“. . . to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health . . .”
When I opened my eyes in that strange bed on a farm outside Richmond, Virginia . . . though I had no idea where I was, God knew!
He had been leading me there all along!
It wasn’t until the conflict to make this brave land a free one for all its people was over . . . not until I left Virginia, not until I returned to visit my childhood home in New York, and finally not until I boarded the train holding the letter that would change my life forever . . . that I realized where the home was that God had been leading me toward and preparing me for all my life.
“. . . to love and to cherish, and to obey till death do you part, according to God’s holy ordinance.”
Suddenly I was back to the present, my memories of yesterday blending into the images and faces of now. In front of me, Zack and Tad stood on one side, and Emily and Becky stood on the other side—all waiting for me. They were all smiling as we made our slow approach.
Pa and I were nearly at the front.
Now we were passing Almeda. Tears streamed down both cheeks all the way to her lovely mouth. She smiled and mouthed the words with her lips as I passed, “I love you, Corrie.”
Oh, Almeda, I love you so much!
I glanced quickly at Emily, Becky, Zack, and Tad.
But it was on none of my brothers and sisters that my eyes finally rested. My gaze was riveted on the man standing right in front of me, and suddenly it was just like that day at Mrs. Timms’ farm when my eyes opened and that wonderful face filled my vision.
God had led me there . . . and since then he had led us both here, to the altar of marriage!
Here was the home to which God had brought me . . . standing right in front of me!
Our eyes met.
Oh, Christopher . . . Christopher! Is it possible for a woman to love a man as much as I love you?
Pa and I reached the front and now stopped. So did the music from the organ.
The church was silent a moment.
All eyes were upon us, but Christopher and I had eyes only for one another.
After addressing the congregation briefly, Rev. Rutledge spoke to Pa, who gave me away, then took his seat beside Almeda.
I took a couple more steps forward and took my place at Christopher’s side. Rev. Rutledge led us through the simple ceremony.
Never had three letters possessed such power to take my life in a new direction as when I heard Christopher’s wonderful, resonant, confident, and smiling voice say the words: “I do.”
Tears filled my eyes immediately.
He actually loved me so much he wanted to marry me!
How can any woman hear those words, realizing what an astounding truth and what a lifetime of commitment they contain, and not weep at the very idea of being loved that much!
Now the moment had come for me to repeat my own vows. I was afraid I would open my mouth and a little croak would come out that no one could hear.
But I followed Rev. Rutledge through the words, and though they were no more than a whisper, I knew from the smile on his face and the look in his eyes that Christopher heard them. And he was the only one who mattered . . . for I was speaking them to him.
I tried so hard to say it as confidently as he had, but if anything the whisper of my promise grew even quieter. Yet never in all my life had I meant anything so much as when I now said to the man God had chosen to be my husband: “I do.”
Christopher and I now stepped to one side.
“The bride and groom have asked me,” said Rev. Rutledge, “to speak a few words to you about the spiritual dimensions of marriage, which is extremely important to them as they begin their life together. They are not only, on this hallowed day, committing their lives to one another. They are at the same time committing their marriage to Christ, for him to work in and through them according to whatever purposes he chooses to accomplish. These are no mere textbook words to this serious young couple. I have spoken to them both at length and they are in deep earnest in their desire to . . .”
Rev. Avery Rutledge, I thought, what a wonderful man, and what a helpful part he played in my development as a Christian.
Even though we had asked him to speak to all the people who came to our wedding about our life and commitment to the Lord, and though I did my best to concentrate on his every word, I could not keep my mind from wandering back over the past two years since I had left the East.
His words brought to such focus all that God had done to mature Christopher and me spiritually, through our hundreds of letters and our talks and times of prayer and through the year of “Christopher’s plan,” to prepare us for this moment.
How thankful I was to God . . . and to this man now standing at my side, to whom I had just given my whole being in sacred matrimony.
Suddenly I was aware that the brief sermon had come to an end. Rev. Rutledge was looking at Christopher and me as we again stepped around to stand in front of him. Why were his eyes glistening so?
Only a moment the silence lasted. When Rev. Rutledge began speaking again, his eyes swimming in tears, it was to complete the ceremony that had been interrupted by his brief address.
At last came the final words that resounded in my ears almost as loudly as the pounding in my chest.
“I pronounce you man and wife.”
