Somewhere around three thirty, Stephen turned off the light and rolled over. Chris changed out of his clothes and slipped into his bed, unable to fight the weariness any longer. He prayed at length, then, somewhere in the shadows of the night, gave himself over to the exhaustion.
TEN
Chris woke up early, in spite of his rough night. He glanced over at Stephen, who snored soundly in the bed next to his. Unable to fall back to sleep, Chris finally rose and slipped on his clothes. Moments later, he found himself walking the beautiful historic streets of downtown Philadelphia, enjoying the solitude of a Saturday morning in blissful silence.
He had to give himself time to think, time to work out a plan of some sort. His mind wouldn’t be silenced. As he made his way toward Independence National Park, he breathed in the crisp autumn air and contemplated the overwhelming beauty of the early-morning sun against the red and gold leaves.
He stopped to pick one up, staring at it momentarily. Its changes seemed to signify the transformation in his life. His past seemed as stained as this deep red leaf, but his present, and indeed, his future, could be filled with God’s redemptive power, couldn’t it? One season had ended, but another one—a fresh one—had begun.
On he walked, finding the city eerily quiet this weekend morning. Soon, he imagined, the tourists would flood the place, in search of the Liberty Bell. Soon the museum would open.
The museum.
Every time he thought about Adrianne’s job at the museum, his heart twisted. He couldn’t imagine taking her away from the work she loved so much. Besides, she probably wouldn’t be interested in the kind of life he lived out on the mission field. How could she be, when she had already settled into a life she loved?
Stop thinking like that. Just because you have a daughter in common doesn’t mean she’s ready to be your wife.
Still his mind would not rest. Even if Adrianne married him, agreed to go with him, how would she feel about bringing Lorelei along? Could he justify taking her out of school, away from her friends, her grandparents?
Instantly, Chris’s heart began to break. It seemed there was no solution to this problem. Lord, You know my heart. I’m a missionary. I want to—need to—reach out to people. But right now, I’m so confused. I feel so lost. I thought I had already dealt with all of the forgiveness issues in my life, but here we are again, facing new ones.
Guilt washed over him afresh, and the deep red leaf in his hand began to tremble, as if in response. He stared at it, transfixed, thinking all the while about his sins, his flaws. How they had come round to meet him once again.
“Though they are red like crimson. . .”
The familiar scripture played out in his mind, though he couldn’t imagine where it had come from.
“Though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”
He tossed the leaf toward the ground, but the morning breeze picked it up and danced it across the park. Chris watched it, wondering if it would find a home. At last, it came to land on a concrete bench. Still, it seemed unsettled, as if the next brisk wind would pick it up and take it on to another place.
In some ways, his life was like that. He had known the freedom of bouncing from place to place, going wherever he liked. Doing whatever he liked. He’d never really settled down. Not really.
Settling down.
He pondered the words as he started walking again. What would it be like to stay in one place, to own a home? To kiss his wife each morning and tuck his daughter into bed each night? To attend PTA meetings and slip coins under pillows when loose teeth wiggled free? To dance around the living room with his little girl in his arms? To tell her stories about her grandfather, a man she’d never met?
A little shiver ran down Chris’s spine as the early morning breeze brought on a chill. Could he—would he—learn to love such a life? Or would he resent it?
His mind traveled again to the tropical jungles of Nicaragua. In his mind’s eye, he could see his coworker, David, hammering nails into a church beam. He could see his good friend, Pastor Alejandro, working with machete in hand to clear the weeds so that they could begin their work on a new water well. Dozens of people gathered around, eager to help. The children, their wide brown eyes, smiling, grabbing hold of his hand, calling out, “Mister, Mister!”
Immediately an ache filled Chris’s heart. “Lord, help me through this. I don’t have a clue which way to turn. I’m going to need Your direction, maybe more than ever before. I’m so. . .clueless.”
In that moment, a picture of Lorelei’s cherub-like face flashed before him like a clip from a movie. Her dimples. Her green eyes, a mirror image of his own. Her soft brown hair, familiar in color and form. Her adorable upturned nose, much like her mama’s.
Her mama’s.
Chris’s heart swelled at the thought of Adrianne as a mother. She seemed to take to the task quite easily. He tried to imagine what her life must be like, balancing a child and a job. He tried to picture what it must be like in the mornings as the two girls—his two girls—prepared for the day.
What was it like, he wondered, on those mornings when Adrianne simply didn’t feel like getting out of bed and going to work? Who did she talk to on those days when she felt lonely or confused? Who did she turn to for comfort when Lorelei was sick, or acting up, even?
Did Adrianne have someone in her life to love? Someone with whom she could share her hopes and dreams?
Right away, Chris’s heart ached. “I would have been there for her, if I had known. I would have. I still could be. But how?”
He sat on the bench, deep in thought for some time. Finally, the park began to fill with tourists, just as he’d predicted. He looked across the park at a little boy and his mother, walking hand in hand. The youngster tugged at his mom’s fingers with one hand and pointed at the Liberty Bell with the other.
