The Braxtons of Miracle Springs (15 page)

I reached over to put a hand on Becky's shoulder, loving her, feeling how much she hurt, and yet deeply grateful to God for giving me a man of such wisdom.

A minute later Christopher rose and left the bunkhouse, leaving the two of us alone.

The next day I called on Jennie again.

“How is she doing?” Christopher asked me that evening.

“Nothing too much has changed,” I answered, “but I think she appreciates having a friend who cares.”

“What did the two of you do?”

“We picked several quarts of berries and then made jam and a cobbler out of them. She was in a gay mood and wanted the cobbler to be just right for Tom. Then he came through the kitchen and made a comment about a splotch of flour on her face. He was no more out of sight than she burst into tears. I told her she had taken his comment wrong and that he had meant nothing by it, but she was sure he was criticizing her.”

“What did you say then?”

“I tried to help her laugh at herself, without a whole lot of success, and then we finished the cobbler. Oh, but it is sad Christopher,” I sighed. “Do you know what she told me?”

“What?”

“She said, ‘But, Corrie, I don't even love him anymore.' Then she started to cry. And they haven't even been married two years. How can feelings change so fast?”

“Probably because the marriage was a mistake to begin with,” replied Christopher. “If the foundation is faulty, it's unlikely you're going to be able to build a strong and durable structure on top of it.”

“But I've heard you say that any two people can make a marriage work. Why would you then say it was a mistake?”

“Any two people
can
make it work. That doesn't mean there aren't some matches that are more suitable than others. There's also the matter of the Lord's will. The fact that any two people can make it work doesn't mean the Lord doesn't select certain people to be together and not others. Once we make a decision, whether with the Lord's leading or outside of it, we're stuck with our decision, come what may. Of course Jennie and Tom can make their marriage work—they have to make it work. That is not to say the marriage might have not been God's will.”

“Is that what you mean by a mistake?”

“That . . . and timing. Sometimes the match is right but the timing is wrong. People get in a hurry. They put their immediate feelings ahead of the attempt to find out what God's will might be in the matter. That can lead to equally serious consequences.”

“Why are people so anxious to marry?”

“Again, people put their current feelings ahead of knowing God's will in the matter.”

“But don't you think most people think they
are
doing what God wants when they make that decision?”

“Convincing yourself you're in God's will to validate doing what you
want
to do anyway is not the same thing as being in God's will, independent of what you want.”

“Hmm . . . I hadn't thought that we might convince ourselves we're in God's will when we're really not. How do we know the difference?”

“It's an easy enough thing to talk yourself into believing that you're in God's will. Anyone can do that. It's another matter to be experienced enough in listening to God's voice that you are able to set your own will and feelings aside so as to listen and be able to discern what is his leading. That's not something very many people are well-practiced at.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's difficult, for one thing,” laughed Christopher. “God's voice can be very, very soft—and if there is the slightest noise being made by our
own
emotions and inclinations, they will drown him out, and we will hear only our own wishes speaking to us.”

“I know that feeling,” I laughed.

“The main reason people aren't well-practiced at it,” Christopher added, “is simply because they don't want God's will near as much as they like to think they do. They want their own will. They try to convince themselves it is God's will they want, but in many cases that is just a little game they are playing with themselves.”

“That is a pretty harsh thing to say, isn't it?”

“Maybe,” sighed Christopher. “You have to remember, I did much of my spiritual maturing as a pastor. Unfortunately, that is a role in which it is possible to grow cynical about people's motives very quickly.”

“How
does
a person know what God wants them to do, then?” I asked. “Someone like Jennie, who isn't as experienced at listening to his voice as someone else.”

Christopher thought a moment.

“Probably the first thing,” he said, “is to listen to the voice of God through the advice of mature people who know you and love you. In Jennie's case, I seriously doubt the Shaws were in favor of her marriage to Tom.”

“No, they weren't.”

“If a person doesn't take the good advice of people more mature than he himself, people whom God has placed there to help, it is doubtful God will speak in other ways.”

“You're surely not saying you should
always
do what people tell you?”

“Of course not, only that God frequently makes his will known through others—especially to young people. Learning to discern and heed the wisdom that is around you is one of the first signs of maturity—and one of the most important ways to walk close to the Lord.”

