Parts of the Whole

By Darrell Paul Davis

Follow the life of a young man through the loss of his father, his formative years guided by a Godly mentor, and on through the many relationships which developed as he began a ministry to the indigenous people of Southwest Alaska. Cliff and those about him encounter life at its best and worst as they live life surrounded by the world, its trials and, yes, its blessings. During the course of Parts of the Whole, there is no attempt made to sanitize events and people, serving them up like plastic-wrapped offerings in a store's refrigeration case; rather, they are taken as found""good or bad. But through the entire work, each person is given the opportunity to fail or excel""a personal choice for each. To fail with all the negative ramifications of such choices or to excel living out Christ-directed paths and each fulfilling their place as Parts of the Whole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098015978

Book preview

Chapter 1

Young Clifford Hastings III made a smooth shift into second gear as the truck began to show the effects of the softening road. There was plenty of usable horsepower in the big engine, but there was no need to stress the truck in a situation like this. After all, it would probably need to last him a long time considering his present income. Cliff knew almost every bolt and nut in the old Ford, having finished a complete rebuild on the truck shortly before he quit working for his longtime friend and mentor, John Anderson. John was the owner of the last locally owned service and repair shop in the small North Idaho town he still called home and was almost like a father to the young missionary.

Spending most of every summer and holiday vacation working for John Anderson had not only taught him much about the mechanics trade, but was also how he had paid for most of his Bible School education. In fact, it was to a large extent, due to John’s life and daily example, that he’d chosen to become involved in mission work and now found himself headed inland from the Alaskan coast.

It was his fourth trip over this part of the coastal range, and he was making it with the expectation that this drive would be a regular part of his work for the foreseeable future. Cliff still found it difficult to keep his attention focused on the wide logging road and was thankful it was not as rough and narrow, not to mention dangerous, as the old mountain roads he’d frequented in years past. Growing up where the mountains never seemed to end and wild animals were more common than people had not even begun to prepare him for the vastness of the sea and forest presently surrounding him.

The majesty and grandness of these mountains spreading out before him was like nothing he’d ever imagined, as they seemed to urge him to abandon the road for the almost endless promise they extended! The quality and quantity of water made Cliff ache for the chance to unpack the few pieces of fishing gear he’d made room for on the trip north. He especially wanted to feel the delicate life which seemed to be encased in one of the two parting gifts John Anderson had given him. However, the gift, presented on his last day of work at Anderson Motors, would just have to wait in spite of his pressing desire.

John had shared and nurtured Cliff’s love for the outdoors and the creatures which lived there and had occupied many camps with the young man over the last seven or eight years. He had also watched Cliff make his first awkward casts with a fly rod the summer his father, Clifford Hastings Jr., had been killed.

Cliff had turned fifteen just days before his dad’s death—a death caused when Clifford attempted to avoid a stalled car with his heavily loaded logging truck. After the accident, it was as though Cliff’s life instantly lost all purpose and direction—lost to such a degree that he seemed unable to regain his sense of balance. Even when his mother made every possible effort and sacrifice to provide for him and his two sisters, the loss of his father had left the teenage boy alone and adrift.

John had known the Hastings family almost from the day they moved to the small northwestern town and had stepped in just in time with a love and firmness which met the needs of the struggling boy. Willing to continue the relationship, even at the expense of his own pleasure and, at times, his personal needs, John helped Cliff gain the firm foundation from which he grew into young adulthood.

Cliff knew that the hand-built fly rod, still packed away with his things at the boarding house, was a gift of special meaning from the older man. He also knew it had cost all of, and maybe more than, a week’s profit at the garage. More than a gift, it was also one of those long held and personal dreams which, for John, just never seemed to come true. Cliff knew his mentor’s priorities didn’t match up with many of the people he’d come to know, and this gift meant John would spend another fishing season with his old scarred veteran of many outings.

Cliff struggled even as he drove with many emotions which thoughts of the kindly man brought to mind. The man had been so much like a father, and he must have sacrificed a great deal of personal comfort to see him into manhood. He was fully aware of how many of the values he now claimed for his own had been guided by the love and prayers of John Anderson. Even here on this mountain road, he found himself praising God for what he had learned from the man and for the peace of mind and strength that John had helped him find through the power of a personal Savior.

The tiny blossoms of early flowers caught his attention as he gained the pass and started down the narrow two track into the valley holding his current destination. It was evident, even at this elevation, that spring was in the air! The snow which, even three weeks ago, had been almost uniform in its whiteness along this mountain road, was being reduced to a checkerboard pattern everywhere except in the scattered pockets of heavy timber and the shaded north slopes.

Not more than four hundred yards before gaining the pass, Cliff noticed fresh evidence that a few of the larger animals were beginning to return to these higher elevations. They were beginning to move again into their spring and summer ranges following, as always, the receding snow and the new growth of vegetation.