“Look, Mama! Look!”
“I see, I see.” She purchased a ticket and took her place in the now growing line in front of the familiar landmark.
Chris glanced down at his watch: 10:45. Stephen would be looking for him soon. They had a big day ahead.
As he stood to begin the trip back to the hotel, Chris couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the little boy’s mother. She was born for this.
Just like Adrianne. She was born for the role she now played, he had to acknowledge. Born to be a parent.
Born to be a parent.
With a seven-year-old daughter, he was surely born to be a parent, too. And it was about time he started acting like one.
❧
Adrianne awoke with a splitting headache. She rolled over in the bed to find Lorelei had already awakened. From the living room, she could hear the strains of a familiar cartoon theme song.
“Ah. She’s watching TV.”
Adrianne yawned and stretched, wishing she could sleep just a bit longer. She glanced over at the clock and groaned. “No way. Ten fifty?” How in the world could she have slept so late?
On the other hand, she hadn’t actually fallen asleep until sometime after four. No wonder she’d slept in.
About that time, Adrianne heard noises coming from the kitchen. “Oh no. Not that.”
She bounded from her bed and sprinted down the hallway. As she turned into the kitchen, she caught Lorelei with a fork in hand, trying to pry an overcooked pastry from the toaster.
“No, Lorelei. Don’t do that.” She grabbed the fork from her daughter’s hand, all the while trying not to overreact.
“It’s stuck.” Lorelei’s pouty face would have been cute under other circumstances.
“I know.” Adrianne unplugged the toaster, turned it upside down, and weaseled the pastry out. “But you can’t put something metal down inside the toaster. You could have been electrocuted. It’s very dangerous.”
“I didn’t know.” Lorelei reached to grab the burnt pastry and popped a piece in her mouth.
“Don’t eat that,” Adrianne scolded.
“But I want it.
” Lorelei spoke around the mouthful of food.
“I’m going to make a really special breakfast.”
“Mmm. What?”
“How about. . .” She thought for a minute. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”
“Yummy!” Lorelei squealed. She opened the pantry door and tossed the pastry in the trash. “I love your pancakes.” Immediately, the youngster reached up to the shelf that housed the pancake mix. After that, she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the carton of eggs. She then snatched the jug of milk in hand and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“Goodness,” Adrianne said with a smile. “You’ve already done half the work. Why don’t you just make the pancakes, too?”
“I’ll help.” Lorelei reached into a drawer in the refrigerator for the bag of chocolate chips. “I like to cook. Grandma says I’m good at it.”
“I’m glad one of us is.” Adrianne couldn’t help but sigh.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Lorelei turned to give her a more-than-serious face. “Chris will still like you, even if your cooking is bad.”
Adrianne turned to face her daughter. Standing there with that hopeful look in her eyes, Lorelei looked, for all the world, like Chris.
“Excuse me? Who said anything about Chris?” Adrianne tried to hide the smile from her face, but it would not be squelched. Instead, the more she thought about him, the broader it grew.
“He likes you, he likes you.” Lorelei whispered the words over and over as she cracked two eggs into a large mixing bowl. Then she turned to face her mother head-on, startling her with her next words. “And you like him, too!”
ELEVEN
“How do I look?” Stephen fidgeted with his tie and Chris reached over to help him straighten it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the crazy thing to cooperate.
“You look like a happy man.” Chris glanced down at his watch. “A man who’s getting married in less than ten minutes.”
Stephen glanced in the mirror one last time, checking his hair. “I can’t believe it.” He turned back to face Chris. “Everyone tells you the whole wedding-day thing is kind of surreal, and they’re right. It’s weird, almost like it’s happening to someone else, not me.” His face broadened in a smile. “Are you sure you’re not getting married today instead of me?”
“Um, no.” Chris shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” His heart wrenched as the words were spoken. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wished he could trade places with Stephen. His thoughts shifted at once to Adrianne. And Lorelei. His Lorelei.
Stephen must have taken note of his change of mood. “You doing okay?” He slipped an arm around Chris’s shoulders in a show of support.
Chris looked up, embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah. Just thinking.”
“You won’t have to think long on this one, I’d guess. I’ve known you for years, and one thing is for sure—you’re a man who finishes well, Chris Bradley.” Stephen patted him on the back, then once again turned his attention to his tie.
You’re a man who finishes well.
Why did the words shake him to the core? Ah. Because he wanted it so badly, probably. He wanted to finish well.
Something across the room caught his eye. He walked over to a large glass case and glanced down at the open Bible inside. “Hey, did you notice this?” he asked.
Stephen joined him, looking down at the leather-bound Bible. “Nope. Man, that thing is old. I wonder if it. . . You don’t suppose it dates all the way back to the founding of the church, do you?”
Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s amazing. Look at the lettering.”
“Wow.”
They stared in silence for a moment and Chris pondered the possibility that many great men of faith—possibly even America’s founding fathers—might have read from this same book throughout the generations.
As Stephen turned back to finish getting ready for the ceremony, Chris noticed for the first time that the King James Bible was opened to the twelfth chapter of Hebrews.