“I know that Jennie wasn't about to listen to anybody once she set her mind on marrying Tom,” I said.

“Then, no wonder she's having trouble knowing what to do now,” he said. “You asked how an inexperienced person knows what God wants them to do? I would say we must obey those things we are shown, then we will be shown more. As we obey, more light will be given. But the opposite is true, too. If we don't obey what we are shown and what we know to be right, even the little light we do have will eventually go out. God won't force his leading on people who aren't listening.”

As Christopher and I talked further, I realized it was no wonder Jennie had gotten herself into such a pickle. I couldn't remember ever once in her whole life when I'd heard her so much as mention a desire to do what God wanted.

“By the way, what was your answer?” said Christopher after a minute.

“My answer—to what?”

“To what Jennie said about not loving Tom anymore?”

“I told her that it didn't matter, in fact, it had nothing to do with anything. I said, ‘You made a promise, Jennie. Marriage isn't necessarily based on love. It's based on promises made and promises kept.'”

“Good girl! That's exactly right. I couldn't have said it better myself.”

I put my arm around Christopher, and he took me in the two of his.

“That won't happen to us, will it?” I said softly, with my head against his chest.

“What, that we don't love each other anymore? Absolutely not.” He paused briefly, then added, “But the love will fade from time to time. It can't be helped.”

“We know that,” I added with a smile. “We've already experienced it.”

“But the
promises
will never fade, and they are the glue that will always hold us together.”

The following Sunday, as if reading my mind, Rev. Rutledge got up to preach and announced that his topic would be “Who Makes the Decisions in Your Life?”

“I would like to speak to you this morning,” he began, “about a very personal aspect of faith. It is, in fact, one of the most important aspects of all, yet one in which many who call themselves Christians lack in experience. If you happen to be one of those, I hope these few words of instruction may help you get started down what I think is a very exciting road of discovery with your heavenly Father.

“You've all heard, I'm certain,” Rev. Rutledge said, now smiling just slightly, “phrases that begin ‘There are two kinds of people in the world. . . .'”

He paused while a few nods went round the church.

“Well, I am going to give you another one to think about this morning. But when I greet you afterward at the door, I'm not going to ask you which side of the fence you happen to find yourself—”

“Amen!” called out Uncle Nick from the second row, and everyone laughed, including Rev. Rutledge.

“Although I may ask
you
, Nick Belle!” he shot back good-naturedly, still laughing with the rest.

“However,” the minister went on after the chuckling had subsided, “I earnestly hope that each one of you will ask
yourself
where you stand . . . and whether any sort of change might be necessary in your own personal life.

“So, here is my statement: There are two kinds of Christians in the world—those who make a habit of asking God what he wants them to do and then do it . . . and those who simply do what seems best in their own eyes.”

He paused, this time for several long seconds, to allow his words to sink in.

“In other words,” he added, “those for whom God directs the decision-making process and those who direct it themselves, who give God's view of the events of their lives very little thought.

“Now, don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm speaking of Christians and non-Christians. Remember, my statement was that there are two kinds of
Christians
in the world. . . . You see, it's easy enough to believe in all the Christian ideas, which I am certain all of us here this morning do, and yet still not
do
very much practically about it. That's one of the unfortunate things about Christianity. It is entirely possible to believe all its doctrines accurately and yet never once in all your life actually ask the question,
‘Lord what do you want
me to do?'

“That is why I say that there are two kinds of Christians in the world. There are those who make a frequent habit of saying,
‘Lord
, what would you have me do here . . . what is your
will for me there . . . what would you have me say
 . . . fill me with your thoughts.'
And, on the other hand, there are those to whom it may never even occur to ask such questions.

“Where does the direction for life originate, from within yourself or from Another? Are you your own master, or have you chosen to occupy the position of a child looking to your
Father
to direct and orchestrate what comes and how you respond to it? Are you your
own
master . . . or are you God's
child?
”

He glanced about momentarily.

“An even more important query might be,” he added, “Which do you
want
to be? The question I would present you with this morning reduces to this:
Who makes the decisions in your life?
”

Rev. Rutledge paused, then coughed two or three times to clear his throat. I glanced over at Harriet. She was looking at her husband with endearing love mingled with concern.

