Selah: Book 2 from the Series: the Trinity Promise

By Pamela J. Lantz

After Lila returns from a teaching assignment in Israel, she sets out to renovate her grandparents’ old farmstead into a camp for those with special needs and a respite for those who care for them.

Handyman Vinny along with Chaplain Si and his collection of juvenile delinquents pitch in to ready the farm for action. A trip to a neighboring farm to purchase a therapy dog acquaints Lila with two new friends and partners in the cause. Patty grows by leaps and bounds, barreling her way into everyone’s hearts and homes with her tonics, lotions, critters, and sayings. Lila and her family transform in a way never imagined as they follow Gramp’s lead into the heart of Jesus. As Selah’s Farm emerges from pain and promise, the girls once again answer a call and follow it back to Israel in order to assist Team OSCF in rescuing trafficked children.

Dr. Saige is back to her Holy Land excursions. Taking a cue from Lila’s grandfather, she seeks the names of Yeshua and travels to the Island of Patmos to discover Alpha and Omega. Tag along with Titi and Mr. Joey to the Sea of Galilee to learn about Jesus, the Teacher. Meet fisherman Thomas before climbing up the Mount of Beatitudes. Encounter Jesus as the Cornerstone, High Priest, Savior, and Bridegroom, to name a few. Witness Saige and Eden answer His invitation to intimacy and the Holy Spirit’s summons to journey to the ends of the earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664276215

Pamela J. Lantz

Pamela J. Lantz writes a short distance from the sandy shores of West Michigan. While attending Taylor University she met her husband and at present they happily share three married children and eight remarkable grandchildren. Pam delights in the whispers of her Lord. It is her sincerest hope that her readers will desire to know His voice as well.

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Copyright © 2022 Pamela J. Lantz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7622-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7623-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7621-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022915615

WestBow Press rev. date: 08/30/2022

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

For my dad

Thank you for leaving a

legacy of love.

For Selah

Your name says it all.

In Just Let Them Love You, the first installment of the series, The Trinity Promise, the reader embarks on a year-long discovery of the Holy Land to discover God in His many names. Lila travels to Israel to complete her teacher’s certification in special education at Chayah’s Children’s Home. While there, she enters an entirely different world from the one from which she came. A colorful host of new friends invite her to dig deep and discover God in a fresh and personal way.

From scooter rides to Mediterranean estates and moonlighting at a radio station to helping rescue trafficked children and hosting Chayah’s first Olympic games, Lila embraces her experiences and spiritual revelation. But the biggest discovery of all comes as a surprise to everyone, especially Lila. Her family’s history comes to full light with the disclosure that her grandparents had been victims of the Holocaust, a secret kept all their lives. Lila is of Jewish descent, a daughter of Israel.

After her grandmother’s passing, Lila inherits her portion of the Upstate New York farmstead in order to redeem time and right wrongs. Not really certain what that means but determined to give it a go, Lilah sets out with the help of family and many friends to transform the farm into a camp for those with special needs and a respite for those that care for them. Selah’s Farm emerges from pain and promise and from a whisper from the one who knows her best.

In Selah, this second book of the series, the reader reconnects with old friends while meeting a whole cast of new ones. Dr. Saige is back to her Holy Land excursions, this time taking a cue from Lila’s grandfather. Unpacking the names of Yeshua is her quest when she answers His invitation to intimacy—a worldwide proposal many have yet to accept.

Pamelajlantz.com

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Chapter

ONE

Sorry, Charlie, Patty had said as she’d banished the rooster from the hen house one Saturday afternoon. The name had stuck, along with a mournful, ever-present crow. The squeak in the kitchen’s screen door tickled Charlie’s inner ear, and once again, the rooster let out a rather loud cock-a-doodle-do as it announced the start of a brand-new day.

