You Are Called, You Are Chosen, You Are Loved

By Patricia Behrens

Devastated by the end of her twenty-year marriage, Cynthia Salmon feels confused, sad, and frustrated by the abandonment by both her husband and now seemingly God. Left questioning everything she is and believes, Cynthia decides to embark on a cross-country trip toward her childhood home and memories—both happy and painful.

As Cynthia revisits her childhood in her mind, two demonic figures accompany her on her journey, determined to sway Cynthia to loyally follow their evil plan. Along the way, Cynthia meets Elizabeth, a young girl suffering from a different pain. As God uses Cynthia’s story to reveal His deep love for Elizabeth, each finds assurance that they are dearly loved daughters of the King. Yet it is this same encounter that will thrust both of them into a war, not of Earth but in the heavenly realms where the powers of darkness not only threaten the freedoms of their country but also their lives.

In this Christian story, a woman searching for comfort after a devastating loss sets out on a spiritual journey where she discovers the absolute truth that she is indeed called, chosen, and unfailingly loved by God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480878150

Patricia Behrens

>p>Patricia Behrens is a mother and grandmother of six. After spending years in the business world, she retired with one desire: to deeply sense God’s presence, know His unfailing love, and share that love with others. Her first novel is written especially for women with the hope that they may come to know the indescribable love of Jesus Christ and their unique purpose in life.

Book preview

PART 1:

The Journey

Chapter 1

BABE!

Cynthia heard Alex, her husband of nearly twenty years, shouting from downstairs. I’m leaving for the store! I’ll be back in a few!

Wait a minute! I want to come down and give you a kiss goodbye! she replied.

Even after two decades, Cynthia’s heart still flipped when she looked at Alex. He was a handsome Latin man who, although living in the United States for the last fifty years, still said the word don’t like Ricky Ricardo. It always made her laugh, although it slightly irritated Alex when she did.

Cynthia went running down the stairs, but halfway down, objects around her began to blur. Losing her sense of equilibrium, she started to fall. Fear gripped her. Help me, Alex! she cried out, but he only stood there watching.

In a start, she woke in her bed. It was just a dream, she moaned.

Several months prior, Alex had left Cynthia. He had walked out the door with vague explanations of being shortchanged in his life and lying because of his own inability to confront. She was just too different. There was no reason to go on with the marriage. It wasn’t her fault, he said. He just couldn’t maintain the lies any longer.

She had screamed at him for a better explanation. Is there another woman? Cynthia demanded to know.

No, Alex replied calmly, nothing like that.

Then like what?

She begged him not to leave her, begged him to stay. But he would not.

Now she lay in an empty bed. Alone. Pain surrounded her, encompassed her, and held her so tightly there were times when she felt she could not take a breath.

She moved the covers off and stepped on the floor. God, help me. Help me. Help me, she cried. Among her tears, she giggled slightly. Her cry for help reminded her of her mother’s roommate at the nursing home.

Cynthia’s mom, at eighty-five, had recently had a stroke and was recuperating at a convalescent home. Cynthia went to be with her mom almost every day. Often, their visits were interrupted by a woman’s cry. Help me! Help me! Help me! Over and over again, the woman would call out for help. Nurses would come in and ask what she needed, but the only thing she ever said was Help me! Help me! Help me! So many staff members tried to help, but nothing ever stopped the pleas. Eventually, one of the staff members told Cynthia they now let her be. There was nothing they could do for her.

Cynthia thought perhaps God had decided the same for her. All you do, Cynthia, she imagined God saying to her, is cry for help, but you never receive it. You don’t obey me. There is nothing more I can do for you.

This morning, Cynthia decided she needed out of the house for a while. It was the house that she and Alex watched being built from the foundation up. It was a beautiful home filled with so many wonderful memories. Of course, it had some bad ones too, but mostly she had considered Alex her best friend. In fact, by the time he left, he had become her only friend.