The moose, sometimes referred to as twig eaters, seemed to be the last large animal to ever be pushed out of an area due to winter conditions and the first to return. He could picture John Anderson even now, as John had explained that this was due in a large part to their size and the difference in their forage needs. The deer would return later, but at least there were sure signs welcoming the return of spring.

Cliff expected that his North Idaho upbringing would be adequate to prepare him for the conditions he was to face here. That, however, had not been the case, as the almost constant rain on the coast and the sheer volume of heavy wet snow found in these higher elevations added a new dimension to his understanding of winter.

It seemed that in this more northern latitude, civilization had, as yet, not succeeded in destroying the remote areas which held such great importance in the lives of the plants and animals found there. Inhabitants of the small village he was about to enter lived a lifestyle far simpler and, for the most part, more in tune with nature than any other people Cliff had previously known and lived with. Yes, he’d already had to deal with some cultural and weather differences, but he hoped the worst of the transition was now over.

Although the Native American inhabitants who made up a large part of the area’s population used the generous bounty of both forest and stream, there was little of the bounty that was ever wasted or taken to excess by the present generation. He realized that, even here, it had probably not always been that way. There were stories of times and places when the natives of North America, like the white man invading their land, had killed with wanton abandon, with little or no thought for anything but the needs or profits of the moment but, even then, never had it been carried on to the sad conclusion which seemed to be part of the white man’s way!

Change, in the normal course of things, comes slowly, but over time, change had occurred, possibly because of the fact that few, if any, of the people still lived the nomadic lifestyle followed by generation after generation of their ancestors. Therefore, it followed that because of a continuing dependence on the limited resources of a smaller area, the stewardship of the land and resources had also increased.

Cliff realized within days of his arrival that the locals moved at a much slower pace than he was accustomed to. But even with such a realization, change still came far more slowly among these native people than the young missionary could have dreamed possible. That they were reluctant to reach out for the hope of salvation amazed him! Was there some explanation why efforts to bring the message of Christ and His plan of salvation had proved so fruitless during previous attempts? Although he had met with no open resistance from the people, it was almost like he didn’t even exist! His efforts were, in most cases, met with silence.

On this trip to the village, he staked his hopes on one of the leaders of the local tribe—a man by the name of Jim Snowwalker. Snowwalker had been absent on Cliff’s previous visits, but he had quickly grown accustomed to finding the men gone when he visited native homes. He’d assumed that Jim, like some of the others, was spending his winters seeking a harvest of furs—a resource which still helped provide for the needs of a number of native families.

Cliff had recently received information from John Anderson that Jim Snowwalker had been educated at one of the larger west coast universities. It seemed this man had simply dropped from sight a few years after graduation, apparently leaving behind a lucrative business in the rapidly expanding field of computer program design and development—a business rumored to be worth millions, with gross revenues already exceeding fifty million annually!

The information had come to John when an out-of-state hunter, befriended several years earlier, had stopped at John’s shop shortly after Cliff headed north. He told John that he had roomed with the Native American during his college days and had even worked with him on a summer internship at one of the startup computer manufactures on the west coast. When the visitor found Cliff gone and learned where he was headed, it opened up the conversation into an unexpected area. Now, by way of John’s correspondence, Cliff had information he hoped would provide a key to breaking down the resistance he was finding to be typical of the native people.

In fact, he was sure he’d found the opening he needed. If indeed, as it now seemed likely, these two men were one in the same, then Snowwalker was well educated. If he had spent time in the lower forty-eight, Snowwalker would be able to understand just how hard Cliff was trying to help these native people. How could someone so well educated not understand that accepting Christ as their Savior was the most exciting and important thing they could ever do?

On a previous trip to the mountain village, Cliff had made the acquaintance of a lonely old miner. Starved for companionship, the weathered and crippled old man quickly filled the newcomer in on the local inhabitants, including Snowwalker. Eager to talk to anyone with time for coffee and ready to listen, the colorful village resident had supplied directions to the Snowwalker dwelling, along with a dialog about the little he knew of Jim’s comings and goings. The small unpainted house would be almost impossible at first glance to distinguish from the other dwellings except for the antenna mounted to a tall pole behind the house. It took Cliff a few moments, as he slowly approached the house, to understand what the difference was from the other homes he had visited in this valley.

The outside of the structure had weathered to a soft and uniform gray, matching every other house in the little valley. The roof was steep and metal covered—typical of those found in areas of heavy snowfall. There was evidence wood was being used for heating and most likely cooking—again, typical for the area. Then it came to him—neatness, little or no clutter lying about. The house, although weathered, was otherwise in an excellent state of repair. It was clearly evident that the inhabitants relied on the land for at least some of their existence. Yet the few visible possessions had a sense of place and purpose about them.

The door slowly opened in response to his knock. A small girl clung to the dress of the young Indian woman holding the door partially open. With no change in expression, she quietly listened as Cliff introduced himself and expressed his desire to speak to Jim Snowwalker. Without a sound, the door opened to its full width, and the powerful form of a man took the place of the woman and her daughter. After the slight and slender form of the woman, it seemed this new figure entirely filled the opening. Appearing to be in his early thirties, the man quietly stood before Cliff meeting his gaze with dark, seemingly fathomless eyes.

