He continued to glance about, and now his eyes fell on his own eight-year-old daughter.
“My dear, dear Mary,” he said in the most tender voice imaginable. “I love you more than you can realize.” He paused to take a shallow breath. “I want you to do something for me,” he added after just a moment. “Will you?”
“Anything, Papa,” said Mary.
“I want you to pray to our God to show you how much your father has loved you . . . will you do that?”
Mary nodded.
“And then I want you to remember,” her father went on, “that I am not really your Father. God only gave me . . . gave me to you for a little while, to help you learn about your real Father. He . . . is my Father too—and the Father of all of us. So if you miss me when I am gone . . . you must remember that I am with your real Father . . . remember that he is a better Father than I could ever be. I shall be with him and I shall speak of you often to him . . . and you may trust him for everything, . . . for he is a good Father, and he loves you even more than I do . . . and that is a great deal indeed—for I love you very, very much.”
By now we were all crying, though doing our best to do so quietly. But at these last words of her husband’s to their daughter, Harriet again broke into sobs.
“Dear, dear Harriet,” said the minister softly, patting her again as much as he was able, “how I have loved you! But do not grieve for me . . . for I am happy. Thank God that he allowed us . . . these wonderful years . . . these years together—”
A choking sound came to his voice.
Doc Shoemaker stepped forward.
“Christopher . . .” came Rev. Rutledge’s voice again. He seemed to be looking around, and now his voice was so weak I could scarcely hear it. Christopher stepped forward and bent his face down toward the bed. “Christopher . . . you must—Chr . . .”
Again he paused, breathing heavily. He was laboring and could hardly get the words out.
“ . . . you . . . must—Christopher . . . take . . . take care . . . of my people.”
Christopher was nodding as he spoke.
Suddenly Rev. Rutledge’s eyes opened wide and seemed to fill with light. His mouth opened as he struggled to raise himself off the pillows. The half of his mouth that he could move seemed trying to say something.
“Harriet!” he finally managed to exclaim in a whisper barely audible. “Harriet . . . it’s—it’s . . . do you see—”
But then just as suddenly his whole frame seemed to collapse. His mouth relaxed in a smile as he fell back into the bed. I looked up from his mouth to his eyes and saw that they were now closed, though the light that had been in them seemed to linger just a few moments longer upon his face.
I knew he was dead.
Avery Rutledge, the man we had known and loved, was now with his Lord.
Chapter 11
The Call
Christopher and I went over to the Rutledges the next morning to see if we could help Harriet with anything. Christopher said he would take care of the arrangements if she wanted. He went to see the undertaker, Mr. Olerude, and he and Harriet and Christopher scheduled the funeral for Saturday, just three days before we were to leave. Harriet asked Christopher to officiate and asked Pa to deliver the eulogy.
What neither Christopher nor I realized was that during this same time there were other talks and arrangements going on around the community that had nothing to do with the funeral. While we had been at the Rutledges and in town on Thursday morning, Mr. Shaw, Mrs. Bosely, Aunt Katie, and Mr. Harding all came to pay Pa and Almeda a visit. Christopher and I didn’t know anything about it until that same evening, just after supper, when a large buggy pulled up in front of the house. Almeda, who had been expecting them, jumped up to answer the door. There stood the same two men and two women, along with Harriet Rutledge.
“We have visitors,” announced Almeda, leading the five newcomers into the house.
Everybody greeted one another. The three ladies and two men all had expressions on their faces that should have made me suspicious, as should have the fact that Almeda had made two extra pies that day and had just begun to make a new and large pot of coffee a few minutes before their arrival. It was an odd assembly of visitors, too, and I don’t know why I didn’t recognize it immediately as the committee, but I think my mind was still too preoccupied with Rev. Rutledge’s death and our impending departure.
“Actually, we’ve come to see you, Christopher . . . Corrie,” said Mr. Shaw after everyone had taken a seat and Almeda had poured coffee all around.
Christopher and I glanced at one another with bewildered expressions. My first thought was that the visit must have something to do with our leaving. Christopher thought it had to do with preparations for the funeral. We were both wrong.
“We’re here on church business,” continued Mr. Shaw. “I know a man’s death is a time when you sometimes don’t think about much else. And meaning no disrespect to Avery, because everyone in town loved him, and Harriet knows it,” he said, glancing over to where Harriet sat, “but as soon as we all got word that the Lord had taken him, some of us on the church committee found ourselves thinking about what we ought to do, and we realized maybe we didn’t have a whole lot of time to deliberate on the matter.”
He paused and glanced around at some of the other committee members.
“I went out to see Katie last night,” now said Mrs. Bosely, “right after I heard about poor Avery. I mentioned the matter to her, then the two of us went to see Patrick, and then on my way home I stopped by the Hardings. And after we’d all talked about it, we realized we had all found ourselves thinking the same thing.”
Christopher and I still sat listening, having no more idea what they were all talking about than when they’d begun.
“What they’re trying to say,” now put in Mr. Harding, “is that the four of us got together this morning and came out to pay a visit to your Pa, Corrie, and Almeda to ask them what they thought, and then to Harriet this afternoon to consult with her. And the long and the short of it is that we’re here to ask you, Mr. Braxton, if you’d consider taking Avery’s place and becoming the new pastor of the Miracle Springs church.”