She packed up a few things, stuffed them in an old luggage bag, and set off to say goodbye to her mom. She knew her planned three-day escape would be hard on her mom, but she felt it was something she needed to do.

When she arrived at the nursing home, Cynthia greeted her mom with a kiss. Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?

Hi, sweetie, her mom replied. I feel a little weak this morning, but how are you doing?

I’m good. Cynthia tried to be positive.

How are the kids? her mom asked.

Cynthia had two children from her first marriage. Adults now, with children of their own, they were always the delight and joy of her life. She was so young when she had them that she almost felt more like their playmate than their mother. As they grew older, she felt some regret she was not a stronger parent.

Her firstborn son, Stephen, hadn’t even called her Mom as a toddler. He would cry out from his crib, Cynee! Cynee! Upee, Cynee! Cynthia didn’t think much of it. She would tell her friends it was just that he couldn’t say the M sound.

The kids are fine and the grandkids too, she replied. Mom, I need to tell you I won’t be by for the next few days. I’m going to take a little break and get away.

Where are you going, dear? her mom asked with a concerned look.

Cynthia hadn’t planned that far, so she just blurted out, I’m going to the beach.

Cynee, her mom said seriously—ever since Stephen had called her Cynee, everyone in the family did the same—running away won’t solve anything, dear. You know the Lord loves you, and everything will work out for good.

I know, Mom, Cynthia reassured her. I’ll be fine.

She kissed her mom again and headed out the door, knowing she had just lied. She did not know everything was going to work out for good and certainly did not feel that God loved her. She had felt that Alex loved her. Of course, feelings didn’t seem to equate to truth. Alex had not loved her—at least not the way she defined love.

Cynthia got in the car and sat pondering where she was going to go. She had no friends to visit. She didn’t want to burden her children any longer. They had been so wonderfully supportive of her these last few months, but it was time for them to pay attention to their own needs and families.

Help me, Lord. Help me, Cynthia prayed.

Cynthia had been raised in a Christian home where she accepted Jesus as her Savior at a young age. She was taught many great truths, learned and memorized Bible verses, and even taught Sunday school when she was old enough. She always believed in Jesus, yet always she doubted. She remembered vividly the start of her doubts. She was ten years old. Sitting on a hard pew in a small church, she heard the convicting words of a preacher who said, If you are not as sure that you are going to heaven as you are that you are sitting in that pew, you are going to hell. She trembled and thought, I’m really not that sure. Maybe I didn’t do it right. She asked Jesus again into her heart. She would do it over and over again in the years to come.

Cynthia started the car. God didn’t seem to be answering her prayer for direction, so she put the car in drive and headed in the opposite direction from the one she had just told her mom. She headed east.

East was the place of her upbringing. Maybe there she could find some comfort. She had a lot of wonderful memories of growing up. There were painful ones too. She mused how memories, no matter of what time, seemed tinged with both good and bad.

Living in California now, she knew it would take at least five days to get anywhere close to her childhood home, and she was supposed to be back in three. Well, I will figure out something, she reasoned. She just wanted to go back.

Cynthia pulled onto Highway 80. It was the same highway she had taken when she moved west twenty-five years earlier. As she drove, her thoughts remained on her childhood. Lord, am I just a simple-minded product of my upbringing? she prayed out loud. Or do I really believe in You? Are You there, Lord?

A small demonic figure sitting in the back of Cynthia’s car gloated to his instructor, Sumana, We’re doing such a fine job, a fine job. She’s coming home to us, home to us.

The little demon suddenly got slapped hard in the head. Shut up, you fool, Sumana scolded. We don’t have that kind of power. She belongs to the Enemy. Our job is just to make sure she feels unsure of it and certainly that she never lives out her belief. Sumana was tiring of the ignorance of his apprentice, Hermes.

So what’s the plan now, the plan now? Hermes asked, undaunted by the slap and reprimand.

We wait. As long as she sits in doubt, we will just wait.

Sumana and Hermes settled back in the car.