Although Cliff stood just over six-foot-two and easily carried well over two hundred pounds on his solid frame, there was something about the man before him which would dwarf most men regardless of their size. The feeling came not from size alone or any gesture or expression on the part of Jim Snowwalker but, rather, from something deep and unexplainable.

Wisdom of the visit suddenly in question, Cliff briefly hesitated before again introducing himself. Unprepared for the insurmountable wall of silence that he met, the two men stood silently facing each other. Minute passed into minutes until the missionary felt he must try once more to communicate. At a loss for other words to explain his presence in the village, he finally tried to explain his work with the Native American mission and his desire to speak here in Lone Tree.

Snowwalker neither moved nor replied as Cliff haltingly brought his short speech to a close. What could possibly be the problem? If, as he was lead to believe, this was the Jim Snowwalker who had traveled to the lower forty-eight and attended a prestigious university, language could not be the problem. He had hoped and prayed this would be the opening he needed, but now? He had even begun to form plans of how he could use Jim’s help and influence with the native people in the area and how he could set up a preaching point and start to hold regular services. People coming to Christ seemed just a step away! A meeting place in the village would soon be needed. The power of changed lives would soon spread throughout the area!

More silence! Finally, with nothing more to be said, Cliff slowly turned away from the silent unmoving form. He had taken no more than a half-dozen steps when he was stopped in mid-stride. Clearly spoken, the words cut through the silence like a finely honed knife! We do not need your white God! You are wasting your time here! Do not return!

Before he could again turn toward Snowwalker, the door closed with a finality which left no question as to the resolute intent of the words. Shocked, the young missionary began to question the sudden turn of events! Why God? I know your call is to bring your word to these people. What has brought on such a response? Why wouldn’t Snowwalker accept my willingness to help his people?

Chapter 2

The truck almost seemed to find its own way out of the mountain valley that day as Cliff, reeling from Snowwalker’s rebuke, grieved silently. Unaware of the passage of time, the drive was almost at an end before he found himself driving slowly past the mill located a mile or so from the small town he was beginning to think of as home.

With heart sick and mind deeply troubled over what he had experienced in the mountain village, Cliff was unable to understand the total and seemingly final rejection of the message he’d been so eager to share. Caught unaware, the rebuke was unlike any experience he could recall from his limited experience. He couldn’t even recall anyone even telling of such a situation! What, the young man thought to himself, can Jim Snowwalker have against me that he would so completely refuse my help?

His relatively short life and schooling had not prepared him for the pain which now threatened to consume him. It was as though his total being—his very soul—was an open wound, with life itself pouring forth and draining away. As he continued to think of the rejection, the pit of despair and helplessness opened ever wider and deeper before him, as though some force was working to pull him closer—perilously closer to the edge!

Suddenly, he felt like the very foundations of his call were being shaken. What was he here for? What was life all about anyway? What possible difference could he, just one person, make? What he’d felt to be a clear, indisputable and personal relationship with a living God, now seemed far removed from the deep pain and rejection bearing down on him! Was there really even a God? Wouldn’t a loving God have stepped in to stop, or at least soften, the words of Jim Snowwalker?

He’d been here long enough to hopefully see some results. No wonder his predecessors had left! he thought. "These people were impossible! The small church in this town couldn’t even keep a pastor! There was barely a handful of people who even bothered to attend services. Was it possible that this area was so backward, so consumed in darkness, that they were beyond even God’s reach?

Maybe it was time to leave—cut his losses and get out while he could. Nice try, Cliff! Way to go! You’re really doing the Lord’s work—building the Kingdom and all that. Yes sir, he was one grand warrior for God! Go ye! Yes indeed; he was doing it up in grand fashion—winning souls for the kingdom at every turn!

He parked his pickup in its accustomed spot behind the large old house—the warm and hospitable home where he’d roomed since arriving in Stony River. Now, he only wanted to gain the sanctuary of his room before talking to anyone, especially Maude. Quietly closing the heavy door of the truck, he headed for the back porch, hoping the screen door hinge that had taken to squeaking wouldn’t give him away.

He was in luck! Maybe Al had found time to oil the offending hinge. Moving across the large porch, he quietly entered the kitchen where he was met by the warm sweet smell of rising bread. Why did it have to be so much like home here? He didn’t need to be reminded of such things at a time like this. Softly, closing the door to his room just off the kitchen, he was again overcome by the events of the day and the pressures still building within. He had failed God! If there was a God, he’d failed Him!

Falling to his knees beside the bed, he began to pour out his burdens of hurt, bewilderment, weakness, his home sickness, and feelings of inadequacy! The question of his calling—a calling to the ministry—a calling he’d failed was a weight heavier than he could possibly carry! He longed for the council of family, friends, his pastors, and teachers. They had always been ready with guiding prayers, words of Scripture, and wisdom they’d gained from trials already prayed and worked through in their own lives.