Patty had been getting up earlier and earlier, setting off for her old homestead before sunrise and then coming back to eat breakfast before the day’s work at the local veterinary office. This morning was no exception. The essence of fresh ground coffee still lingered in the air. Lila breathed in its earthy fragrance, rolled over to her side, and let it soothe her. Since their stay in Israel, Patty and Lila had both taken an exceptional liking to strong coffee, always freshly ground with a splash of Georgia’s milk.

Georgia, the farm’s new milk cow, had been Gram’s parting gift to Patty. Patty’s long-held desire was to have a milk cow onto which she could fasten a collar that had been fitted with a bell. Gram thought this was a silly notion, as the county was already amply supplied with straight-from-the-udder milk. However, upon Patty’s return from Israel and her two weeks spent with Mama Grace in Washington, DC, she was greeted with a milk cow sporting a loud-clanging copper bell.

Gram wanted you to have her, Patty, said Lila’s father, Henry, as he introduced the new addition to the farm. This particular cow had an amusing mop of white curly hair between its ears, bearing a striking resemblance to the portrait Patty had seen on her recent DC historical tour. So, in honor of America’s first president in the land of the free, Georgia Freedom received her name.

Lila threw off her bedcovers and slipped on her robe before shuffling down to the kitchen. The newly varnished floors were cool under her feet. The radio was playing softly, and Patty’s breakfast dishes were washed and neatly stacked in the dish drainer. The French press had been cleaned and prepared for its second brew of the day, the beans expertly ground and sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon.

Several loaves of bread were cooling on wooden racks. It’s amazing how much you can accomplish when you rise before the sun and the rooster’s crow, thought Lila. Patty had been baking numerous loaves of bread in her stone oven. The oven had been another surprise waiting for them on their return. Patty’s brilliantly marketed bread—How much good stuff can one stuff in a loaf of bread?—was flying off the farm stand’s shelves. Her merchandising strategy was blunt, honest, and effective. Her Saturday farm stand had grown so big and the customers so numerous that Lila’s mother, Frances, had suggested some changes might be in order.

I’ve been thinking about trying something new, Frances had said, adjusting her new reading glasses that she loathed wearing. Community shares, or CSAs, I believe they are called. It’s a selling of goods off the farm, a couple of pickles and a few squashes at a time.

CSAs had become the rage with all the city folks as they eagerly purchased shares from a local farm, benefiting both farmers and consumers. The family had decided to give it a go at the last minute, taking advantage of Lila’s computer skills and the family’s ability to grow everything delicious.

Lila had managed the farm’s website while finishing her internship in Israel. Stateside, Patty and Lila’s parents tended the soil and manned the stand. It was wildly successful—too much so, in fact, leaving them to turn away many disappointed urban dwellers. They simply were not equipped to transport all that was ordered.

Patty had added several different kinds of bread to the menu: organic rye, whole wheat, smelt, and sourdough. She had also added honey and sheep and goat milk products to the mix, creating an even longer waiting list.

Lila had so much to do. Selah’s Farm was soon to be inaugurated. Its simple beginning was emerging with an equally simple intent: to mingle rest with purpose. The farm was even named for memory and purpose: in memory of Lila’s year in Israel teaching in a school for children with special needs, and for the purpose of bringing rest and pause to those in need of it—parents, caregivers, and the champions who battle special needs in their own way every day.

Gram had willed her share of the farm, along with a well-preserved nest egg, to Lila. She had said it was for a purpose. She had said it was to redeem time. Lila wasn’t sure Gram had really known the full extent of what would transpire, just that it needed to do so. She wasn’t exactly sure what was to emerge, either, but she figured she would give the invitation a chance and was determined to enjoy its unfolding.

Mama Grace and her granddaughter would be coming in one week’s time to celebrate Selah’s Farm’s new beginning and to enjoy some much-needed refreshment. Grace, Lila, and Patty had become fast friends in Israel, bonding through birth nation and common cause.