Chapter 2

AS CYNTHIA CONTINUED TO DRIVE, SHE shook off the foreboding feeling and tried to remember more pleasant memories of back East. She had grown up in a house that backed up to a horse farm. She loved horses. They seemed so majestic, beautiful, and powerful, yet gentle at the same time. She had gone horseback riding quite a few times while growing up, but her favorite time was in Texas. When she was in high school, she went to a large Youth for Christ rally in Dallas. It was to be a life-changing spiritual experience. Cynthia only remembered the horses. While many of the student groups stayed at churches or school dorms over the five-day event, her youth group stayed at a mansion; at least to her it was a mansion. Not only a gorgeous huge home, but it had horses!

One of the daughters of the family who owned the home took a liking to Cynthia and asked if she would like to go riding. You’ll have to go bareback, the daughter added.

Cynthia replied without hesitation, Absolutely, even though she had never sat on a horse bareback.

She had a glorious time.

Suddenly, the sound of a blaring horn snapped Cynthia back to the present. While absorbed in her memories, she had dangerously drifted into another lane. Swerving quickly back into her own, she mouthed, I’m sorry, to the angry driver as he passed by. It did not seem to appease him.

It scared her for quite some time, and she spent the next hour focused on the road in front of her. Eventually, she relaxed back into her seat and eased a bit on her grip of the steering wheel. More childhood memories flooded her mind, precious memories—family camping trips, water skiing, playing crazy games, and singing around campfires. Memories of Christmastime with so many gifts under the tree and getting to eat and eat to her heart’s content—candies and fruits and nuts and cookies and pies. Memories of Thanksgiving time with huge turkeys and family gatherings. Leaves raked up in piles so high they easily sustained a person being catapulted into them! And the summer evenings, catching fireflies in a jar with the lid poked through with holes. There was nothing like catching fireflies on a summer evening.

In the midst of remembering, an emptiness filled Cynthia’s heart. For all the wonderful memories, she rarely recalled hearing the words I love you. Raised in a Christian church, surrounded by Christian relatives, brought up by Christian parents, the words of love were not spoken. She believed she was loved by her family yet rarely sensed it. She’d known John 3:16 since she was a child. For God so loved the world, but it was words. Words she believed, for sure, but didn’t feel or sense. Cynthia’s definition of being loved required strict obedience. She tried to obey but often failed. She wanted to be loved, but she never felt she quite measured up.

As she got older, Cynthia longed to be loved by a man. If a man could love her, then she would feel enough. Then she would know and feel worth.

Oh, brother, Cynthia said despondently, out loud in the car. What a loser you are.

Hermes couldn’t help but squeal with delight. She is so far gone in her misery, we won’t have to do another thing, not another thing.

Sumana gave a disgusted look at Hermes. You are more a fool than any of the demons if you don’t know the Enemy never gives up pursuing his own. In fact, this is often when he shows up in the most mighty of ways. We will have to be on high alert.

Cynthia had now driven for over five hours and was tired and hungry. Lord, Cynthia called out, can you tell me where to go? Nothing; there was no reply. Up ahead, she spotted a funny billboard. Among all the billboards for McDonald’s, Carl’s Jr., and KFC was a small sign that read, Samantha’s Grill! EAT HERE so you and I won’t starve! It was signed, Samantha. Cynthia would normally never eat at places she didn’t know, but for some reason, the sign made her smile, and she decided to check it out.

She pulled off the highway at the next exit and looked for Samantha’s Grill. Right at the top of the exit, a little to the right, stood a charming cottage restaurant that was so darling it removed all misgivings about going into a strange place. Cynthia parked the car, grabbed her purse, and headed for the front door.

An elderly lady, sitting outside on the porch, greeted her as if she had known Cynthia all her life. Hi, baby doll. How are you doing on this fine day? Her eyes twinkled with joy.

Taken back just a bit, Cynthia replied, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.