As the flood of feelings slowed, Cliff began to realize that this was the first time in weeks he had poured himself out in prayer to his Heavenly Father. His prayer and study periods had become almost routine—just something that should be done as a Christian’s responsibility. They had fallen from the close communion with friend and Father he’d known in the past. How could that possibly have happened? Cliff was really struggling within himself! Had he not been about the Father’s business?

Spending his days working in the small community church, struggling as usual without needed leadership, traveling regularly to the outlying villages, laying plans for the start of a summer ministries program geared to the youth and families of the area—weren’t these areas each worthy of work and ministry? Even as each seemed to require far more time than he had available. What am I to do now?

He opened his Bible to a list of Scripture references accumulated since his mother had given the book to him as a gift. It had been the evening of his high school graduation when he received the leather-bound volume, and then watched as John Anderson began the list of references with Matthew 6:33. Beginning that night, the Bible had been his daily companion, while the list of verses holding special meaning for him had grown to fill several pages.

The verse which seemed to stand out at this moment was that very first entry—Matthew 6:33. There was no need to look up the verse. In fact, it was doubtful he could ever forget those words. But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added unto you. That one verse, always taken in context with the accompanying verses, had been like a guiding light. They had helped show him just how much God really cared for His creation and how very important His children were to Him.

How could he have lost his perspective? He’d been doing good—doing good works—yes, but for what reason? Had he really been seeking God’s Kingdom first, or had the efforts of the past months been mostly his own works—Cliff’s plans and Cliff’s goals for building ‘God’s Kingdom?

The young man suddenly knew his perspective had become clouded—clouded by the burden he had created and was now trying to carry with his own strength. He’d been called to this field, to be part of God’s plan and program, and somehow he’d reversed the roll. With a clear awareness came conviction—conviction because of the knowledge he’d been trying to operate outside the realm of human ability. This failure—his failure—brought him at once to the Father, ready and willing to confess his failure and recommit himself to God’s guidance!

Again, he realized his need and his failure to remain steadfast in prayer and study of the Word. As he prayed, the Scripture study to show yourself approved flashed through his mind and, with it, the knowledge it had been months since he had taken the time to commit any new Scriptures to memory. There were just so many things to be done, and time seemed to pass so quickly!

Things! He had been warned about good things and the devil’s ability to conceal his workings under the cloak of good. He realized that he’d never before been so taken in. He continued to pour out his heart, and as he did so, he began to feel a sense of calmness—calmness and peace—something he only found when the lines of communication were open and everything was in place with the Father. Assurance finally came that the call to work in this location and with these people was still valid. God hadn’t changed His mind, and Cliff again clearly knew the things that had pointed him in this direction hadn’t been part of his misguided imagination.

Raising his head, he focused on his bedside clock, surprised to find that several hours had gone by since he’d entered this quiet sanctuary. The old windup alarm clock told him that just enough time remained before supper for a walk to the post office providing, of course, he didn’t waste any time along the way. Picking up his jacket, he entered the kitchen where Mrs. Clark was busy with what would undoubtedly be another one of her fine meals. Maude was a rotund sixty-ish lady who ran her home with motherly care and efficiency and asked little more from her boarders than what seemed to be her just due—the rent on time, keeping the noise and clutter to a minimum, and not being late for meals.

Watching Cliff move toward the door, she spoke with typical concern. I’ve been seein’ your truck out back all afternoon but no sign of you except for your door being shut. You doin’ OK? You’re not ailin’ on me are you?

Assuring her that he was doing very well indeed, and he’d just had some things to catch up on, Cliff declared his intent to walk to the post office.

Just as he reached for the door, Maude prompted him in her typical loving way. Don’t take long now. The roast is almost done, and there’ll be cherry pie comin’ out in less than thirty minutes.

He needed little more urging; even if cherry pie wasn’t his favorite, Maude made pies as close to those he had grown up on as any he’d ever tasted. His mother took a backseat to no one in the kitchen—having a scrapbook full of awards and a window full of trophies to prove it! But Maude would give her a run for her money! Maude liked to serve her pies warm—always planning to have them out of the oven just as everyone sat down for the meal. She discovered years ago that such timing allowed just enough time for the filling to set yet assured warm freshness which made one avoid being late more than once.

Walking with determination and a lightness of step and spirit, the distance to the post office rapidly melted away. Turning the corner into the final block before his destination, Cliff met Alfred Clark making his way home from the commercial fishing supply business he and Maude had owned and operated it for most of the thirty years they’d lived in Stony River. Starting with little more than could be contained in a small shed, the business grew through the intervening years until it now provided enough income to allow some limited investments. Savin’ for my rockin’ chair years, Al commented one day when the subject of retirement was broached. However, anyone knowing Alfred Clark was hard-pressed to think of him passing much time in any manner even slightly resembling the use of a rocking chair.

About the only time Al didn’t seem to be busy with one of his varied activities was the time he liked to spend with Maude during the evenings, and even then, chances were almost a hundred percent you’d find him helping her clean up in the kitchen while they discussed whatever seemed to be of importance at the moment.

