The Perfect Match (24 page)

“But I realized that God isn’t looking for my outstanding deeds. He just wants me to realize His love for me. To embrace it. To find purpose in it.”

“John 15. Have you been listening to my sermons?”

“I have. And they finally sunk in. Along with Seth’s words: ‘God is enough.’ The last time he said them to me, we were fighting about my working on the hotshot crew. I’d been there about a month, and the fires were getting worse. We’d already had one crew nearly lose their lives. We were sitting together on a rocky outcropping, overlooking the fire camp three days before his death. He had a far-off look and told me, ‘God is enough, Ellie. He has to be. In this life, there is no other answer.’

“You know, I never knew how much I idolized Seth until I realized I’d never find another hero. . . .” She dug both hands into Dan’s shirt, pulling him close. “Until, of course, I came to Deep Haven.”

Then she leaned forward and kissed him, her lips moist, tender; and he felt in her touch the honesty of her words. She pulled away but kept her face close. “God is enough and so are you, Dan. I love you.”

He wanted to swing her up in his arms and dance. No, fly. “You do?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed his cheek. “Probably since the day you landed at my feet.”

He pushed her grimy hair from her face, drew her into his arms. “Do you remember what I said to you?”

When she smiled, his heart leaped to attention. “Uh-huh. But you can remind me.”

“I asked you if you were a dream. My dream. And you are. Marry me, Jammie Girl.”

She looked beautiful in a blush. “I’m not sure I’ll be much good at the pastor’s-wife thing.”

“I think you’ll be a regular fireball.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, and he kissed her again, this time taking his time, not caring that most of his congregation watched from the sidelines. This was his woman. His fire chief. His perfect match. “Is that a yes?”

“And a promise.” Her radiant eyes twinkled with mischief.

He laughed, amazed that every moment with her seemed better than the last. “Listen, if you change your mind about the firefighting thing—”

She raised her eyebrows, teasing. “Over your dead body?”

He laughed. “No. I’m right behind you. I’m just wondering if I can call you Chief at home too.”

“You can call me anything you want, as long as you cook for me.”

He chuckled, kissed her again. “Aye, aye, Chief.”

She wove her fingers into his hair, her face shining through the grime. She’d never looked more breathtaking. “Well, now, Preach, that’s the kind of response I’ve been waiting for.” And when she kissed
him, it confirmed what he’d known for nearly three months.

Ellie Karlson was the dream he’d been waiting for all his life.

E
llie leaned her forehead against the windowpane, watching snow peel from the leaden clouds. From the front window of Edith Draper’s A-frame cabin, Ellie could see the residue of foam and debris washed onshore by Lake Superior’s winter unrest. Crispness laced the air, as if winter in all her gusto waited to exhale.

For the first time in years, she anticipated the transition between fall and winter. It poured through her senses, and she knew it had nothing to do with the approaching holidays, the intoxicating smell of Thanksgiving turkey, or the fact that snow would soon cleanse the landscape and bedazzle the trees in brilliance.

No, the feeling that rushed through her in quiet moments over the past three weeks could be nothing but pure and untainted hope. The kind that comes with a keen knowledge of unfailing love.

God’s unfailing love.

Love without rules, without expectations, without a list of qualifiers.

Warm hands slid over her shoulders, and she leaned back into Dan’s embrace. He’d let his whiskers grow since Sunday, knowing she liked the scruffy look and now rubbed them against her cheek. “Dinner is nearly ready.”

“Mmm,” she responded, closing her eyes, relishing his nearness. Oh, how good God had been, giving her not only peace but this man with whom to share it. “Are Noah and Anne here yet?”

She’d met Dan’s friends at their wedding almost a week ago. Noah Standing Bear looked like a pure bad boy, with his massive size, his shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail, and eyes that seemed a thousand years wise. But when he’d swept his arms around his bride, Edith’s niece Anne Lundstrom, the guy appeared downright princely. Beast into beauty.

And if that weren’t enough to push tears into her eyes, Dan had grabbed her hand and squeezed.

Yes, hope had many different facets, and she loved every one of them.

“Pastor Dan!” Jeffrey Simmons ran up and flung his arms around Dan’s legs. The boy’s strength had returned with gusto and his emotional healing along with it under Joe and Mona’s blanket of love. “Come and see the parade. They have a giant floating SpongeBob SquarePants!”

