What Dreams May Come Read online

  Susannah was happy to accept her mother’s terms. She’d never kissed a boy before, never even held hands with one. And even though she didn’t want to be presumptuous enough to expect Scott to kiss her, she was simultaneously afraid he would try and terrified that he wouldn’t. How was it possible that they’d talked about the countries they’d visit as missionaries once they got married but they’d never discussed how physically affectionate they’d be when he came out to meet her and her family?

  She glanced once more at her mother’s writing. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. God wasn’t surprised by any of the events of the past four months.

  Father, I don’t mean to complain, and I’m sorry for being so ungrateful lately. But if you knew what was going to happen to my family, if you knew exactly what was coming, if it really was part of your plan for my life all along, couldn’t you have offered me some little warning sign?

  Was that too much to ask?

  She looked at the page again, but the message remained as succinct as before, and heaven as always was silent.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sometimes Scott wondered if pastors who’d worked as long as Carl got tired of December. Was it hard to preach four or five advent sermons a year and find something new to point out each time? Or after several decades behind the pulpit did you just stop trying to be original?

  Today’s sermon was fairly standard. Scott spent more time studying the Christmas wreath than watching Carl. This week’s candle stood for joy, which for some reason kept reminding Scott of the way he’d laughed when Susannah told him her middle name. Knowing she came from a fairly conservative Christian home, he had expected something more standard like Joy or Grace. When she told him she’d been named after the historical Susannah Wesley, he’d chuckled into his phone. “So that explains why you’re so good at praying.”

  Even without seeing her face, he knew his comment had flustered her.

  “I’m not good or bad. It’s just something we’re supposed to do.”

  He wouldn’t allow her to demure so easily. “Maybe, but you’ve got to admit that some people do it better than others.” And from that moment on, he realized how well the name suited her. Susannah Wesley Peters. He wondered how it would sound once they got married. Susannah Wesley Phillips. It rolled off the tongue well, and she wouldn’t have to change her initials or give up having an apostolic surname.

  Of course, that was all in the past. So long ago now that he couldn’t remember if they’d had that conversation about her middle name before or after he’d bought his plane ticket to Washington. After months of saving up, scouring the discount flight webpages, and then rescheduling twice, he was finally going to see her.

  Meet the woman who’d captured his heart.

  It was still hard to believe. He’d prayed years earlier and told God he’d remain single unless the Lord brought someone into his life who shared the same passion for the mission field as he did. He’d spent so many years alone he started to worry he wouldn’t know how to join his life with someone else’s. Wouldn’t a wife nag him about making his bed or keeping the toilet seat down?

  Besides, there was something exciting about his lifestyle, knowing that in a week he could be on a plane to South Africa or get called to speak at a conference in western Russia. Where would he find a woman who felt the same way about that sort of spontaneity? And what about kids? Even if he met someone willing to travel the whole world over by his side, what would happen if or when children came into the fold? Was he just supposed to retire? The last two years on home-office duty would have bored him completely out of his mind if he hadn’t had Susannah to talk to. They did the math once. If you were to assume two hours on the phone a night (a conservative estimate), plus a few extra hours on the weekend, they’d spent somewhere over four hundred hours on the phone together just in the first six months. More than the equivalent of two and half straight weeks doing nothing but talking. He finally bought an external battery for his phone so he could stay connected without having to plug his cell in halfway through the conversation.

  Nights certainly had been quiet lately in comparison.

  Quiet nights and a cell that could hold its charge for three or four days at a time.

  His heart still raced when the phone rang. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be her. Even though it hadn’t been her for four months. Email was worse. Refreshing his inbox twenty times an hour. Facing the bitter sense of disappointment each time he told himself he’d never hear from her again.

  Sometimes he had nightmares. Nightmares where she wanted to talk to him but his phone wouldn’t connect. He’d try to pick up, but it wouldn’t go through. The worst part wasn’t missing the call itself but fearing that she’d take his silence as rejection.

  Fearing that she’d move on.

  Find someone else.

  She was so young. So passionately in love with the Lord.

  It was fruitless to imagine what might have happened between them under different circumstances. But still, he hoped she wouldn’t replace him right away. It was selfish of him, really. He should wish her all the happiness in the world. Women like Susannah were made for family life. For marriage and motherhood. While it was possible for him to imagine himself remaining perpetually single, he knew Susannah would one day find a husband.

  A husband who would take care of her.

  Who wouldn’t drag her away from the family that needed her.

  A husband who wasn’t him.

  He’d known. He didn’t admit it to himself at the time, but he’d known she’d end up breaking up with him. If you can call it a breakup when you haven’t even met face to face.

  Susannah’s heart was for the nations. He’d picked up on that during the first phone interview when all he was supposed to do was answer a few of her questions about the Kingdom Builders summer internship program. Which is why he thought they might be a perfect fit, but after everything that happened last fall, he couldn’t have asked her to leave. Shouldn’t have expected her to do anything but stay out there in Orchard Grove, serving God in her little quiet sphere.