Times hadn’t always been this easy for them, even though Al had been an experienced commercial fisherman before they got married. He had even earned his way to full ownership of a fishing boat by that time. But his gravy days, as Al called them, had ended soon after the marriage. On a bitterly cold and stormy day almost thirty-five years before, he and his crew of five had been caught by a major front which brought on snow and icing conditions so quickly that it turned a normal trip into a life-threatening nightmare. It was not then, and never had been since the advent of modern commercial fishing equipment, unusual to fish in stormy weather. However, the one weak link had been unreliable communications. The radios of the pre-transistor days were large and bulky and, many times, prone to failure. He could leave the dock with everything in proper order only to have a radio tube fail or the pounding motions of the boat shake something loose an hour later. On that day the rapid drop in barometric readings pointed to anything but safe conditions. Alone and frightened, miles from home, they were suddenly faced with severe weather extremes—severe even for those latitudes!

As it turned out, Al had been badly injured in a freak accident—a fall caused by ice buildup on above-deck surfaces and equipment. When questioned, he later admitted he and the crew had been fortunate to survive the conditions they were faced with during the next thirty-six hours. Although three of the crew members suffered some degree of injury such as frostbite and bruises, only those received by the boat’s captain had been serious enough to compound the emergency situation they’d all faced.

The crew, considering their limited training and medical supplies, had done everything possible for their injured skipper. But despite their efforts, Al had been unconscious from blood loss for a couple of hours before finally reaching the hospital. Internal injuries—the cause of the hemorrhaging—required emergency surgery before his condition was stabilized. According to Maude, every day was nip-and-tuck, and for the first week there proved to be more questions than answers when it came to the subject of Al’s survival. There had even been some discussion about flying him to a bigger hospital, but none of the medical personal gave much hope he’d survive the stress of the transfer.

Al had sustained a badly broken leg in the accident, which was complicated by the delay in reaching medical care. The delay had so increased the amount of swelling present that more than a week had passed before the multiple breaks could be set. Additional surgery had been required to correct damage to his right kidney during the two months of hospitalization which followed, and Al was left with a limp which, even now, grew pronounced by day’s end.

He and Maude had come through some tough times, but they’d managed to raise their two children to adulthood and even helped with some of the college expenses after they finished high school. Al had always taken a positive approach to life, even after the accident, and now that attitude added greatly to the warmth and comfort of the home he and Maude shared with their boarders. His smile was bright and quick when he saw Cliff round the corner just ahead of him. Their short passing exchange ended with Al’s friendly reminder. It’s almost eatin’ time! Better hurry along! We sure don’t want to keep Maudie a-waitin’!

Cliff’s small mailbox was stuffed to capacity mostly with what he called no class bulk mailings, all of which immediately found their way into the appropriately placed garbage can. However, he struck pay dirt as he sorted through the pile, finding three letters which quickly went into the pocket of his well-used jacket. There would be no time for reading them on the walk home today, but a quick glance told him he had something to look forward to after dinner. One prize had the welcomed look of a letter from home while the others bore the return addresses of John Anderson and ANM.

He had been expecting word from American Native Ministries for several weeks, hopefully with information about someone able to help with planning the proposed summer program to the native youth and families of the area. As yet, he hadn’t heard just what direction the needed help would take, but it had been brought home to him that day that he did need help and needed it badly! Plainly, there was just a lot he didn’t understand when it came to reaching out to these people! Before he had come north the previous year, there had been some talk about assigning a short-term missionary to the area during the summer, but as yet, there had been no names mentioned. Cliff silently breathed a prayer committing another aspect of work to his Heavenly Father.

He returned to the Clark’s just as Maude finished setting the table and began to put the meal on. I declare, she chided him as he stopped at the washroom sink. You’d think I had nothin’ better to do than just wait on a house full of you men—you comin’ in at the last minute and all! Now get those hands clean and call the rest of the men. For lands sakes! You must all think this food will stay hot all night! Now don’t leave any dirt on the towel, you hear?

Chuckling to himself, Cliff finished at the sink, passed quickly through the kitchen and on to the front room of the large two-story house where Al and his fellow boarders, Andy Collins and Joe Burtram, were discussing the news of the day. From the news coming from the lower forty-eight, it seemed that the country, as a whole, was going through a period that lacked any semblance of stable leadership. However, the call to dinner was met with smiles and immediate action, with everyone quickly gathering to their accustomed places at the large table.

Al and Maude laid no claims to being real religious, but Al made it a habit to always say grace before a meal in his formal sort of way. Figurin’ it couldn’t hurt to keep the tradition alive, especially now that they had a preacher at the table! The only times they had attended services for years were the weddings or funerals of friends—friends—including almost everyone in the area. They had, according to Maude, even dropped what they called their C and E membership years ago. In fact, the last time they had attended a Christmas or Easter service was to watch their kids speak a part in one of the special Sunday school programs.