“Who?” Ellie asked when Dan bent down to swing the boy up into his arms. She could hear the laughter of Joe and Jordan in the other room, probably in a tangle of arms and legs as they watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Dan angled for the den while Ellie made her way into
the kitchen. Mona held Angelica on her hip while she stirred the gravy. A twenty-plus-pound, golden brown Butterball sat on the counter, calling to Ellie’s stomach. Edith had tented a piece of tin foil over the top to hold in the heat. Still, Ellie longed to pick up a fork and dig out a piece of the oyster, the succulent part under the leg. She must have put on ten pounds the last few weeks, and this kind of offering wouldn’t offer her waistline any mercy. Even though she wasn’t pulling duty as the local fire chief, her job as deputy chief and investigator required that she at least
fit
into her uniform.

“Where’s Edith?” Ellie asked.

“She went upstairs to phone Ed.”

“Ed?” Ellie grabbed a pile of silverware and began to set it on the table. “Have I met him?”

Mona laughed. “You’d know if you met Edith’s son. He’s legendary in Deep Haven. Was a real lady-killer.”

“Sorta like Dan, huh?”

Mona raised one groomed eyebrow. “You’re not serious, are you?”

She could never figure out why everyone in town acted like she’d thawed the ice man or something. Dan had always been . . . well, more than sufficiently warm and friendly with her. “Um, well . . .”

Mona laughed and tickled Angelica, who burst out in a grin. “It’s probably a good thing Auntie Ellie doesn’t get it, don’t you think, Angie? We wouldn’t want her to know that she has Pastor Dan under a spell, do we?”

Ellie frowned but couldn’t help a giggle. If anyone felt under a spell, it was she, especially with the diamond sparkling on her finger and the way her parents embraced Dan like the son they’d always wanted. Yes,
she’d entered some sort of fairy tale. “So, is Ed in town?”

Mona shook her head and continued stirring the gravy. “No. He lives up north, out in the bush somewhere. I think he’s a missionary.” Angelica reached for the spoon and nearly dumped the pot. “Oh!”

“I’ll take her.” Ellie reached for the little girl, but Angelica clamped her flabby legs around Mona’s waist. Mona offered a silent apology.

Ellie waved it off. “I love stirring, I think,” she said as she took the whisk from Mona.

“Just make sure to get out all the lumps.” Mona moved away and hitched Angelica up on her hip. “I don’t think Ed has been home for years. He left with some sort of dark secret that I can’t seem to pull out of Edith. Once I overheard her and Ernie Wilkes talking about him at a picnic, but the second I walked up, they switched topics faster than the weather. I always felt like I’d intruded.”

“I have a feeling there are quite a few secrets in Deep Haven,” Ellie said, thinking about Guthrie and the fact he’d kept his mental illness hidden for over a decade. She and Dan visited him at the Hennepin County Medical Center locked ward on the morning before the wedding. Not only had his depression lessened because of the medication, but it looked like the county would weigh his illness into the murder charges. Ellie hoped that he’d be able to live in a facility that might attend to his needs. After she’d heard his confession and his motives, it scared her how much she related to Guthrie’s need to be loved and accepted.

And it hadn’t helped matters any that she did, indeed,
bear an uncanny resemblance to the lady Guthrie had loved. Poor guy just wanted to be a hero . . . to matter to someone. He did matter—to God. And in cultivating her new habit of spending time with God every morning, she’d added Guthrie’s salvation and healing to her daily list of prayer requests.

“I’m here!” Fingers of cold whooshed in around Liza as she stomped into the warm kitchen. Snowflakes dotted her dark hair, and she looked like a Siberian ski bunny in her faux leopard-skin jacket and black bell-bottom stretch pants. She held out a box. “My contribution to T-Day dinner.”

While Liza shucked off her jacket, Ellie opened the box. It looked like lumpy oatmeal. However, as the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg escaped from the box, she decided she might be game to try it.

“Apple crisp. It’s a Beaumont specialty.” Liza plucked it out of Ellie’s hands and pulled the pie plate out of the box. “It’s good with peaches and pears too.”