Mama Grace, it turns out, had more than a passing fancy in Selah’s Farm. She had an aching need concerning her own granddaughter that she believed Lila and Patty could meet. Mama Grace was a force of nature, although you wouldn’t think so by looking at her. She was middle-aged and as slim as a willow reed, her cadence defined by a slight limp. Her large, round eyes were set wide above high cheekbones, and full lips framed a bright smile that stood out as a beacon against her dewy cocoa skin. Her neck and shoulders were slender. Her thick, braided hair perched in a lofty nest, making her look very much like the regal African royal Patty and Lila had come to see her as.

She looks like a queen from Sheba or someplace like that, Patty had remarked one day. All agreed, so that is who she became—their African queen who would champion an intimate cause she had come to know through pain and love.

Mama Grace’s youngest grandchild was a much-welcomed surprise, as her daughter, Margie Beth, had been told she would never have a child. The Lord has put a treasure within me, Margie Beth had said. Treasure became her name, Treassy her nickname. Treassy defied diagnoses—spectrum this or that. It didn’t matter. What did matter? Treassy was slipping away, and the doctors were at a loss to reach her. She was fading away, causing great stress, anxiety, and desperation for Mama Grace and Margie Beth.

Mama Grace had tremendous influence in governmental and medical circles. Her husband’s career and her humanitarian efforts throughout the world had garnered great respect, permitting access to doors of groundbreaking treatment otherwise locked shut. Yet, unfortunately, no amount of research, medicine, therapy, or lobbying had made any progress toward improving Treassy’s current state.

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Lila wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of coffee and took a deep whiff before walking out to the porch. The screen door squawked, sending the rooster into another fit of alarm. Lila clicked her tongue. Calm down, Charlie. It’s just me.

The tattered wicker settee had seen better days. It’s time for an upgrade to keep in step with the rest of the place, she thought. She sat down and settled in for a good read. Saige’s recent journal entries were tucked in her Bible, accompanied by a letter. Her Israeli host family kept in constant touch, and with the availability of video calls and the launch of New Jerusalem Network’s livestream, miles between them seemed to be shortened, which helped ease the longing.

Lila took a deep breath, scanned the horizon, and sighed. Late autumn is like buttered wax beans, she thought. Bright colors in the season’s opening blaze had been bleached, turning them veiny and transparent. Fluffy low-hanging clouds had been backlit by the sun’s horizontal rays. There were still several months before snow would dance in the fields, but winter’s save-the-date most certainly was in the mail. Lila could feel the change in the wind—change in more ways than weather.

Her return home from Israel had been met with the revealing of a long-held family secret. The letter her grandmother had left for her to read after her passing, along with the discovery of her grandfather’s journal, finally explained the reason for her grandparents’ ache that constantly pulsed just below the surface.

Lila’s grandparents had been childhood friends who had grown up in the same neighborhood. Their German upbringing had lasted only ten or so short years before the Nazi uprising had led to the deaths of Gram’s parents in a Jewish concentration camp. A passage to America had been booked for both children by Gramp’s mother, Lila’s great-grandmother. In wisdom and despair, she had put them on a boat, neither realizing that they would never return to Germany.

Gram had been shuffled between Gramps’ American relatives’ homes, while he had stayed put on the farm in upstate New York. A reunion in later years had brought the two back together, where love had blossomed, and the two had eventually married. They had set roots deep, and with Lila’s parents’ help, along with sweat, grit, and relentless determination, they had built a thriving farmstead.

Lila had inherited her grandparents’ share of the farm. Upon returning home from Israel, Lila and her childhood friend, Patty, moved into the farmhouse, conveniently neighboring her parents’ home on the same field of green. Transforming the property into a place of hope and rest for those with special needs had become the family’s shared dream. The construction of Selah’s Farm was well underway, although there was still a great deal of work left to be done to create a safe and barrier-free environment. Lila’s dad had begun tackling the most obvious projects first. Old structures needed to be brought up to code, and dangerous leans and swaying beams found their way to the woodpile with the help of a new godsend, handyman Vinny.