The couple was aware of the reasons Cliff had come to the area but showed little reaction to his efforts one way or the other. Al had opened the subject of religion a number of times during the time Cliff had been with them but was of the opinion that a little went a long ways, and it was real easy to go overboard if you weren’t careful. He always dodged Cliff’s efforts to bring up the subject of a Savior and a personal relationship with Christ by saying something about knowing lots of people who were just as good as those church people. Commenting that he thought there were lots of ways to worship without spending all that time and money in some church, he always closed the subject as quickly as he’d opened it.

During the meal time of this early spring evening, as usual, characterized by the universal enjoyment of good food and humor, Andy told the others of his continued plans for mineral exploration. Speaking of his intended move inland for the summer months, he gave a short sketch of the new responsibilities he was to assume in the project. Working for a large corporation based in Texas, he and his crew were about to open the second year of exploration in an area leased to the company by the federal government. Andy had spent the past winter testing surface samples gathered during the previous summer’s field explorations. His new efforts would be directed toward the further gathering of samples and assessing the desirability of bringing in equipment for taking core samples in the more promising locations.

The conversation switched to a lighter vein when Andy announced his intentions to go for a second piece of cherry pie. Don’t expect much of that kind of cooking to come out of the field kitchen, he said with a laugh while giving Maude a fond smile.

There was seldom an overly long break in good-natured banter around Maude’s table, and that day was no exception as Joe began making comments about the obvious weight Andy had gained through the winter. Good thing Andy will be on short rations for the summer, Joe continued. Otherwise, he’d need to ask for a raise just to buy bigger pants.

With everyone joining in the laughter that followed, they began clearing the table while Joe and Andy continued to toss good-humored comments back and forth. Joe came in for his fair share of ribbing about his slender build and the fact that his very existence in the house was an insult to the quality of Maude’s cooking. Claiming a position of neutrality, in spite of Joe and Andy encouraging him to join their cause, Cliff soon excused himself and headed for his room and the letters awaiting him there.

***

Cliff retrieved his jacket from the wall hook where he’d tossed it on the way to the dinner table, removing the unopened letters from the pocket. Entering his room, he hung the garment in its place behind the door and then sat down at his small desk and began immediately to open the letter from his mother.

Cathy Hastings had always been regular in her writing, even when her children were only away from home for a short time. One of her missions seemed to be maintaining the lines of communication within the family, and for that reason, Cliff was never long in hearing of the events concerning the lives of his family and friends.

He always enjoyed and appreciated her letters, even when they contained nothing more than a recounting of the ordinary activities making up her days. Glancing at the postmark, he had a twinge of conscience as he realized he still owed his mother a reply to her last two letters. It seemed he was always behind in that area, finding it hard to take the time for letter writing, even letters as important as those to his own mother. Well, this time, it would just have to be a priority. He felt again a deep thankfulness as he thought back to his heritage of Godly parents and how they’d taught him about the love of Christ, beginning with his earliest days of understanding. In fact, the manner in which they carried out their everyday activities had been living proof of their words and, therefore, possibly of more importance to the young family than anything they might have said.

Chapter 3

The story of Cliff’s parents’ backgrounds was a remarkable one—one which Cliff thoroughly enjoyed reminiscing about during his treasured moments of leisure. Cathy Ashcraft had married Cliff’s father soon after she finished high school, doing so in spite of the fierce objections of Cliff’s grandfather, Clifford Hastings Sr. Cathy, the older man reasoned, was at the core of the changes he’d recently witnessed in his eldest son and, therefore, to blame for the collapse of dreams he held for his namesake.

The quiet young lady and the man who would become her husband met during Cathy’s sophomore year of high school. At the time, Clifford Hastings Jr., the big man on campus, was a high school senior soon to be headed for the State University. Clifford, already armed with prospects for a bright future, had laid plans to study corporate law, and it was not long before he, in typical Hastings fashion, was extending his plans to include the attractive and desirable young woman. With her looks, she would be the frosting on his grand list of future accomplishments. With his money and intelligence and her beauty, there would be no door which would remain closed to them. The only fly in the ointment, as far as Clifford had been concerned, was the importance she put on what she called her church family.

It was apparent almost from the first that this girl was different, yet different in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But there was a marked contrast between Cathy and the numerous other girls he’d dated during his high school years. Whatever the difference was, it continued to draw his attention to the young woman. But was it necessary for her to spend multiple hours of every week involved with church, he wondered.

Dates, like money, had never been a problem for him, and he knew it was a rare girl anywhere in the surrounding area who was ready to shun his advances. Maybe that was one of the attractions to Cathy. She hadn’t jumped at the chance to date him. A fact quickly made very clear to him, as Cathy had quietly gone out of her way to avoid contact with the son of the area’s largest and richest landholder.