My heart skipped a beat when I heard the words. I could hardly believe what I had just heard Mr. Harding say!
I glanced over at Pa, then Almeda. Both of them were grinning and looking at me as if in delight to have been part of the secret.
I broke into a smile, then looked at Christopher. His face showed that he was just as stunned as I had been.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he said haltingly. “This comes . . . as quite a surprise,” he added, finally smiling, “as you might imagine. You all know that Corrie and I are planning to leave for the East in just five days.”
“Believe me, we do know,” laughed Aunt Katie. “That’s why we acted so quickly, as Patrick said. We knew we had no time to lose.”
“But . . . but we’ve already made our plans. We’re all packed, and the tickets are bought and paid for.”
“We realize that, Mr. Braxton,” said Mr. Shaw. “The church is prepared to reimburse you for the tickets if you cannot get a refund.”
“Oh no—that’s not what I meant,” said Christopher. “It’s not the expenditure so much as the fact that I had made the decision to go based on what I thought was the Lord’s leading. Now this suddenly casts everything into a new light. I’m just at a loss to know how to respond.”
As they talked, I could hardly contain myself! It was with great difficulty that I sat there and didn’t start blabbing away. But I knew the decision was between Christopher and the others . . . actually, it was between Christopher and the Lord.
“All we’re asking is that you pray about it, Christopher,” said Aunt Katie, “and ask the Lord if perhaps this is what he wants you to do.”
“I can promise you I will do that,” replied Christopher.
“Remember what you told me about circumstances on the way down to Dutch Flat,” now put
in Zack from across the room.
“Yes, you’re right,” smiled Christopher, glancing over at him. “I do remember. Why else do you think I’m suddenly so confused!”
Everyone else now joined him in laughter.
“What do you think about all this, Harriet?” Almeda now asked.
“I cannot think of anything that would delight me more,” the minister’s widow replied. “I don’t want to say anything to sway you one way or the other, Christopher,” she went on, “because of all things I know that Avery would want you to do the Lord’s will. But I will tell you this, that ever since word came to us right after the first of the year that you two planned to leave Miracle Springs, Avery was concerned for the future of the church. Several times he said to me, ‘I’m confused, Harriet. I don’t know what the Lord is doing, because I always thought Christopher and Corrie would take over the church when I retired. It gave me a great feeling of peace to know the Lord was preparing them to follow my pastorate. I was so certain of it. Now I don’t know what will become of the church when it is time for me to step down.’”
As she spoke, it was like listening to Rev. Rutledge talking to us again, and everyone became quiet and thoughtful.
“He knew his health was failing,” Harriet continued. “We both knew a change was coming. Of course, we did not expect it to be quite so sudden—”
She stopped and glanced away momentarily, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“So you see, Christopher,” she went on once she had composed herself, “knowing that your following him was Avery’s heart’s desire—well, you can see why nothing could please me more.”
Christopher nodded. “I understand,” he said softly. “You are very kind. So was Avery to place such confidence in me.”
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“But you are also right in what you say, that we must do whatever the Lord wills, not what any of us might ourselves want.”
He rose from his chair.
“If you will all excuse me, I would like to go outside and have some time alone with the Lord before I say anything further.”
He turned to go.
“There is just one other small request we have,” interrupted Mr. Harding.
Christopher stopped and turned.
“As this has all happened so suddenly, and as you are not leaving until next week, well, whatever your decision, we were hoping you might take the pulpit for this Sunday.”
Christopher smiled. “A reasonable enough request,” he said. “Let me just go have some time to myself, and then we can talk about it further.”
He turned again and left the house.
Almeda rose and walked into the kitchen. “Pie anyone?” she announced. “Fresh baked today!”
Christopher returned about fifteen minutes later.
Everyone was talking gaily, even Harriet, enjoying pie and coffee. I was both jubilant and nervous and knew I was talking far too much and too excitedly, but I couldn’t help it.
Christopher walked in. Everyone quieted and turned toward him.
“All right,” he said, “I think I can tell you this much at present. I will preach on Sunday. And it just may be that it will be used by God to show us what his will is concerning the future. Perhaps you shall all hate my sermon and withdraw the request!”
Everyone laughed. “Little chance of that, son,” said Pa.
“Well, in any event, I shall be happy to stand in Avery’s shoes at least this once. I will hope, as well, to be able to give you my answer to the larger question you have posed.”
Chapter 12
Christopher’s Half of the Decision
There were probably more people at Avery Rutledge’s funeral that Saturday than had been together in one place in or around Miracle Springs . . . ever. Even for the church picnics.
People came from as far away as Marysville and Auburn. Harriet was so moved to see what an impact her husband had had in so many lives. Many who came were people she didn’t even know.
The church seemed extra full the next morning too. I don’t know it if was out of respect for the departed minister who had been responsible for building the church in the first place or from curiosity about what my husband was going to say.
