked.

  “Yes,” Ben said.

  “What do they mean by revival meetings? What is being revived?” John asked. “Do they feel their spiritual lives are dead? Have they no more commands of our Lord to fulfill? Which of God’s words no longer requires obedience?”

  “Don’t be too hard on them,” Elizabeth said, reaching over and touching his arm. “I’m sure they meant no harm.”

  The bishop cleared his throat. “Perhaps, but this sort of thing can lead to great error.”

  “We felt there was a lack in our spiritual lives,” Sylvia spoke up. “I was really blessed by the preaching.”

  “I see,” John said, settling back into the couch.

  Hannah felt sure the bishop was thinking something but not wanting to say it.

  “Surely you understand the need for obedience,” Mose spoke up. “Have you been keeping the commandments of God?”

  Ben shrugged. “We try.”

  “We are afraid,” Sylvia said.

  “That’s not unusual,” John said. “Many of us fear. Sometimes the fear of the Lord is a good thing.”

  “It’s not that,” Ben said. He hung his head but didn’t seem ready to continue.

  “See,” Sylvia said, “maybe I wasn’t born again—before, I mean. Now I believe I am. We…went up to the front when the preacher made the altar call. We wanted to be right with God.”

  Ben nodded. “He preached about repentance and getting rid of sin.”

  “The preacher?” Mose asked.

  Ben nodded again.

  “You were practicing sin?” John asked, his brow wrinkled.

  Sylvia spoke up. “We just felt it—inside us. This preacher spoke of the blood of Jesus washing us.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” John agreed. “But this sin you speak of. You were sinning?”

  Ben managed a grin. “Not really. I mean, I did break a few of the church rules at times. Maybe small ones. That’s all.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but their preaching made me feel like a sinner,” Sylvia added.

  “We all are sinners,” John agreed. “So I still don’t understand.”

  Hannah glanced at Jake, but he was staring at the floor. Obviously this was bishop work. She again wondered why in the world they were even here.

  “I guess we felt something…for the first time…in here.” Ben laid his hand on his chest. “We wanted an experience with God.”

  “I see,” John said. “An experience.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia nodded vigorously. “We felt washed afterward. We confessed our sins with the preacher.”

  “You confessed your sins?” Mose asked. “Which ones?”

  “Things we had done—even as far back as our childhood. The usual sins, I suppose,” Sylvia said. “Ben didn’t have as many. I confessed the lie I told my mother—I’d never told anyone about it before.”

  “That is why we have pre-communion church,” John said. “It’s time then for confessions.”

  “We’ve done that,” Ben said, “but this felt different.”

  “I can understand that. Some confessions are to be private,” John said. “Have you told your mother this lie?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I felt cleansed at the meeting.”

  “You probably should tell your mother, though,” Mose spoke up. “That would be between the two of you.”

  “I suppose so,” Sylvia said, seemingly deep in thought.

  “The other things too,” John added. “Whatever you told this preacher, if they involve other people, they should be told.”

  Ben nodded. Sylvia still seemed to be thinking.

  Hannah felt nervous for them. Her palms sweaty, she wished she were somewhere else.

  “See, we are not priests,” John said. “We don’t stand between God and man. We don’t hear others’ sins. We confess our sins to God. If we sin against the church, we confess to the church. If we sin against others, we confess to them. The confessing, then, restores fellowship. It does not forgive our sins. Only God can do that.”

  “His blood,” Ben said. “They spoke of His blood.”

  “That is how it is done,” John agreed. “The blood of Jesus. They are right about that. Sins are only forgiven through the blood.”

  “So…maybe no harm has been done,” Mose said and seemed to relax in his seat.

  “Maybe,” John allowed.

  Ben cleared his throat, his eyes focused on the floor and his fingers tightly clasped.

  Hannah held her breath.

  “We would like to leave,” Ben said.

  “Leave?” John asked, stunned.

  “To join the group in Kalispell,” Ben said. “We feel a oneness with them. They’re starting a new group with those who went to the altar.”

  No one said anything for a few seconds. Then John said, “Isn’t this a bit sudden?”

  “Maybe,” Ben allowed, his eyes still looking at the floor.

  “We hope this will cause no trouble with the church,” Sylvia said. “God is really drawing our hearts.”

  “I see,” John said, his face a question. “This ‘drawing’? It is out into the world, then?”

  “Not the world,” Sylvia said quickly, “to the church of God—to other believers.”

  “You surely don’t think—think we aren’t the church of God?” Mose asked, the question lingering in his voice.

  “No.” Ben shook his head vigorously. “We just don’t believe it’s necessary to live like this to be a part of the church.”

  “Like this?” Mose asked.

  “Buggies and such,” Ben said. “The preacher said we can have God without living like this. He said some of our Amish ways might even be holding us back.”

  “From growing spiritually,” Sylvia added.
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br />   “Yes,” Ben said, “spiritually.”

  “You realize what’s out there?” John asked. “In the world—the temptations, the evils, the trials that happen to one’s faith. It’s different from what you’re used to.”

  “I suppose,” Ben said. “The preacher said the grace of God would be sufficient.”

  “Yes,” John agreed. “God might have grace even for ignorance, but in this case, I don’t think you can claim ignorance.”

  “John,” Elizabeth said, laying her hand on his arm again, “they’re young.”

  “There is no reason to spare them the truth,” John said. Then turning to the Stolls, he said, “You realize this will need to be told to the church.”

  “You…you won’t be excommunicating us?” Ben’s voice trembled.

  “Will this be a Mennonite church you’re going to?” John asked.

  “Yes,” Ben said, “I think so.”

  “I will see what the church and the other ministers say. Don’t get a car until you join this new church—if it is a Mennonite church—and keep yourselves in the Ordnung till then. I know it may seem foolish to you since you are leaving anyway. You’ll need all the help you can get, though. A little keeping of the rules won’t hurt and might even help you. We are not the keepers of men’s souls. We just watch the best we know how. Our faith has always been a voluntary one, a gathering of like hearts. If you wish to leave, I don’t stand in your way.”

  Ben looked relieved. Sylvia even smiled.

  “But if it’s a wacky church, that’s another matter,” the bishop added. “There are some out there.”

  “No, it’s not wacky,” Sylvia said. “The preacher is a very spiritual man.”

  “I hope so,” John said.

  Hannah noticed Elizabeth had laid her hand on John’s arm again.

  The bishop then dismissed the meeting and said this would be discussed more among the ministry during the next preaching Sunday. He asked Ben and Sylvia if they would be willing to give this more thought. They both nodded with troubled expressions on their faces.