It had taken Clifford more than a little time and effort just to arrange an introduction and several more weeks before Cathy even consented to their casual first date. Shockingly, to the popular youth, he found his importance of family and finances produced little of the expected positive effect on the new object of his attention. He was even more surprised when he found she couldn’t be bought—at least not with any of his usual forms of exchange. Well, everyone has their price, he thought to himself. I’ll just need to find what hers is.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a relationship began to develop, even though Cathy maintained it within clearly defined limits—limits until then unknown in this young man’s life. Yet he felt compelled to go to lengths never before required to foster the goodwill of this particular young lady. Clifford Hastings Jr. was unusually and strangely at the fringes of his highly active social group through most of his final year of high school, waiting until he began to make final plans and preparations for his first term at the university before he succumbed to the frequent prodding of his friends. She’s just playing you along was a typical comment. You’re wasting your time, Hastings. Find somebody with a life! There’s plenty of girls out there. Make her put up or shut up!

With the unusual and continuing feeling that here was someone special, he finally declared they would be engaged before he left for college. However, typical of Cathy, she quietly stated they really needed more time before they could make such an important decision. Time to more fully understand each other; time to clearly realize and accept the changes their marriage would require. She just couldn’t make such a great, far-reaching commitment at this time.

For his part, Clifford’s Hastings Sr. couldn’t understand his son’s continued infatuation. From his perspective, Cathy really didn’t measure up to the expected family and social standards, even if she was young and her present idealism somewhat understandable. Would a couple more years make the difference his son expected? He certainly hoped so, as Clifford seemed to have his mind made up. Either way, she would need to come to the place where she understood the importance of the Hastings name, along with the importance of their priorities. He would personally see to that, if it became necessary.

Knowing they’d be obligated to give her all the many advantages implied by the family name, Clifford, in spite of his father’s objections, was sure of the family’s blessing if this was really his choice for a wife. Cathy would conform—of that he was sure! Hastings money had never failed, in his recollection, when enough was applied in the right places! He only needed to look to the various monuments scattered up and down the valley to be reminded of the family’s influence and an assurance of victory.

Cathy, on the other hand, seemed to become increasingly withdrawn during those final days before Clifford’s departure—troubled by what she had never really expected, troubled by what she’d taken for a simple friendship and the unexpected turn it had taken. What had she done? Didn’t Clifford understand they could never be more than friends? It finally came down to the last evening before she found courage to fully express her feelings.

On that evening, Clifford asked her again to accept his ring before he left for school. He again outlined all the advantages he and his family could give her and how important it was to know she would be well taken care of while he was gone. Of course, he had taken her by surprise when he asked for her hand, but couldn’t she see just how reasonable his plans were? As Cathy listened again to Clifford’s persuasive reasoning, it seemed to her as if she was being asked to be part of a family collection of…? Maybe one of the prize livestock filling their many barns! What were these strange emotions flooding her mind? What was the meaning of all this?

Her relationships with the boys in her life had always been light and fun—no one demanding or ready for serious commitments. In fact, the relationships had always been more like those found between a brother and sister. Now, here was Clifford promising riches, pouring out money like he was dealing for a new car! No, everything within her said she could not possibly do what was being asked of her!

This was not how it was meant to be! This was not love! This was not the kind of relationship she saw between her parents—not the kind of relationship she witnessed in their everyday lives. This wasn’t even what she saw in the lives of those who had always been a part of her life—those who made up her loving church family! Not once had Clifford said he loved her!

Where was Christ in all of this? Clifford had attended services with her a few times, but it had only been if he didn’t have anything else to do or if it seemed to be the only way he could spend time with her that day. Had she somehow lead him to the wrong conclusion? Suddenly, she recalled memories of a special series of classes given during a youth seminar the previous fall and the importance placed on being equally yoked.

The stories shared during the seminar were graphic examples of the trials and pain often caused in a marriage where the partners were focused on differing values and goals. The accounts included the personal and painful telling of how the speaker had almost destroyed his wife and family before finding the way to a place of confession, forgiveness, and the acceptance of a personal Savior.

His wife had become a believer during their engagement but, feeling bound by her word, went on with the plans for the marriage—a decision she was soon to regret! The sincerity of the speaker’s testimony had made a strong impact on the teenagers, as he stressed that, even after accepting Christ, almost ten years after his wedding, there still continued to be times of pain in his family because of his actions during those early years. My wife, bless her heart, hung on through a lot of ‘worse’ and very little of the ‘better’ during those first ten years, and the very best advice I could give anyone comes straight from the Holy Scriptures in 2 Corinthians 6:14. ‘Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?’

Don’t bet your lives on marriage now and changing your mate later, he had said. The divorce courts are littered with those who planned for better—hoped for and expected better. But a team can’t pull straight, pull in one direction, pull toward a single goal, unless they’re matched and yoked equally. My wife and I are exceptions to the norm. Seldom is the outcome one like ours—one which is able to bring God glory and honor.

Instantly, Cathy had known what she had to do, and more importantly, she also knew why. She had committed her life to Christ, and that meant she needed to look at her actions in light of that commitment. She had to try to make Clifford understand just how important such a commitment was and how it had to affect her choice of lifestyles, even to the point of affecting the choice of her future husband.