Henry had met Vinny in the most unlikely of places when a traffic ticket had taken him to the courthouse. At that same time, Vinny was getting his ankle monitor removed once and for all. One fateful evening some twenty years back, Vinny had spent too much time at one bar, resulting in years locked behind others. His wife was dead, and his son, Eli, had been taken away to be raised by others. His attempts to reconnect with his boy were continually rebuffed, as his son held onto his own pain.

This unexpected meeting brought about a timely blessing for the homestead. Vinny was a carpenter by trade and was hired on the spot to bring the much-needed changes that had been mapped out on the dining room table.

In spite of his losses in family and years, Vinny was one of the jolliest men Lila had ever met. A worn-out Bible from the Gideons and a crusty old saint led me to my Lord and Redeemer, he would proclaim to anyone that would listen—human or critter. He could be heard preaching a mile away; on ladders, roofs, and pickup trucks, songs and preaching would burst forth as the Spirit led.

Who is that man talking to? Frances would ask on a daily basis. Henry would patiently answer, To anyone who will listen, dear.

Patty had a secret love-hate relationship with Vinny. Love, because how could you not? Hate, because of her unfortunately overloaded olfactory senses. Her nose was like that of a bloodhound, Gramps had always said.

But strengths can also be weaknesses. Patty’s ability to smell at superhuman capacity and her blunt inability to tell a lie or even shade the truth was causing her problems again. It had become apparent to everyone that Vinny loved garlic sausage—the smellier the better. He also perspired. Constantly. His pores might as well be reservoirs for a sausage factory! Patty had exclaimed one day.

Vinny was so kind and dear that no one had the heart to say anything about it, not even Patty. Instead, she had taken up the practice of stuffing toilet tissue up her nose if Vinny happened to be upwind or in close proximity. Adding to Patty’s discomfort was the fact that Vinny cared for her so much. He called her honey, ’cuz she’s so sweet.

Patty had decided that she had to do something. As innovation is almost always birthed by necessity, another line of products emerged in Patty’s long list of farm-to-marketplace goods: an herbal, peppermint, cucumber, and parsley tonic. Good for whatever ails ya, Patty had said.

Its internal neutralizing and cleansing properties proved to be just the thing for dear Vinny. He could now enjoy his garlic sausage followed by a soothing glass of digestive calm. His fragrant pores rarely offended anymore; and if even a slight trace of odor was emitted, Patty would simply pass him a glass of tonic and he would gladly partake.

The minty-fresh Vinny had assembled a work crew over the lunch special at the Copper Kettle in only one afternoon. They had gladly divided the project list, and soon after, barrier-free concrete ramps and walkways were poured between the farm’s outbuildings. Older structures were repurposed into meeting spaces. Garages and corn cribs were transformed into cottages that sported gingham curtains. Wheelchair-accessible flower boxes lined the paths.

Eventually, the farm’s expansion had led to one of another kind. The Mayer family—Lila, Frances, and Henry—felt incomplete. Patty had always been kin to them. It was time to do something about it.

Frances and I have been talking about this for some time, Patty. You have always been family to us, dear. We would like to make it official, if that is your desire as well. Henry said and clumsily patted Patty on the shoulder. He had never been quite sure how to approach the little waif that had wormed her way onto the farm and into their hearts. Sometimes she seemed all sharp elbows and pointy knees. Other times, her intuitive tenderness made him melt.

As she contemplated the family’s proposal, Patty sat still, which was unusual for her. With pursed lips and a tapping of her toe, she had replied, I need to consult. I’ll let you know.

It was important to her that she go to the one dad who knew her best. She didn’t want Him to feel slighted. After all, it was her Heavenly Father who had claimed her first. But she knew the Good Book said He put the lonely in families. And if she was honest with herself and her Heavenly Father, a dad with skin on bones would be nice.