The first part of the service went pretty much as usual, with Mr. Harding, Pa, and Mr. Shaw all sharing announcements and scripture readings and Almeda leading the hymns with Harriet at the pump organ. Finally it came time for the sermon. Mr. Shaw introduced Christopher.
“I don’t suppose Christopher Braxton’s a stranger to any of you by this time,” he said, “although you also know he’s been planning on leaving our town two days from now with his wife, our own dear Corrie who used to be a Hollister. Most of you know by now that the church committee—that’s me and Katie Belle, Douglas Harding, and Agnes Bosely, along with Harriet Rutledge, who we made a new member just this week—we’ve all asked Christopher to stay on in Miracle Springs and be our new pastor. He hasn’t said yes or no yet, only that he’d pray about it, which I reckon is all you can expect from any man, and that he’d try to give us his answer today. So I’m going to turn the rest of the service over to him, and he can say anything he wants to us.”
Mr. Shaw sat down. Christopher got up from beside me, walked to the front of everyone, took his place behind the small lectern, and gazed out toward us a long time without saying anything. I was so nervous. It was March 14. We were supposed to leave on Tuesday, and now all of a sudden our future was completely up in the air again.
Everyone was watching him, curious about what might be coming. Most folks had gotten to know Christopher pretty well in the more than two years since he’d arrived in Miracle Springs. But the one side of him they didn’t know much about was the preacher side. It didn’t seem like there was anybody else in the community who could take Rev. Rutledge’s place. Yet now that the committee had asked Christopher to, everybody was wondering what kind of preacher he actually was. He’d done the funeral yesterday, of course. Besides that, folks had seen him work with his hands, and they’d talked to him, and they knew that he was my husband and was a good man. Now they were about to see a whole different side of him, and so they were naturally curious.
So was I. Even I didn’t know what Christopher was going to say.
“I know you are bound to be all ears,” he finally began, “about what I am planning to say. You are no doubt wondering both about what my answer is going to be and, if I do say yes, about what kind of preacher I might make after you have been so used to our friend and brother Avery Rutledge for so many years. I am not certain I can satisfy you on that score today, because I am not really planning to preach a sermon. There are a number of things I feel I need to share with you before a decision is finally arrived at. Very personal things. I think you will see the reason for what I say in a few moments.”
He paused and took in a deep breath.
“When your committee came to see me on Thursday, the evening after Avery’s passing, asking me if I would consider becoming your new pastor, I said to them, as Patrick has told you, that I would think and pray about it. Under any other circumstances I would have added that I also needed to talk with my new wife, whom you all know far better than you know me.”
Heads turned my way and I tried to keep from getting too red.
“But in this case I did not say that, because I realized—and I know Corrie would agree—that this was a decision I had to make myself . . . between myself and the Lord. The thought of leaving Miracle Springs has not been easy for Corrie. She has been wonderfully trusting, but that decision was mine, and therefore to change it will have to be mine too.”
I couldn’t help feeling a little bad inside, because after Christopher and I had our long talk about trust, I wished I had been more trusting. But I appreciated his words nonetheless.
“Well, I have prayed about it,” Christopher continued, “and the answer I am going to give you this morning is that in all fairness to you I th
ink you need to know me better before either you or I reach a final decision in this matter.
“Therefore, I am going to tell you about myself this morning. I am going to tell you how I came to be here in Miracle Springs. I am going to tell you what kind of person I am, what kind of dreams and goals I have. Most important, I am going to tell you where I came from, what kind of person I used to be, and why I dedicated my life to the ministry in the first place. I feel it is important that you know me this well. I want you to know what you would be getting for your money, so to speak—although I would take no salary as your minister even if you do decide to continue your invitation to me.
“I am grateful to God for what he has done in me, yet in many respects I have had a difficult life. I feel it is imperative that you know of my background in some detail. I do not believe in the old horse dealer’s adage that says let the buyer beware. If there is something wrong with the horse, it is incumbent upon the seller—if he is a Christian—to make that fact known to the buyer before the transaction is made. ‘Let the buyer beware’ is but another way of saying that you may deceive anyone you want, as long as he doesn’t find out until it is too late for him to do anything about it—hardly a virtuous creed by which to live.
“I live by a different creed, one where openness and honesty and forthright integrity are at the top of the list. In honesty, therefore, I am bound to tell you that there are a few things wrong with this lame nag who is standing in front of you today—if I may prolong the equine parallel probably longer than is beneficial!—and whom you are considering employing to shepherd this small Miracle Springs church. I would be remiss if I did not point out these flaws and then allow you to reconsider your decision.”
Christopher paused to take in a breath. A few chuckles went about the room from his comparing himself to a lame nag of a horse, but the illustration did relax everybody, and now they sat back in their seats to listen.
“In other words, I am perhaps not all I seem at first glance,” Christopher went on. “I would have you know me, and know me well, before any final decision is reached. You may learn more about me and decide this is not the kind of man you want as your pastor, and I want that option to be plainly in front of you. I will not accept your call simply on the basis of the committee’s kind offer. I would only accept if a majority of the church, after knowing me better, agreed that they were comfortable and happy with the selection.”
A New Beginning Page 5