Oh, dear child, you indeed look fine, but you are not fine inside, are you? the woman said. Don’t answer that, and don’t mind me. I’m just an old woman who is a bit crazy! Come in, dear. Samantha will cook you up something real good, something that will help your insides.

Cynthia felt like bolting back to her car and getting away from this crazy person as fast as should could. But instead, she found herself smiling and following the woman into the restaurant.

It was even more charming inside than out. A few couples sat at quaint tables. One woman was sitting at the counter by herself. Cynthia headed there. Oh no, my dear, you can’t sit at the counter. The old woman was adamant. That’s reserved for alone people.

But I am alone, Cynthia sheepishly replied.

Alone? She seemed utterly shocked. None of God’s children are ever, ever alone! The old woman led her to the back of the restaurant, where huge windows gave full view to the outdoors. Sit here my dear. She pulled out a chair.

Cynthia obeyed.

Samantha’s food is good, child. Above all, God is good. The woman smiled and motioned to her to look out the window.

Outside, across the way, Cynthia immediately was awed by the sight of a beautiful green pasture, fenced in the front by white posts and by majestic mountain peaks in the back. The sun was brilliant, and the mountain peaks seemed as if they were trying to touch it. Horses, beautiful horses, were grazing in the pasture, but her eyes focused on one. It was pure white, larger and more majestic than the others. It raised its head and gazed straight back at her. Cynthia trembled. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt overwhelmed by a sense that somehow God had placed them there for her.

They are indeed for you, the old woman said. Cynthia didn’t think she had said anything out loud and was taken back. The woman smiled. He loves you, baby doll. To know Him is to know He loves you. He will always be with you.

Cynthia bowed her head, unable to stop tears from slipping down her face. By the time she regained some composure and looked up, the old woman was not in sight. Instead, a waitress was looking at her with a confused expression.

Are you ready to order? she asked a little gruffly.

Where is the elderly woman who was just here? asked Cynthia.

I didn’t see any elderly woman. Do you need a menu, or do you know what you want?

A menu, please, she replied. As the waitress left to retrieve a menu, Cynthia looked back at the horses and heard the Lord speaking to her soul. I love you Cynthia. I have always loved you. A spiritual experience is not to prove your worth. There is no need. I did everything at the cross.

Cynthia did indeed enjoy Samantha’s cooking, as the old woman had promised. It was delightful, but far more delightful was sensing the love of the Lord. She got back in the car with a smile on her face, and before she turned the ignition, she bowed her head and spoke out loud.

Lord, thank you for allowing me to hear your voice. Thank you, Lord, for showing me You do love me.

You idiot! screamed Sumana at Hermes. I told you to go into the restaurant with her. But no, nothing will happen, you said. All right, now to work we will go.

Chapter 3

WHAT’S THE PLAN? WHAT’S THE PLAN? UH, uh, what’s the plan? Hermes was beside himself. This was his fault, and there would be hell to pay if it didn’t get undone.

Shut up, Sumana said. Let her be quiet for a while, and then watch me work.

Cynthia started the car, feeling uplifted and blessed. She got back on Route 80, renewed by the experience at Samantha’s Grill. After a few more hours of driving, she decided the next sign to look for was one for a hotel. Maybe God will speak to me again, she said aloud with delight. It was quiet for a while in the car as she scanned billboards and road signs for a hotel.

Sumana leaned forward and began to work. So you think God spoke to you? And who are you?

Cynthia stirred, uncomfortable in her seat.

You are a failure, he said. You may get to heaven—if heaven is even real—but that’s about it for you. You have made so many wrong choices and have been so disobedient, so doubtful, so fearful all the time. You will never amount to anything. Really, what can you do? You’re coming to the end of things, and you’ve done nothing—nothing well; that’s for sure.

I am indeed a failure, Cynthia said out loud to her accusing thoughts, but God loves me.

Oh yeah? Where is God when you’re crying so desperately for him, and he doesn’t show up? You know why he doesn’t show up? You aggrieve him.

Cynthia’s spirit sank in despair.

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