  He should have been the one to end things. It would have been easier on her. After those hundreds of hours on the phone, those thousands of pages worth of emails, he knew her so well. Well enough to know that she would feel guilty now. He wanted to tell her that he understood, that he’d freely forgive her if there was anything to forgive.

  She was stronger than he was. She realized her duty was to God and her family, and she was devoted enough to deny herself the one thing that could make her truly happy. Scott had seen it coming, but he didn’t have the emotional fortitude to finalize things like she did. Her resolve and her submission to the Holy Spirit put him to shame.

  I’m sorry.

  He composed a dozen emails in his head a week, some begging her to change her mind, some praising her for her heart of surrender, most just telling her how much he missed her.

  Pastor Carl was continuing on in his Christmas sermon on the theme of joy. “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” God must be using figurative language because Scott had woken up to over a hundred lonely mornings since the last time he talked with Susannah, and rejoicing still seemed so far out of reach.

  Did she think about him? Was she sitting in that little country church way out in Orchard Grove, Washington right now, wondering how he was?

  Or maybe she already found someone else. Jewels like Susannah wouldn’t stay unattached forever. Was her stepdad still in the picture? Would he offer his assistance, help steer her away from predators? She was so trusting. So trusting and still so young. She’d given her heart to Scott so readily, a testimony to her innocent nature. She’d loved him months before he felt the freedom in his spirit to talk to her about courtship. She hadn’t said so, but he had learned how to read her so well that by the time he finally found the courage to tell her he loved her, the question wasn’t whether she loved him back but w
hat to do now that their affection was out in the open.

  She was created for intimacy. Designed to share her heart with those around her. It’s what made her so fulfilled working at that assisted living home. It’s what gave her such a passion for the poor and destitute around the globe, lost souls who’d never heard the name of Jesus Christ.

  And ultimately, it was that same loving, gentle nature that forced her to break off communication. Tell him things could never work between them.

  He still had that ticket he’d printed up for his flight to Spokane. Still looked at it sometimes as if to prove to himself that somewhere in the country there really was a place called Orchard Grove, even if it was too small to show up on any but the most detailed of maps. That somewhere in that itty-bitty town was a young woman who’d loved him enough to invite him into her heart, into her life.

  That Susannah Wesley Peters was a living, breathing woman he’d loved in return but now would never get the chance to meet.

  CHAPTER 7

  Susannah watched the snow falling outside the window, disappointed that she wasn’t paying more attention to the preaching. Greg, unlike any other pastor who made his way through the doors of Orchard Grove Bible Church, didn’t believe that every sermon in advent season had to be about the birth of Jesus. Susannah wasn’t sure how the traditionalists would feel about a December series through the life of King David, but she had her suspicions.

  Father God, protect and watch over Pastor Greg. Bless his ministry, and allow him to continue to lead this church with wisdom and discernment.

  She’d learned years ago to intercede for her pastors regularly. Orchard Grove Bible Church couldn’t be the easiest of congregations to serve, especially for a young newlywed like him.

  The soft flurry outside was turning into a full-fledged storm. The snow covered everything. The mud, the litter, even the tire tracks in the parking lot. Some folks complained about Orchard Grove’s lack of aesthetics, but Susannah had never lived anywhere else, rarely traveled, and lacked any reference point for comparison. She wondered what Massachusetts looked like. Strange to think that she and Scott had spent almost a year talking, and she didn’t even know about New England weather.

  There she was distracted again. I’m so sorry, God. One day, I’m going to get him out of my mind. But I need your help.

  It was times like these that she missed her mom the most poignantly. Christmas was less than two weeks away, but what kind of celebration would they have? She hadn’t shopped for any presents. She didn’t have the time, let alone the money. She’d been unemployed for the past four months, but she was too busy to miss her job at Winter Grove Assisted Living. Life was busier now than it’d ever been. She couldn’t remember how many days had passed since she’d taken her last shower.

  Now that she was gone, Susannah developed an even greater appreciation for her mother and all the sacrifices she’d made for her family.

  Sacrifices. There was a word Susannah wouldn’t miss if it disappeared from every dictionary in the English-speaking world.

  Sacrifices. Because keeping your promises was more important than chasing fantasies.

  Because serving contentedly where God’s called you was infinitely more satisfying than yearning to be somewhere else. Or so she was told.

  Lord, I know you ask us to lay down our lives for others, but I feel like there’s nothing left for me to give. I’m so empty.

  As parched as the Orchard Grove riverbed. She could still remember being a little girl, tossing pebbles into the rushing water. How many years had passed since the river dried up? Ten? Twelve?

  And would it ever run again?

  Pastor Greg was near the end of his sermon. She could tell because of the way the orchardists in the front rows began clearing their throats and checking their watches. The way the few children in the pews grew more and more fidgety. The way her own heavy heart reminded her it was time to go home.