To make sure her newfound feelings were not leading her astray, she phoned Dr. Saige for some straight-talk advice.

Just let them love you, Dr. Saige wisely advised.

Patty agreed, and the years of rejection and loneliness she’d faced drifted away on a rainy afternoon in Judge Thompson’s private chambers. Patty’s farm merged with Lila’s family’s, and she was added to the Mayer trust as a joint beneficiary. For better or worse, Patty was now officially part of the family. All was well with their souls.

Chapter

TWO

A soft mewing from the corner of the porch drew Lila’s attention. Since Gram’s passing, critters had made their way more frequently through the doors of the house. Gram had been under the opinion that farm cats were never to be allowed indoors, as their purpose was to keep the outside varmints under control. But now, between Lila and Patty, an easing of farm rules had settled into a familiar practice of porch snuggles and fireplace warmings in the evening.

Puddles was stretching in the morning sun, still wearing the gray-striped fur coat she’d been rescued in. At first, Patty had thought she had been covered in mud. But after her bath, she had remained the same color as the puddle in which she had been found, leaving Patty to theorize she’d been born from the murky depth.

God made Adam from dirt, so why couldn’t He make kittens from puddles?

Patty had a point. Puddles had seemed to appear out of thin air, as no barn mamas had had any new litters.

Lila softly called to Puddles, Come here, little girl.

The dainty feline dragged her body along the porch railing for her morning massage. She rubbed her head back and forth against Lila’s robe, craning her neck up for a scratch. Then she hopped onto Lila’s lap, purring her contentment and kneading her way in for a second nap.

Lila gently shifted Puddles in order to pull the Bible from beneath her, and she opened it to her reading for the day. The questions she had been taught to ask by Saige had become a daily routine in her studies. She would sit and listen to the still, soft voice of the one who knew her best, as peace and comfort wrapped her like a shawl. This day, He spoke of change. Of pioneers and forerunners. Of forging jungles and streams and wide-open plains. He spoke of planters and tillers and laborers in hard places. Each day was sure to bring new blessings and challenges, but what excited her the most was His invitation to break new ground. The metaphorical shovel had been placed in her hand.

She sat serenely for a long while before opening the package Saige had sent from Israel. A note was fastened to Gramps’s journal translation with a paper clip. In addition, several pages stapled together consisted of excerpts from Saige’s journal, as well as an account of the recent Name of Yeshua trip. She slid the paper clip off, tucked it in her robe’s pocket, and began to read.

Dear Lila,

I have enclosed the first installment of your grandfather’s journal. It appears he began writing as a young man and penned his last entry in the year before he passed. It is a most beautiful love story, Lila. Your Gramps was determined to make Gram his bride. He was just as determined in his quest for God. I think you will be blessed.

I am still a bit shaken by what I have found in his journal. I am struck by the brilliant weaving of pursuits, purpose, and people. You see, your Gramps was led on a journey similar to mine. As my manuscript focused on the names of God the Father, his was focused on the names of God the Son. Jesus. A deep yearning to know the Savior coincided with a passionate pursuit of your grandmother. Your grandfather pursued his bride with a deep desire for her to know Yeshua as well.

As you know, I have decided to take his lead and shift my study to the names of Yeshua. I have taken my cue to begin this journey from the message your grandfather left on his dining room wall. I do believe this infinite God has given me an assignment that will never end! I am invigorated to follow His lead as He guides me deeper still. I have attached a loose translation of the first journal entry. Please allow for some translational license, as some ink has faded and is too difficult to read.

I have also included my journal entries from my first Name of Yeshua trip, as well as an accurate account of the day-by-day happenings from the journey. I want you to feel as if you are there with me! I think you will find it most fascinating. Many thanks to Joshua, Jill, and Ben, who accompanied me on my discovering Yeshua, who calls Himself Alpha. I believe you will enjoy our journey to the Greek island of Patmos. I am still musing about the soil where Alpha and Omega were first introduced. I am quite certain that I have yet to perceive all I need to of Alpha’s soil, and I sense a return journey might be in my future.