Was it really true! Had I really heard the words? Was my heart at last truly home!
“And now, sir,” came the minister’s words, “you may kiss your new bride.”
Christopher bent down and kissed me lightly on the lips, so gently it lasted but a moment—a kiss so perfect and gentlemanly that only a man of great love could have so tenderly kissed it.
I was home!
I had found a home for my heart.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends of Miracle Springs,” Rev. Rutledge now concluded, “may I take the honor of being the first to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Braxton!”
Chapter 54
Beginning of the Future
We walked out of the church arm in arm, followed by Emily on Zack’s arm and Becky on Tad’s and Almeda on Pa’s, while everybody clapped, a few people cheered, everyone smiled, and all the women cried.
We hadn’t even made it all the way across the grass to the town hall—where the food and the decorations and the wedding cake Almeda and Mrs. Gianini had worked so hard on were waiting—before Tad and Zack were out of the church and running ahead of us, producing handfuls of rice out of somewhere.
Christopher yelled at me and we made a dash for it. But it was too late. The boys pelted us with a shower of rice and were soon joined by all the other boys and girls of the town.
I was too happy and laughing too hard to resist.
For the next hour we smiled and greeted more people than I thought Miracle Springs contained—shook more hands, kissed more cheeks, hugged more hugs, and smiled so continuously that I began to think my face would never recover.
At last we cut the cake, ate the first bites as gracefully as we could in the midst of our smiles and laughing in front of everyone, then watched while Emily cut it and Becky distributed it among the townspeople.
As soon as we were able, Christopher and I made our escape back to the house. There—he in the bunkhouse, me in the house—we changed our clothes. Even though we were now married, there were lots of things that would take getting used to, and now we were facing the hugest step of all in getting to know each other all over again!
We got our bags, which we’d packed and prepared ahead of time, loaded everything into the carriage, and drove back into town. Not a single person, I don’t think, had left the town hall.
Our arrival caused a whole new round of rice-throwing and celebration. We remained another thirty or forty minutes, continuing to eat and visit and make merry with everyone. It was probably half-past noon or one before we finally got off and on our way to Aub
urn, where we would spend the night before going on to Sacramento.
The hugs, kisses, final words, and waves of goodbye brought fresh tears to all the women’s eyes—mine and Almeda’s probably most of all.
Pa and Christopher shook hands firmly, man to man.
“Welcome to the family, son,” said Pa.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to call you Pa just yet,” laughed Christopher. “But I appreciate what you say. It means more than you can know to have a family . . . and a place to call home.”
Then Christopher flicked the reins, and we were off.
We rode across the empty meadow toward the deserted town. I gazed behind us, with the church building, the town hall, and a hundred waving hands slowly fading smaller in the distance, until we rounded the corner and I could see them no more.
A few minutes later we were riding out of Miracle Springs. As much as had happened to me since coming to California, I could not help feeling that I had been caught up in a new and wonderful story that was only just beginning.
Afterword
There may be those who will say that this book is too “spiritual” to be called a “love story.” To such an objection I would only reply, “Where did love originate but in the kingdom of heaven . . . in the very heart of God?”
How, therefore, can any love story be complete, independent from God’s involvement in a man and woman’s mutual life together? Without him there can be a shadowy form of what is called love . . . but not a thorough and fully integrated love.
“But no two people in love think and talk like Corrie and Christopher,” someone might say. “Young people in love, even committed Christian young people, just aren’t that spiritually motivated. They’re not that introspective.”
All I can offer in response is this: I cannot speak for the rest of the world, only from my own experience. And twenty-four years ago, a certain young man and young woman spoke and thought in just this manner in contemplation of their own future life together. Much of their destiny they were unable to see, and they both had a lot of growing ahead of them. Yet their motivations and heart’s desires were well established, however immature their world outlook may have been. Some of Corrie’s and Christopher’s letters, in fact, passed almost word for word between these two I speak of—my wife and me.
So whether the majority of young people look to marriage as an opportunity to commit themselves mutually to God’s purposes, I cannot say. But I know that some do, because I am intimately acquainted with one young couple that did.
And I here affirm how thankful to God I am, twenty-four years later, for that particular young woman whose heart, like Corrie’s, desired what her Father in heaven wanted for her. And it was just that heart’s desire that so deeply resonated with my own prayer that I might grow to reflect the character of his Son.
