American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  “That all depends on the kind of God you say you don’t believe in,” he replied after a few seconds. “Or perhaps I should say the kind of God you think other people believe in.”

  “I mean the Christian God, then,” added Cherity, “the God people talk about from the Bible.”

  “There are so many versions of the Christian God as to make some unrecognizable from others.”

  Cherity glanced over at him. “Is that really true?” she asked.

  “It’s something my mom says all the time,” answered Seth. “And the more I have thought about it, the more I agree with her. Some of the images people have of God are so far from the reality of his true nature that it is better not to believe in them.”

  “It seems that must make belief a hard thing to find,” said Cherity in an almost hopeless tone.

  “I suppose that’s true. In such a case, atheism is better than belief since the so-called belief is founded on a false idea of God in the first place. So to answer your question… no, I don’t think it bad of you to say you don’t believe. If the God in your imagination is not the true God, the best thing possible is not to believe in it.”

  “But you believe in God?”

  “Of course. And so will you, I would say, when you come to see him as he really is. But why do you say you don’t believe in him?”

  Cherity told him about her conversation with her mother’s three friends.

  “Why did you go to that church?” asked Seth.

  “I suppose I wanted to know more about my mother’s faith.”

  “And because of those three women, you decided you were an atheist?”

  “I guess.”

  “That doesn’t seem very logical.”

  “Why not?”

  “I mean, if you were trying to find truth, it must be higher than that.”

  “Higher,” repeated Cherity. “In what way?”

  “I mean that truth, if it can be found, must be loftier than what can be destroyed by a reaction to certain people who believe a certain way. Especially would that be true if the God they were presenting to you didn’t represent God as he really is. It might be right to reject their image. Yet that might not in itself make you an atheist. It only means you haven’t yet discovered God’s true nature. I hope you won’t misjudge truth because of my inconsistencies, any more than those of the three ladies. That’s what I mean by higher—that truth has got to be higher than you and me, or anyone. We’re only human and will all be inconsistent in how we live to some degree.”

  “Maybe you’re right. It seems like that’s what your brother might be doing. Still… what if I don’t care anymore?”

  “Fair enough,” nodded Seth. “Then I’ll turn the question back on you—what if you ought to care?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that before,” said Cherity thoughtfully. “Do you think that’s true, that I ought to?”

  “Everyone ought to care what is true and what isn’t.”

  “So what do you think I should do?” asked Cherity.

  “It seems to me that you shouldn’t give up so easily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Try again. Try another church. Ask more questions. Talk to your father, talk to my parents… just don’t base everything on the responses of those three women. You may one day discover that much of what they told you actually is true, but that the way they said it obscured that truth. You may find that God himself is true, while their representation of him is not.”

  “That is an interesting idea. I hadn’t thought of that either—that maybe there was more truth in what they said than I was able to see because of the way they said it. I suppose it’s sort of like those books I read about the Wild West. Sometimes they make the Indians look like savages. But that can’t be true about them all. You said your Mr. Brown wasn’t like that at all.”

  “That’s exactly it. I can’t really say much about your discussion with those women because I didn’t hear what they told you, but it might be something for you to consider. What I’d suggest more than going to another church is go to God himself and ask him your questions. Say, “God, there are some things I don’t understand that I’d like to know about.’”

  “It sounds funny to hear you say it like that!” laughed Cherity. Quickly she grew serious again. “But what if I still don’t believe in him?” she asked.

  “You can say the same thing. You can say, ‘God, if you exist, show yourself to me somehow.’ If you’re sincere, I think he will.”

  “You think he actually does that?”

  “Sure… if a person’s sincere, and if a person looks for answers in the right way. I don’t mean like asking God to show himself by some miracle or with a bolt of thunder or making you able to walk across water or something silly. God doesn’t work that way. But I think he does always answer sincere and honest questions, though his voice might be very quiet when he does.”

  “How does he show himself?” asked Cherity. “What do you mean by saying that his voice is quiet?”

  Seth thought a moment. “I don’t know… that’s a hard question,” he said at length. “I suppose there can be a million ways—by things we feel inside, by the world around us… maybe like that little flower I gave you. Maybe he prompts us to ask, ‘Who made you, little flower—and why do you bring joy to my heart?’”

  “Just because we happen to like flowers doesn’t mean there’s a God.”

  “What if it does mean that? What if it is just that simple? I think that it is those kinds of questions that open up the human heart to be able to hear God’s voice.”

  “You think flowers prove God’s existence?”

  “Not prove it. Nothing will ever prove God. Belief and proof are completely different things. We believe many things we can’t prove. There may be a thousand signs all around us pointing to belief in God, yet not a single proof of his existence among them.”

  “How can you believe in something you cannot be sure about?”

  “I didn’t say we can’t be sure, only that God can’t be proven. But to answer your question, we must each discover belief in our own way.”

  “How did you discover it?”

