FALTERING HOPE

Light gleams in yellow squares onto patchy snow from the parsonage windows. It is late March, and the wind sighs though tall pines behind the white clapboard two story house. Inside I pack suitcases for the road trip from northern Minnesota to Arizona where my in laws live.

The clock ticks slowly…7:30, 8:00…where is my husband? Zachary roared off early afternoon on our Harley Sportster. “I’m going to ride to Bemidji, make sure the cycle runs well for our ride up the coast of California. We won’t start it again till we unload it in Scottsdale.

I hug him good bye and go to tuck Nick in for his nap—our active 8 month old with downy blond hair. Zach’s parents will watch him while we have our getaway. We need it. Our relationship has been fraying.

I pack toiletries, clean, wash a load of clothes. “Where is Zach!” I wonder anxiously. It’s now almost 10pm. Nick is fast asleep.

“Lord, protect him…help him to call!”

I hear gurgling—the washer hose has broken loose, water is spurting across the laundry entryway. I mop furiously and start to weep. Finally, 20 minutes later the linoleum is just damp and the clean clothes wrung by hand are spinning in the dryer.

“Shall I call Leota?” I wonder. My parents are half a world away doing mission work in Irian Jaya. Leota is a close friend, a member of our Ebro Community Church. But what could she do? Would we actually search for him tonight? Eventually I pull on my flannel nightgown and climb into bed. I pray, try to relax.

Fragments of memories slip through my mind. Zachary and me meeting—bumping heads and laughing as we lean to pick up books after chapel at St. Paul Bible College. Trudging through thick snow, holding hands, ice-covered branches cracking overhead in bright blue sky, glistening rainbow colors piercing the dark iced limbs. Our wedding vows by candlelight, standing amidst pine scented Christmas trees.

We had planned to do mission work, were sent up to this rustic church on the edge of the Indian reservation for two years of Christian service. Then, hopefully we would be assigned to Irian Jaya where I grew up—where Mom and Dad are now. Only six months left of our assignment…Dan has resigned…what will we do now? I drift off….