  That’s what she hated about herself the most, what she hoped God would change more than anything else.

  Lord, I used to love being with my family. What’s happened to me?

  She wished she knew. Had she taken her entire annual quota of love and poured it out on a stranger, a stranger who turned out to be nothing but a stumbling block?

  Before she met Scott, she had never begrudged her family anything. Never complained. It was her mother who worried. Her mother who signed Susannah up for music lessons and dance classes and homeschool co-ops, all in the name of giving her as much of a normal childhood as possible. It took years for her mom to realize that Susannah more than anything wanted to be at home. It was part of her nature to love. Part of her ingrained, God-given personality to nurture those around her, to tend to those who needed her.

  That’s why she was such a good fit for the Winter Grove Assisted Living Home. Changing bedpans, cleaning messes, helping the weak while still protecting their dignity. When in her life had Susannah not known instinctively that her job was to care for others?

  Some people called it a gift of compassion. For Susannah, it came as simply and as easily as breathing.

  Or at least it had.

  That’s the irony, God. This is the future I’d always pictured for myself. It’s just that I didn’t expect it to come so soon.

  Not before she’d had the chance to live her own life.

  Not before she’d served God for twenty or thirty years on foreign soil.

  Not before she’d fallen in love, gotten married, nurtured and cared for children of her own.

  Susannah was living the life she’d always dreamed of.

  The problem was she was living it three or four decades earlier than she’d originally planned.

  CHAPTER 8

  Scott knew from experience that Pastor Carl and his family wouldn’t be ready to leave St. Margaret’s for at least forty-five minutes after the service ended. This was one of those times when having a vehicle of his own might be convenient. If Susannah were here instead of him, she could probably sit down in one of the pews with her Bible and pass two or three hours before even thinking of glancing up at the clock.

  Scott wasn’t like that, which was one reason why he’d been both drawn toward her and intimidated as well. Sometimes he wondered if things would have turned out differently if Susannah were older. How could he have expected to uproot someone that young from the family she loved? Many women would have never stuck around, would have left Orchard Grove the moment the opportunity presented itself.

  But not Susannah. After just their first week of emailing, even before that decisive phone interview, Scott could tell what a nurturing, compassionate person she was. And it was no surprise, given her family situation. Growing up the way she did, she would have either become the Florence Nightingale of Orchard Grove or she would have fled town the moment she graduated high school.

  He should have known even then. The thought of Susannah leaving her family, a family that needed her more than any of them realized, went against the very core of her personality. Sure, he had heard her talk about the mission field, had himself been inspired by her passion. But not even the intensity of her call overseas or whatever romance had started to flourish between them could tear her away.

  Scott couldn’t blame her for that. As easy as it would be, as much as it might help him move past his sorrow and disappointment, he couldn’t blame Susannah for staying home any more than he could blame a landed fish for returning to the sea.

  He sighed. The church was emptying out. He had his phone in his pocket, but he wouldn’t check his email. Susannah wouldn’t write him. Not today. Not ever.

  Ironic, really. He had fallen in love with her gentle spirit, her giving heart. And it was her sacrificial selflessness, the very essence of Susannah Peters’ character he admired so deeply, that had ultimately pulled them apart.

  “I made a promise to my mom,” she had explained that day last August. He didn’t have to see her face. He knew just from the quiver in her voice that she
was struggling to hold back tears. Tears that wouldn’t fall until she told him what she had decided and then said good-bye.

  He wondered if she still cried. Did she dream about him like he dreamed about her?

  Did she sense the injustice of her situation? Did she grow resentful of the family that had stripped and starved her of all hope of happiness?

  No. She was too gentle. Too full of love. Any sadness she felt after cutting Scott out of her life would only sweeten her disposition, offering even more depth and intensity to the young woman he’d fallen in love with.

  He ignored the gnawing emptiness in his chest and made his way into the church library. His stomach rumbled. His knees ached after his morning run, but the physical discomforts were a welcome distraction from the heaviness and pain that had seeped into his soul.

  CHAPTER 9

  Finally. The last amen. Susannah was ashamed of her relief when the service ended. Not that she was eager to return home. She just had such a hard time sitting still. She could hardly recognize herself these days. Good thing her mom couldn’t see her. At least, Susannah hoped not.

  “Real quickly before we dismiss,” Pastor Greg said, interrupting her unruly thoughts, “Grandma Lucy has asked for the opportunity to close us in prayer today.”

  Susannah knew what that meant. She resisted the urge to twist around in her seat to check the time on the clock. Had Grandma Lucy spoken in church since Greg and his wife came to town? She didn’t think so, which probably explained why the pastor looked so innocent and unsuspecting.

  Grandma Lucy took the mic. Even though none of her grandchildren attended services at Orchard Grove anymore, Susannah couldn’t remember her being called anything besides Grandma Lucy, just like she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t have shock white hair or wear the same style of nylon blouse with oversized collars.

  Susannah let out a deep breath.