  “I was taught belief in God by my parents, of course. But then later I had to try to make sense of it for myself. I started thinking about some of these things we have been talking about… actually from horses not flowers. I guess I compare my belief in God with a horse’s belief in me. One day the question dawned on me—Why are horses so regal, and why does it make me happy to watch them and be with them? I couldn’t think of anything but that God must have established a connection in my heart with the rest of creation. Where else could it have come from? It isn’t that I heard God telling me all that. God speaks quietly, even solemnly, like I said, through the things that are all around us.”

  “Like horses and flowers?”

  “Yes. And we have to learn to see what they mean. Somehow the magnificence of the horse changed how I thought about God. Maybe it’s not so much that God spoke to me but that I began to listen… and hear what he wanted horses and flowers to tell me about him. I felt God was speaking to me about the kind of God he is from my observation of horses, and what I felt inside when I was with them. At least that’s how the process began, and I continued to think about many things. That’s when I began to read the Gospels too, for myself… because I really wanted to know what they had to say to me.”

  “Will you answer me a question?” said Cherity.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think God—I mean… if there is a God—do you think he is angry with me for talking the way I do, and for saying I don’t believe in him.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Aren’t you worried about my salvation?”

  “Not at all!” laughed Seth.

  “Or that I might be on my way to hell?”

  Again Seth laughed. “Not in the least. I would never think that.”

  “Those ladies were concerned about my soul.”


  “Well I’m not. I think God and you may be on closer terms than you realize.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because of the questions you ask?”

  “What do they have to do with it?”

  “They show that you want to know God in a true way. You may not yet be sure about him, and yet all the time, even in your unsureness, you may be drawing closer to him than you know. Your brain may not know him yet, but I have the feeling that your heart may actually have begun to know him. Besides, I don’t believe in atheism.”

  Now it was Cherity’s turn to laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

  “No one is really an atheist,” replied Seth.

  “But I told you… I am.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question, then?” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “If a mountain lion jumped out and attacked us right now—or even a huge African lion, though there aren’t any here, but you know what I mean—and killed me and knocked you off your horse and then sprang at you… what would you do?”

  “I don’t know… try to get away.”

  “But if you couldn’t get away and you knew you were about to die, you would yell, ‘God, please help me!’ just like anyone else.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t.”

  “But maybe you would.”

  “And if I did… so what would that mean? I wouldn’t really mean it. It would just be a reaction to the danger. Everyone says things like that.”

  “You’re right. Everyone calls out to God in times of trouble because down in their deepest hearts they know God is there and that he is the only one who can help them. People may say in their minds that they don’t believe, but in their hearts they cannot help but know God exists.”

  Seth’s argument was as profound as it was simple. For the moment Cherity had no answer to give it.

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” she said at length. “But right now, I don’t care. There are no mountain lions jumping out at us. But I will think about what you say. Maybe you are right: that it is my image of God that has been wrong… that it is not a question of atheism and belief, but more of what comes to my mind and what I mean by the word God. That is a new idea to me. So I will think about it.”

  By the time they reached Greenwood an hour later, both horses were spent. They took off their saddles and blankets, gave their regal mounts a thorough rubbing down, talking and chatting and laughing, the exuberance of their ride returning, then returned the horses to pasture with the bin next to the water tub filled with a fresh supply of oats.

  “I’m going to check and see if there’s anything my dad needs me to do,” said Seth.

  “I guess I’ll go back inside,” rejoined Cherity. “I’m tired!” She looked at Seth and smiled. “Thank you for the ride,” she said. “That was really fun.”

  “Hey, you won the race! It’s me who ought to thank you for letting me tag along!”

  Eighteen

  Cherity found Carolyn alone in the sitting room. She walked in, flush and exuberant in spite of what she had said about being tired.

  Carolyn glanced up as she walked in. “You look radiant!” she said. “Where have you been?”

  Cherity tossed her hat on the couch and sat down. “Seth and I had the most wonderful ride,” she answered. “He challenged me to a race up to Harper’s Peak!”

  “That is a long way! Who won?”

  “I did!” laughed Cherity. “Will you be honest with me, Carolyn?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is Seth the kind of boy who would let me win? I don’t think I could stand it if he did.”

  Carolyn laughed. “So you are as competitive as he in the saddle!”

  “I just want to know if it was a fair race. Although he did give me my choice of mounts.”

  “Let me say this about my dear son,” said Carolyn. “He loves for things to be fair. If I know him, he might have given you a slight advantage of some kind, I cannot say what, simply to add to the challenge to himself and make sure he received no advantage. Once that was done and he was convinced it was a fair race, he would fight tooth and nail to beat you. If you got there first, I am quite certain you earned it.”

  “Good. I do think he sent me a slightly shorter way, though I cannot be certain. Still, I am satisfied. Next time I shall send him the shortest way… and I shall win again!”