We have shared life fully ever since, first as the best of friends, then in the heart-knit journey of spiritual camaraderie, and finally in all the multitude of ways that commitment to the common goal of God’s purpose (including the struggles, hardships, frustrations, misunderstandings, and all the soul-twisting pains involved in human relational growth) leads a man and woman to learn truly to love one another on steadily deeper levels of knowing.
No marriage road is without its bumps, potholes, twists, and unforeseen turns, and ours (we sometimes think!) has had more than our share. Ninety-five percent of the terrain we have traveled and the struggles we have encountered, we did not anticipate in the least.
Is any marriage “easy”? I have not encountered one. Ours has contained great personal struggles, as Corrie’s and Christopher’s will no doubt have. Yet our shared desire to discover God’s perspective in all these “unexpectednesses” has made our life together an adventure that we look back on (and look forward to) with profound and quiet thankfulness.
Judy, my friend, my comrade, my love, though certain aspects of our youthful exuberance may have faded through the years, and though the gray hairs are becoming more numerous all the time . . . I love you now more than ever!
To you who have read Corrie’s journals from her arrival in California at fifteen until her marriage now as a full-grown woman at thirty, I hope you keep reading.
Corrie’s story is not over yet!
In the meantime, while you are waiting for the continuation of Corrie’s journals, there are three other books with my name on them I think you may enjoy.
The first is Grayfox, the story of Corrie’s brother Zack during his Pony Express days.
In the second you will encounter a young lady by the name of Sabina who shares, in her own unique way, many things in common with Corrie, even though the settings in which the two live are altogether different. Sabina is sixteen when the story opens, and she is about to embark on an adventure—and a relationship!—that will change her life forever. The book is called The Eleventh Hour.
Then third, in the opening pages of the nineteenth-century Scottish romantic mystery The Heather Hills of Stonewycke, thirteen-year-old Maggie stumbles upon an ancient family mystery that will not be fully resolved even in her lifetime, though she herself is the one who will uncover the clues that in the end make the unraveling of the mystery possible.
Sabina and Maggie and Zack are as close friends to us in our family as Corrie is, and I hope you will come into an intimate friendship with them as well. I hope you will discover that knowing them is an enriching experience which will give you fun and pleasure and also cause you to learn, to think, and to grow.
By the time you have made acquaintance with these other three young people, perhaps there will be more from Corrie’s pen ready for you to enjoy!
Finally, if you are interested in some of the perspectives I have come to hold in my own personal walk with God, you may want to read my nonfiction book, A God to Call Father.
If Corrie’s story has spoken to you in some personal way, my wife Judy and I and our sons would love to hear from you. We cannot promise a response, but we will try. You may write us at: 1707 E Street, Eureka, California 95501.
In all things, never forget this truth, which holds the whole universe together: The Father is good, he loves you, and he desires only the best for you.
May the Father of Jesus be with you always!
Michael Phillips
About the Author
Michael Phillips is a bestselling author of a number of beloved novels, including such well-known series as SHENANDOAH SISTERS, CAROLINA COUSINS, CALEDONIA, THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER, and THE SECRET OF THE ROSE. He has also served as editor of many titles, adapting the classic works of Victorian author George MacDonald (1824–1905) for today’s reader, and his efforts have since generated a renewed interest in MacDonald. Phillips’s love of MacDonald’s Scotland has continued throughout his writing life.
In addition to his fifty published editions of MacDonald’s work, Phillips has authored and coauthored over ninety books of fiction and nonfiction, ranging from historical novels to contemporary whodunits, from fantasy to biblical commentary.
Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland but make their home in California. To learn more about the author and his books, visit FatherOfTheInklings.com He can be found on Facebook at [email protected]. To contact him, write to: [email protected].
Fiction by Michael Phillips
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 N
ew 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 GREEN HILLS OF SNOWDONIA
From Across the Ancient Waters
The Treasure of the Celtic Triangle
SECRETS OF THE SHETLANDS
The Inheritance
The Cottage
The Legacy
Angel Harp
Heather Song
The Garden at the Edge of Beyond
Heaven and Beyond
The Sword, the Garden, and the King
Murder By Quill
Angel Dreams**
*with Judith Pella **with Chris Schneider
A Home for the Heart Page 30