Scotland has been an easy place to learn about sheep and pastures. I’m more aware than ever how clueless sheep can be. They follow the rest of the flock instead of following the shepherd. More than once I’ve seen how the failure of a lamb to follow the shepherd’s directions has ended in the damage and sometimes destruction of that lamb, especially when the storms come in.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I am a sheep, and for far too long I followed the mindless bleating and frantic scurrying of the other sheep. But I have heard my Shepherd’s voice, as He has called me patiently to Himself, and I have come.
God has answered all your prayers, Sierra. There is no turning back for me now. How can I ever thank you for persistently proclaiming the truth to me, even when I didn’t want to hear it? How can I tell you how much your prayers have meant to me? You never gave up on me, even when I gave you no reason to keep praying. You are one of His sheep, Sierra—a very special one. Your heart is wise beyond your years. You stood by what you believed and boldly proclaimed the truth. Thank you.
Sierra stopped reading only long enough to bounce up for a tissue. Her tears were dripping on the letter, causing the black ink to smear slightly. She couldn’t believe Paul was saying all these things to her. In his previous letters, he had never been this transparent.
Blowing her nose and tossing the tissue onto the floor, Sierra read on. Two more onionskin pages of Paul’s bold writing remained for her to take into her heart.
six
SIERRA CONTINUED to read Paul’s letter at the top of the next page.
I’ve done a lot of thinking and praying about what the Shepherd wants me to do when I leave here. The first thing I believe He wants me to do is apologize to some people in Portland from school last year. I also want to tell them what God has done and how He’s changed me. That’s part of the reason I wanted to come to Portland before going home.
I also need to have a serious talk with my parents to set a few things right there. It sure is easier to mess things up than to put them back in order. I considered writing my parents or calling them but then decided it would be best if I talked to them in person. I need to ask their forgiveness for a couple of things, too.
I know God has forgiven me for the past, but He wasn’t the only one I wronged, so I need to do whatever I can to make it right with several people. Please pray for me about this. It’s not going to be easy, but I know that’s the next step.
I’ve made a serious commitment to the Lord regarding the future, and I believe He’s invited me to go into the ministry in some form or other. I don’t know if it’s to be a pastor, a missionary, a full-time Christian service worker like my uncle Mac, or what. All I know is that this is the next step for me, and I’m excited about moving forward. So please pray for me as you’ve never prayed before!
Before I close, I wanted to send you this poem. I wrote it for you, Sierra, after a hike I took in the Highlands a few weeks ago. As I opened the gate at the end of the trail and walked through the pasture, I knew it would probably be my last hike in these hills I’ve come to love.
You should have seen all the new spring lambs. They were so small, huddled next to the ewes. The sight reminded me of how small I felt and how eager I was to stay close to Jesus, my Good Shepherd. It had only been two days since God and I had talked everything out and I had sensed His calling me into the ministry. Perhaps someday I’ll tell you how that all happened.
But what prompted this poem was a sight I’ll never forget. Past the meadow, as I climbed higher, I came to a rocky area that was covered with wild heather. I don’t care much for heather. It’s prickly to the touch, and the colors are so pale. There, in the middle of all this heather, next to a gray rock, stood one brilliant yellow daffodil, lifting its trumpet to the heavens. I stopped, amazed at how that single daffodil could change the dreariness of an entire hillside.
That’s when I thought of you, Daffodil Queen. You stand out just like that brilliant yellow flower, defying all that is common. Your words are like the bold blasting of a trumpet across a world of pale, prickly lives. And you know what? I said it the day I met you, and I’ll say it again: Don’t ever change, Sierra.
With affection,
Paul
Sierra had to reach for the tissues again before she could read the poem. Her eyes were blurring, her nose was dripping, and her heart was melting.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the flickering light of the daffodil candle on her dresser and wished with all her heart she had read Paul’s letter before he had called. She would have said ever so much more to him.
And he had signed the letter, “With affection.” He had never written that before.
Tossing two more used tissues onto the floor, Sierra reached over and turned on the lamp beside the chair. It had grown dark outside. The birds had subdued their concert, and the streetlight was now competing with the moonlight. Sierra had never felt like this before in her life. No one had ever said words to her as Paul just had. No one had ever made her believe she was okay just the way she was—better than okay: She was special, unique, and appreciated.
“ ‘With affection,’ ” she repeated. “That is so perfect.”
Sierra held the last page with the poem in her lap. She almost didn’t want to read it. What if I don’t like it? What if it’s really, really mushy? Am I ready to let my feelings for Paul out of the prison I’ve held them captive in for so long? My life is much less complicated when I don’t let my emotions run wild and cause all kinds of destruction. What happens once they’re let loose?
Then she realized she was already a changed woman. Just the few affectionate lines Paul had written were enough to alter her opinion of herself. Those words were etched in her memory. She had to read the poem. She had to devour every word Paul had written, especially when those words were a poem written for her alone.
The title was simply “Daffodil.”
Bold you stand beside your Rock
Proclaiming Truth;
Eternal, unchanging,
To a thorny crowd,
Resistant, proud
Who mock your words.