  “Good girl! Would you like some tea, Cherity, dear? I am in the mood for tea and a nice long visit.”

  “Yes—that sounds wonderful… thank you.”

  The two went into the kitchen together to put the water on to boil, then sat down at the table.

  As Cherity and Carolyn were seated comfortably waiting for their tea, Seth walked across the entryway from the barn toward the front door of the house. About halfway across it, he heard a clatter behind him. He stopped and turned. A buggy was coming up the drive.

  Seth’s heart went to his throat.

  Veronica!

  He stood frozen in his tracks. His first impulse was to flee. But that would be stupid. If she hadn’t already seen him, she would before he could hide. If he ran, she would go straight to the house looking for him!

  That was the one place she mustn’t go!

  He could just see it—his mother, the perfect hostess: Come in, Veronica dear… have some nice tea with Cherity and me.

  Introductions would follow… questions… explanations….

  Seth spun around and ran to greet the approaching carriage.

  “It is so peaceful here,” sighed Cherity contentedly. Gradually the fatigue and exhilaration of the ride gave way to a dreamy happiness.

  “I am glad,” said Carolyn. “I hope your father is finding it so too, and is regaining his strength.”

  “I think he is,” said Cherity, “though he does seem tired. Sometimes I worry for him.”

  “God will take care of him.”

  Cherity thought a moment about the words. No argument to counter them came to her lips because she knew how genuinely spoken they had been. She had learned to love Carolyn and knew that Carolyn loved her. Such was the most vital of all preparations for the receipt of the seed. Without love it is very difficult for germination of the word of truth to take place. A seed unfitly planted, as a word unfitly spoken, before love has ploughed and watered and made the soil soft, will wither and die and leave both unwise sower and unready hearer worse than before. Many who forcibly sow seeds of multitudinous words into unploughed ground that love has not softened accomplish far less for the kingdom of heaven than they imagine.

  But Carolyn had loved. The soil was ready. Cherity’s heart was fertile and had only been awaiting the occasion for it to be upturned and exposed to the light. After her time in this idyllic place, and her recent talks with Thomas and Seth, that upturning was well under way. New rays of light were shining in upon her from many directions.

  “Veronica!” exclaimed Seth, running across the gravel entryway to intercept the carriage as it emerged from the shadow of the oaks.

  “How are you?” he added, taking hold of one of the reins and gently easing the horse to a stop. “What brings you here on such a fine day?”

  Not pausing to inquire why Seth was so friendly all of a sudden, Veronica temporarily swallowed her intention for this visit. She had planned to be firm and tell Seth that she expected him to start calling more regularly at Oakbriar.

  “Why to see you, what else?” she replied. A slight hint of snippiness intruded into her tone. “And to see if you wanted to go for a ride.”

  “Great!” said Seth, jumping up beside her and grabbing the reins. “Let’s go.”

  He gave the horse a gentle whack, turned him around, and they flew back down the drive a little faster than Veronica was used to. As they entered the safety and cover of the giant oaks and beeches, Seth cast a quick nervous look back at the house.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Veronica.

  “Oh, nothing,” laughed Seth
uneasily.

  “Then when are you going to notice my new dress?”

  “Oh… oh, yeah—it’s nice, Veronica.”

  “Nice—it cost over twenty dollars.”

  “Is that a lot for a dress?”

  “Seth! It’s a fortune!”

  “Then why did you spend so much on a dress?”

  “Because I have to look my best. What will people think if they see me wearing just an ordinary old dress?”

  Seth secretly wondered what Veronica would look like in worn trousers and a cowboy hat.

  “Do you really think God will take care of my father?” said Cherity.

  “He doesn’t go to church. I don’t even know if he believes in God anymore.”

  “God is still his Father,” smiled Carolyn.

  “Even if he isn’t a Christian, or at least, doesn’t believe like people say he should?”

  “What people?”

  “You know, church people who think you have to believe like they do.”

  Again Carolyn smiled. “Yes, I know the kind of people you mean,” she said. “I am sorry to say that I used to be one of them when I was a young woman.”

  “You were!” said Cherity in disbelief.

  “Christians have just as much to learn about God as do unbelievers,” nodded Carolyn. “It is a difficult lesson, and one that many never do learn. It is something I believe saddens God terribly, for his own children to know him so little.”

  “That is like something Seth said when we were out riding.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That we have to know what kind of God we say we believe in… or don’t believe in. He said that a lot of people don’t really know what God is like at all… or something like that.”

  “I would completely agree. I used to say I believed, but now I realize how little I really knew who God was. God was the same—he is who he is. But I had never stopped to consider the implications of some of the things I said I believed about him. Many of those things I now see were false.”

  “You’re not at all like that now.”

  “I thank God that he brought the pain into my life that forced me to learn who he really is. But to answer your first question—yes, of course God is your dear father’s Father. Who else created him? God has created us all, and is our wonderful Father.”