“ ‘Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses,’” he read aloud, “ ‘let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.’”
“Amen,” Stephen said when he finished. “Great scripture to share with a man on his wedding day—when he feels like the whole world is out there, in front of him—a race waiting to be run.” He gave a knowing smile.
Chris sighed. “Great scripture to read on a day when I’m feeling like my past is catching up with me.”
“Is that how you feel?” Stephen slipped an arm around his shoulder. “Like a kid who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been?”
“A little,” Chris acknowledged. “But it’s such a strange mixture of feelings. I’m so excited about Lorelei. I don’t even know if I can explain how excited. And Adrianne. . .” The edges of his lips turned up as he thought about her.
“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?”
Chris nodded, and forced back the lump in his throat. “That’s the strange part. I do. I mean, I thought I’d given the whole thing over to the Lord years ago. But I still care about her. Very much.”
“I’d say it’s because you gave it over to the Lord that you still have the capacity to care,” Stephen added. “But then again, you probably already knew that.” He gave him a friendly slap on the back, and then turned his attention back to his tie. “Could you help me with this?”
“Oh, of course.” Chris jumped back into best-man gear, finally getting the wayward tie in place. Moments later, the other groomsmen entered the room with guilty looks on their faces.
“Where have you guys been?” Stephen gave his tie a final pat and turned to face his friends.
“Oh, we, uh. . .” George Ferguson gave a shrug. “We had to talk to a man about a horse.”
“Sure you did.” Stephen’s eyes flashed a warning. “What were you up to?”
“Nothing.” Phil Sanders, the younger of the two, glanced in the mirror, then reached for a comb. “Nothing you need to worry about, anyway.”
“If you were messing with my car. . . ,” Stephen started.
George’s face gave away their prank before he spoke. “Who said anything about your car?”
“I told you guys not to do it. Wedding or no wedding.”
Chris looked back and forth between George and Phil. Neither said a word, but they had clearly done the “deed,” as it were.
At that moment, Stephen’s father entered the room, carrying boutonnieres. “The wedding planner is in over her head with the bridesmaids,” he explained. “So she asked me if I could make sure these made it into the right hands.”
All of the guys scrambled, trying to figure out how to fasten the fall-colored flowers onto their tuxedo jackets. A knock on the door interrupted their frenzy.
“Nearly ready?” The minister, a pleasant-looking fellow, asked as he entered the room. “The organist has just started the Brandenburg Concerto and that’s our cue. All of the guests are seated.” He glanced to his right, noted Stephen struggling with the boutonniere, and came to the rescue. “Let me get this for you. I’ve become something of an expert over the years.”
“Thanks, Rev. Stone.” The color seemed to drain from Stephen’s face even as he spoke the words.
“Are you okay, man?” Chris asked. “Yeah. Just feeling a little nauseous.” Rev. Stone finished with the boutonniere, and then went on to offer a bit of advice. “Don’t lock your knees.”
“I beg your pardon?” Stephen’s brow wrinkled.
“When you get out there in front of the crowd, don’t lock your knees. Keep them slightly bent.” The older man’s face softened slightly as he demonstrated the proper stance. “It’s
been my experience that we lose a lot of grooms when they lock their knees.”
“Ah.”
“And deep breaths, young man.” He faced Stephen. “Remember, it’s not about the ceremony. It’s about the marriage.”
Chris couldn’t help but laugh as Stephen took several slow, deep breaths. He really was nervous.
“Here we go.” Rev. Stone led the way to the door that opened into the large, formal sanctuary. Stephen trailed him, with Chris following along like a puppy on his heels. George and Phil fell into place behind Chris, and within minutes they were standing at the front of the crowd.
As he looked around the magnificent room with its rich historical elements, Chris thought about what Adrianne had said on the phone. “Ben Franklin attended Christ Church. So did Betsy Ross.” He gaze shifted upward, to the large white balconies and arched windows. They were amazing, really, though noticeably different from the churches he’d helped build in Nicaragua. There they were lucky to have openings for windows. No glass at all.
Yes, this place was great. And how remarkable, to consider the countless historic things that had surely happened here. Great men and women of faith had stood in this very spot, perhaps preached in this very place.
This is a room where amazing things have happened, I feel sure of it. In this room, the Lord has spoken to many of our forefathers.
“Lord,” the word came out as the faintest of whispers, “speak to me. Here, in this place. Speak to me. Show me Your will.”
Chris’s eyes were immediately drawn to the crowd. Had Adrianne and Lorelei come? Were they here?
No, he saw no sign of them. Keen disappointment set in, but it was short-lived. Stay focused. You’re here for Stephen and Julie.
A change in music signaled the entrance of the bridesmaids. One by one, they entered the room to the familiar strain of Pachelbel’s Canon in D. They joined the men at the front, and then the moment arrived. The “Bridal March” began, and the crowd rose to its feet.
Red, White and Blue Weddings: Red Like Crimson, White as Snow, Out of the Blue Page 7