He was going into a new world, soon to be with new friends and interests, with plans for an education followed by work in the family business. No, she could not possibly make the commitment he wanted! Not at this time and place! Praying for guidance, she softly began to explain just how important seeking God’s will for her life really was to her.

Taking his hand, she looked from their joined hands to his handsome features and then to his eyes as she tried to express her feelings for him as a friend and her love for her God. Having been so overwhelmed by his lavish attentions, she knew her judgment had been clouded. She told him of her desire not to hurt him. But a decision to marry him could never be made unless she was sure he placed the same importance on seeking and following the Lord’s will as she did. As she quietly spoke, single tears joined to become a flow. Only then did she realize the true depth of feeling she’d come to have for this man.

Clifford was shocked by her answer. He had seldom had anyone openly choose to reject his choice of direction. And now, for someone to reject important plans such as he had mapped out and arranged was beyond his ability to comprehend! Did she really mean what she said? Surely not! No one took religion that seriously anymore! Cathy just didn’t realize what she was saying! She couldn’t possibly understand the full scope of what he’d offered!

Well, no matter! She would come around soon enough! Wait until he’d left for the university; she’d see things weren’t so easy anymore. She’d have to go back to walking or trying to borrow her family’s only car. There would be no more trips to the drive-in after school, no more gifts on special occasions—gifts just to remind her whose girl she was. It wouldn’t take long! By the time Christmas vacation rolled around, probably before, he was sure she’d see the error of her ways. He had time, if that was the game she wanted to play! He was going to be busy anyway. Besides, it would do her good to wait until he got his spot at the university nailed down.

They parted that September evening—Clifford full of thoughts about the upcoming semester, Cathy wondering about her agreement to stay in touch as she watched the young man walk down the front steps toward his waiting car. However, it was Christmas vacation before he was again in contact with her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t fulfilled her part of the agreement. Rather, it was the fact Clifford Hastings had simply taken her three letters for granted. Busy, he figured—she’d benefit from the wait! After all, with him gone, what else was there for her to do anyway?

He’d also been in no hurry to make contact when he reached home. So it was a blow to the bright and popular college student’s ego when he realized he had misjudged the situation completely. Suddenly, Clifford felt just like a little boy standing at the window outside a candy store just minutes after closing time. His desired selection was there—strangely more desirable than ever but also just out of reach. He belatedly found Cathy’s schedule would leave almost no time for a neglectful suitor. In the days before Christmas, her time would be spent in preparation for several special programs at her church. And the day after the Christmas musical, she was leaving with her family for a trip to her father’s parents.

Although Cathy eagerly invited him to the Christmas musical, saying she would love to see him at the fellowship time following the program, she claimed she simply could not make time in her days to accompany him on the excursions he proposed. She couldn’t be doing as well as she tried to let on! He just knew it had to be put on. Her feelings were hurt, and she was trying to save face. Well, he’d just go to the musical—pitiful though it might be. She wouldn’t expect him, and he’d have the chance to really see just how her choice was affecting her. She’d be willing enough to let him pick up the pieces, once she saw him!

Clifford entered the community church just in time to be seated. The lights were slowly dimming, as he was shown to one of the few vacant places remaining, with the choir already filling into their assigned places. Seated at the back of the auditorium, he attempted to identify Cathy as she stood among the twenty-five or so other women. Unable to accomplish that, he silently cursed the decision to arrive at the last minute. Who would have even guessed there’d be a crowd like this? To find more than a few old diehards attending a church musical on a night like this definitely surprised the young man. And to think he’d given up a party invitation for this!

The prelude, played by a small orchestra, faded to conclusion as the sound of an accomplished pianist smoothly filled the void. A short introduction, a smooth modulation of key, and the rich sound of a soprano voice began to fill the room. The Christmas story played out with drama and song, according to Cathy, would be a first for Clifford Hastings Jr. The voice was not one of the thin untrained local talents he’d expected, which probably explained the attendance at something like this. The church probably paid good money to bring in professional talent—anything to fill the seats and pay the bills. Glancing around him, he was quick to notice more than a smattering of well-groomed and equally well-dressed attendees, undoubtedly the result of expensive advertising.

A darkened area of the platform began to glow with the warmth of low and well-directed lighting, bringing an ancient setting to life. The scene was that of a small, modest home. Rustic, Clifford was sure, even by the standards of the poorest members in the audience, and far removed from anything experienced by the wealthy young man now viewing it from the back of the auditorium.

As the lighting increased, Clifford became aware of the seated form of a woman almost lost in a shadowed corner of the scene. She remained unmoving while the choir sang. Still seated, the woman began to sing softly. As she stood and moved into the light, Clifford became aware that it was the same voice which had begun the musical just moments before. Viewing the poise and control of the spotlighted figure, he watched closely as she finished the song and began to play out a part of the drama.

She seemed to be familiar in some ways, but the costuming and the distance made it impossible for him