Give my love to your family and to our dear Patty. I am so looking forward to their visit when you come to my wedding. Bless you, daughter of Israel!

Yours truly,

Saige

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The past was meeting the future once again. Lila unfolded the page that held the first rendering from Gramps’s journal. Her hands were shaking with bits of anxiety and lingering regret. That her beloved grandparents’ voices could only be heard now through paper and pen was sad to her. She longed to speak to them just one more time.

Lila looked up, wiped a tear from her eye, and gave Puddles a scratch behind the ears. The rising sun was warming the porch nicely, confirming the weatherman’s prediction of an Indian summer. Gram’s rose garden was still in various states of bloom. Several of the hardiest roses still championed on. Rose hips clustered on the others as if waiting for their snip and entrance into Patty’s growing array of tonics. A crisp breeze rustled the papers in Lila’s hands. She sat up straight, smoothed out the pages, and tried not to feel awkward in reading her grandfather’s secret thoughts.

September 1947

I saw Zora today. It was our first football game of the season that took place over the county line. She was sitting in the second row on the end. I recognized her right away, as I had seen her just a month before at the county fair. Before that, it had been a long time.

I waved to her, but she didn’t wave back. She acted shy, almost seemingly embarrassed to know me. Unc said it was because I had grown so much and she didn’t know how to handle the change. I don’t think that was the reason. She had grown into a real beauty, he said. I had to agree. Maybe she will be at the dance next week.

I made it into the sports section of the newspaper again. They say I’m in line to be regional player of the year. Unc thinks it’s great. Aunt Berta says I don’t need to prove anything. She is wrong. I have everything to prove.

September 1947

Another win. We are heading for regional championships, just a few more games to go. The tri-county dance was tonight. Aunt Berta pressed my shirt. She said I could use a sprucing up. She cut my hair and Unc told me to splash on some Old Spice. I shined my battered truck up as best I could. Zora was there. I saw her standing with her friends, and this time she waved back. She wore a nice blue dress, and her long, curly hair was tied in a matching ribbon. She looked very pretty. I had fun dancing with my group of friends, but I really wanted to spend some time with Zora. Just to see how she was getting on.

I saw her walk to the punch bowl, so I excused myself and told my friends I was getting a drink. I didn’t really feel like explaining to them how I knew a girl from another school. For the most part, my past is kept behind me. Our escape from Germany and the close brush with the Nazis was a chapter in my life best left closed. I reckon Zora feels that way too, as she barely spoke to me. She did give me her phone number when I asked, but I didn’t get much further than that. Aunt Berta says it’s time I figure out who I am and what my purpose is. I asked her how she figured I should do that. She said to just start at the beginning.

October 1947

Went to the youth rally. Billy Graham is calling youth to Christ. We read some of his books and watched his crusade. Got me thinking. Have I been called to Christ? What does that mean, anyway? Aunt Berta said to start at the beginning, so that’s what I intend to do. The letter A is a fine place to start, I suppose. A for Alpha.

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Lila took a sip of coffee and spit it back in her cup. Yuck. Lukewarm coffee, Puddles. She set down her cup and tucked Gramps’s journal translation back in the envelope. Old Spice, Gramps? When did you switch to Stetson Cologne?

Lila relaxed, relieved the journal entry was more factual than intimate.

Georgia’s bell clanged loudly. Large clumps of grass hung out of either side of her mouth as she sauntered through the pasture while casting an occasional glance toward the porch. Lila looked back and smiled.

You seem to be very content in your new home, Georgia. Peacefully settling in. Georgia flicked her tail and moseyed her way over toward the barn.

Lila tucked Saige’s note and Gramps’s journal entry inside her Bible and set the accompanying stapled bundle of papers on