Still you stand firm beside the Rock
Trumpeting Truth;
You fearless, Golden Daffodil.
One from the crowd,
Resistant, proud,
Took your words
Into his heart
And never
Will he be the same.
So stand bold and firm,
Sweet Daffodil.
Surprise the world as only you can.
Sierra reread the poem, taking in Paul’s words and noting that he called her “Sweet Daffodil.” A P.S. was added at the bottom of the page:
I should tell you that the morning before I took that inspirational walk I had been reading in Philippians. Read chapter 1, verses 19—21 when you have a chance. It reminded me of you. I wrote those verses out on a card that I now carry in my wallet. I guess you could say I’ve taken them on as my life verses. See you soon.
Paul
Sierra leaned back in the chair and looked out the window into the soft June night. For a long time she just sat there, staring, with Paul’s letter in her lap. All his past letters went unread. In ten days she would look into Paul’s blue-gray eyes and hear his deep voice. Would he take her in his arms and draw her close to his heart in a tight hug? What would he think when he saw her? She had changed a lot in the year since they had last seen each other. At least, she thought she had changed. It made her realize how young and inexperienced she had been when she first met him.
The memory brought a smile to her lips. They had met at a phone booth—not just any phone booth, but one at the Heathrow Airport in London. She was waiting to use the phone, and Paul had borrowed some change from her to complete his call.
How funny! Sierra thought. He was calling his old girlfriend. I actually gave him money to call Jalene! Hey, I don’t think he ever paid me back. I’ll have to remind him when I see him
… in only ten days.
Sierra was still floating through her private dreamland the next day at school. It seemed pointless to even attend classes, since the teachers had “senioritis” even worse than the students did. In her first class they watched a video; second period was open study for the final on Thursday; and since the weather was nice, her fourth-period teacher took them outside and let everyone sit around and talk.
By the end of the day, Sierra had accomplished nothing. She had learned nothing new. She hadn’t studied a pinch. But she had crafted wonderfully sweet plans for the few days she and Paul would have together. In addition to the lobster dinner and graduation ceremony, her mental list included a picnic at Multnomah Falls; a dinner cruise on the Willamette River; an afternoon browsing through books together at Powell’s Bookstore downtown; a video night at home with the family, eating Mrs. Jensen’s famous caramel corn; a hike up to Pittock Mansion in the West Portland Hills; and maybe a concert or play, depending on what was available downtown. If nothing there interested them, they could always tour the art museums. And of course they would go to Carla’s Café at least once.
Sierra continued to spin her plans as the week went on. She made a list and checked into each activity, calling for showtimes, prices on dinner cruises, and hours when Powell’s was open. The list turned into a notebook of collected information. She even picked up a few brochures at a restaurant that advertised other activities she hadn’t thought of, such as the antique stores in Sellwood and a visit to Haystack Rock on the coast at Cannon Beach. This was a good time of year for windsurfing up in the Columbia Gorge. They could each rent a Jet Ski at a landing on the Vancouver side of the Columbia River. And there was also a restored steam engine train up in Battle Ground that they could ride through a park, which might be fun for their picnic day.
Her notebook soon turned into an organized, detailed travel portfolio of the Portland area. If only Sierra could have turned it in for a grade, she would have loved to accept that grade for one of her finals.
As it was, she barely received an A- on one and two Bs on the others. It was one of the first times in her high school career that she had received anything below an A on a final. When one of her teachers questioned her, Sierra answered that the motivation wasn’t there. She had worked for so many years to have good enough grades to make it into any college she wanted, and now she had been accepted at Rancho Corona, had three academic scholarships, and it was the very end of school. What she didn’t tell her teacher was that her mind couldn’t hold another scholastic detail because it was too full of important information—information such as what time the antique stores in Sellwood closed on Saturday and what movies were playing at what times at the Lloyd Center.
When Sierra, Vicki, and Amy met for their Monday afternoon teatime, Sierra brought her notebook and spread it out on the table, asking her friends’ opinions about the two different boats that offered dinner cruises on the Willamette.
Vicki laughed. She didn’t seem to be able to stop.
Sierra felt humiliated and indignant. “I don’t see why you think this is so funny.”
“You tend to do things to the extreme,” Vicki said, trying to pull a straight face. “When did you have time to do all this, Sierra? You worked two afternoons last week and all day Saturday, and we were at Amy’s graduation on Friday. Plus it was finals week!”
“I had time.”
“We always find the time to do the things we love,” Amy said, coming to Sierra’s defense. “I think it’s great. If you wanted to, you could sell this to a tour company or something. You could start a side business, researching and planning private sightseeing trips for people who come here on vacation.”
Sierra appreciated Amy’s attempt to support her efforts, but she hadn’t expected either reaction from her friends. “Maybe you guys don’t understand,” she said, closing her notebook and setting it aside. “This is Paul I’m talking about. I haven’t seen him in a year. He’s coming for only four days. I’ve never done anything with him. I don’t know what he might like to do while he’s here. His only hobby in Scotland was hiking. He might want to hike here, or he might be sick of hiking and just want to go to the movies. I need to be prepared for anything. I don’t want to spend half of our four days sitting around trying to decide what to do.”