“Wow, she’s an artist
and
a chef,” Ellie said. She glanced at her own paltry attempts to help. “I think I killed the gravy.” She poked at a dumpling-sized lump. “Sorry.”

Liza gave her a hug and turned off the heat under the pot. “Don’t worry. No one cares. It’s the company that counts.”

Edith thumped down the stairs. “I just saw Anne and Noah drive up.” She glowed like a kid at Christmas.

Thirty minutes later, they joined hands around the table, Ellie trying not to glance at the lumpy gravy and eyeing instead a choice piece of dark turkey meat on the platter. On one side of her, Dan held her hand, his
thumb playing with the solitaire diamond ring he’d given her. On the other side, Liza was making goofy faces at Angelica on Mona’s lap, whose grin seemed to light up the table. Across from her, Joe and Mona locked hands with Jeffrey and Jordan, and the smile on their faces swelled a lump in Ellie’s throat.

Edith cleared her throat, looking at her guests and smiling at her husband, a quiet man who seemed to enjoy letting Edith have her yenta moment. “I’m so glad all of you have joined us for this day of thanksgiving,” she said. “Will you pray for our meal, Dan?”

Dan nodded. His gaze went around the table, stopped at Ellie. She tingled to her toes at his smile. “Before I pray, I want to answer a question that Joe asked me a few months ago.” He looked at Joe, who wore a frown. “What exactly does God require of us? Especially those who live surrounded by friends or family? By churches full of the healthy, as well as the hurting?”

Dan took a deep breath. He lifted Ellie’s hand and kissed it. “I think the answer is in John 15:17: ‘Love each other.’ Love that is authentic. Love that erases condemnation. Love that means laying down your life for another. And then we will bear fruit. Fruit that will last to eternity.”

Amen,
Ellie thought as she bent her head in prayer.

I
n my author’s note in
Tying the Knot,
I wrote of my journey to understanding the depth of God’s grace and how embracing that gave me the courage to surrender my future to God, including committing to return to the mission field in Russia, if He chose. Indeed, on New Year’s Eve 2002 we decided to return, and by the time March rolled around, I had filled containers with supplies and even felt an excitement building for the next term. I knew in my heart that God had good things planned.

I just didn’t expect how He would accomplish them.

Over our plans to return hovered the increasing threat of changing visa laws, continued violence, and our children’s emotional needs for security. We knew that life might be difficult, but we clung with tenacity to our plans. Even when missionaries began to be ousted from the country, we gritted our teeth and said, “We will return!”

Perhaps that is why it felt like a knife to the chest
when God said no. He slammed one door after another to our return and miraculously opened the door to a new chapter of our lives in northern Minnesota, in a tiny town where we’d always dreamed of living. We stumbled toward this new opportunity like confused children, looking back over our shoulders asking, “Are You sure?” But God put peace in our hearts, confirming His plans. More than that, He gave us a place to live where we could dig roots, heal, and recharge. He sent us to our very own Deep Haven.

However, it was in this peaceful place that questions began to simmer in my soul. I’d been a missionary, either in training or on the field, for fifteen years. My life plans had been to be a career missionary. Now what? Did my fifteen years of sacrifice etch any foothold in the kingdom of God? Did I still matter to God if I didn’t live my life on the cutting edge of evangelism, my life poured out for that one purpose?

Again, God spoke to me through writing.
Yes,
He said.
You matter. Your life matters, your sacrifices matter, your dreams matter. Because you are My beloved child. And your dreams of making a difference in your world will be accomplished through Me, as you abide, one day at a time, in My love. For apart from Me you can do nothing.

Like Ellie, I’ve surrendered loved ones and precious moments for the sake of a goal. Like Dan, I’ve looked back, wondering if I made an impact, wrestling with past choices or how I could have served better. And through writing
The Perfect Match,
God showed me that only by turning my eyes on Him and letting Him feed me is there any hope of bearing fruit.

I hope this thought encourages you. Life with Christ bears fruit, whether you serve in full-time missions proclaiming the gospel overseas or full-time missions wiping runny toddler noses in the middle of Iowa. And this fruit, my friends, is eternal.

Thank you for reading
The Perfect Match.
I’m blessed that you would spend time in Deep Haven with me. May you find the joy and hope of abiding in Christ, and may the truth of His love for you radically impact your life.

In His Grace,

Susan May Warren