“There is a passage in the Old Testament I find fascinating in light of this question,” Rev. Rutledge went on. “Let me read it to you. It is found in the very last verse of the book of Judges . . . let me see. . . .”

He flipped through the pages of his Bible until he had located the passage.

“Here it is—
'In those days,'
he read,
‘there was no king in
Israel: every man did that which was right in his own eyes.'”

Again he paused.

“Ponder the implications of those words, my friends,” he said at length.

“How were decisions made? ‘Every man did what was right in his own eyes.'

“How are decisions made in your life . . . or in mine? Do we not generally do exactly this—act and think on the basis of what is right in our own eyes,
what seems best to us to do?

“Now note—it does not say that the Israelites ‘sinned' in everything they did. There is no judgment placed on
what
they did at all. This passage of scripture is not a statement on
what
the people did. It is a statement about
how
they did it, about
how
decisions were arrived at. It is about the
method
rather than the result.

“Likewise, I am challenging you to reflect upon the method by which
your
life functions. In no way would I suggest that you or anyone else is doing wrong or sinning. For years I myself stood on the side of the fence where I would have to have answered the two-kinds-of-people question by saying that I was most definitely one who had never asked,
‘Lord, what would you have me do.'
It was not until I came here and had been among you for a time that such things began to occur to me, and I began to realize that despite the accuracy of my beliefs there was much missing in the practicality of my faith. But I was not a bad man, not a dreadfully wicked sinner. I simply recognize now that the
method by which I ran my life
was flawed. I did what was right in my own eyes.

“Note further—I did what was
right
in my own eyes, not what was
wrong
in my own eyes. I did not do willful wrong at all. I lived, as far as I was able, what we call
a Christian life
. But, you see, it was all according to how I
myself
regulated my actions and determined what that right was. I never asked
God's
opinion in the matter.

“Neither do I say that any one of you is doing wrong. I speak of
how
you do what you do—who determines what is the
right
that you do? Where does your life's momentum come from?

“As I said, for years I did what appeared right in my eyes. Why? For the very same reason that such was said of the Israelites of old—I had no king.”

The minister paused a long time to let his words sink in.

“We are meant to have a king,”
he said after a while.

“We are not meant to be our own masters. We are not meant to do what is right in our
own
eyes, even if our own eyes are very skilled at distinguishing right from wrong and then doing what really is right.

“It may not be the
what
of our lives that is out of balance because we may be living very upstanding, moral, virtuous, even selfless lives. It is entirely possible to live selflessly and still have it said of us that we are doing what is right in our own eyes.

“It is the
how
that is out of kilter. The
method
is wrong. We are determining
what
to do in the
wrong
way.

“The Israelites of old were given a king because they failed to make God their king. They were given a king because they could not see the truth that Jesus later came to teach mankind—that God is our Father.

“God is our Father,” he repeated, “and we were meant to live as his children.”

Rev. Rutledge stopped and wiped his pale forehead. I could tell he was tired, for he had been preaching energetically.

“I don't suppose ten minutes is a very long sermon,” he sighed with a smile as he pulled his watch from his vest pocket and glanced down at it. “But I think I have about said what needs to be said about this extremely important topic. I doubt you will hold it against me if we dismiss a little earlier than usual.

“I would ask you to do one thing, however,” he added. “This afternoon, will every one of you say to the Lord in the quietness of your room or barn or meadow or walking path,
‘Lord, if there are ways in which
you want to be more my Father than you have been till now, please reveal them to me.'

“Say that,” he added, smiling again, “and the Lord himself will finish this sermon in the private sanctuaries of your own hearts. Let us pray together.”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes, as did everyone in the church.

“Our
Father in heaven,”
Rev. Rutledge prayed,
“we ask you
to be more our Father now than ever before. Be
our Lord, be our Master, be our King. Give us
hearts and minds, give us hands and feet, give us a will, give us feelings that all turn to you
to ask, ‘What would you have us think, feel, and
do?' Make of us a people who look to you for our decisions. Make of us a church and community
of believers that is different. Let it be said by
all those who observe us, ‘Those people do not do
what is right in their own eyes. They do what
their Father tells them.' We ask that you would show
us what you want of us, our Lord and our King. Amen.”