Vicki’s expression cleared to tender seriousness. “You’re right. You’re exactly right. I think you did the best thing you could have, considering the circumstances. It’ll really help you both to make the most of the time.” With a sparkle in her eyes, she added, “Just don’t pull out the notebook the minute he walks in the door. It might scare him off.”
“Don’t worry,” Sierra said. “This information is for my benefit. Paul doesn’t even know I have the notebook.” Until Vicki had said that, Sierra hadn’t thought of her elaborate planning as something that would overwhelm Paul. Secretly, she was glad Vicki had mentioned her concern, or most likely Sierra would have pulled it out the first day and coaxed Paul to go through it with her to plan their time.
“I guess I need to relax a little about this, huh?” Sierra said, sipping her cup of peppermint tea. She didn’t feel like eating any of their cinnamon roll today and motioned for Vicki and Amy to pull it closer to the two of them so they could split it. “You’re right.”
Vicki reached for a napkin and dabbed at a dot of frosting that stuck to her upper lip. “Right about what? What did we say?”
“It’s what you both wanted to say but were kind enough not to say aloud. I need to back off. My mind and emotions are running away from me.”
Vicki and Amy exchanged cautious glances.
“Don’t shut down,” Amy said. “Everything you’re feeling and doing is fine. Just maybe do it and feel it all a little slower.”
Sierra was surprised at the wise words from her friend. “Thanks, Amy,” she said, giving Amy’s wrist a squeeze. “You both have to remember I’m the inexperienced one when it comes to this whole dating thing. Do either of you have any advice for me?”
Now Amy was the one to laugh and Vicki was the one who turned serious.
“What?” Sierra asked, not sure why her innocent question caused such a reaction.
“Do we have any advice for you?” Amy said. “Look out, Sierra! You asked for it.”
With heads bent close, Vicki and Amy started to advise Sierra as though they were helping her cram for the most important final of her senior year.
seven
IT WAS 6:10 BEFORE SIERRA came up for air from their intense powwow. She leaned back and gave a summary review to her tutors. “Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right. All guys are jerks, but we love them anyway. Don’t ever tell them what you’re really thinking because they won’t understand and they’ll use it against you later in an argument. Let the guy pay most of the time, and expect to be disappointed.”
Vicki nodded. “That’s about it.”
“Oh, and if he uses the word ‘love,’ it’s only because he wants something—so watch it,” Amy said.
Sierra shook her head. “You two are pathetic.”
Vicki and Amy looked shocked.
“How could you become so cynical when you’re so young?”
“Reality, Sierra. You really ought to try it sometime.” Amy looked serious.
“Listen, I’m sorry you both have had such terrible experiences with guys, but they’re not all like that.”
“How about this, Miss Innocence and Bliss?” Vicki asked, twisting her silky brown hair up and securing it to the back of her head with a clip. “We’ll meet here next Monday, and you can tell us where we’re wrong.”
“Not next Monday,” Sierra said. “Paul will still be here.”
“Okay, then the following Monday. Or maybe we’ll have to call an emergency meeting after he leaves to give you the opportunity to prove us wrong.”
“You’ll see him at my house this Friday at the dinner party. You’ll see then how wrong you are.”
“Sp
eaking of the dinner party,” Amy said, “how many people are coming for sure?”
They spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the guest list, menu, and preparation plans. Sierra had overlooked a few items such as drinks, bread, and when the food was going to be prepared.
Amy stepped in and gave her suggestions. Obviously, she had thought about this a lot more than Sierra had. Amy offered to bring a tray of appetizers in the morning, which Sierra could pull out after graduation. As soon as the ceremony was over, Amy would drive to the restaurant, pick up the rest of the food, and bring it to the house so it would be hot and ready to go. Vicki volunteered to collect money from everyone so Amy would have cash on Friday to pay her uncle. Sierra would take care of getting the house ready. Whatever else needed to be done, they would do together after graduation.
“At this point,” Sierra said, “Warner is the only one who can’t come.” She forced herself not to say anything about how that didn’t bother her one bit, since Warner bugged her so much. “I thought I’d ask Wesley if he wants to join us, which I know you guys wouldn’t mind.”
Amy seemed to light up. “That’s fine with me.”
Sierra wanted to say, “I knew it would be,” but instead she just added, “And I don’t think I told you guys, but Tawni and Jeremy might come. They’re planning to drive, but Tawni still has some scheduling logistics to settle. She’s supposed to do a shoot on Wednesday, which means they would have to drive straight through if they want to arrive on time Friday. If they do come, would you mind if they ate with us, too? I thought Paul might enjoy having his brother there.”
“I’ll need to know by tomorrow,” Amy said, “so I can order enough food.”
“Okay, I’ll call Tawni tonight.”
“I hate to be the one to break this up,” Vicki said, “but I’m supposed to be home in five minutes, and this is not the week I want to get put on restriction. I’ve been late on my curfews twice in the last week, so I gotta fly.” She stood and grabbed her backpack off the peg on the wall behind them. “I love you guys. I’ll see you later.” With a swish, Vicki was out the door.
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