Not My Will and The Light in My Window (23 page)

The Sunday following completion of the project found the young people out under the trees at sunset, holding a dedicatory service for their labor of love. Hymns and choruses were sung, then the president of the group led in prayer. After the prayer, the pastor spoke, thanking the young workers in behalf of the church for their service, which had added so greatly to the beauty of the property. Then, turning toward Eleanor, he said, “I think one person deserves special thanks. I understand that Eleanor Stewart designed this garden and supervised its execution. I wonder if she will say a word to us about it.”

Eleanor’s face flushed, then paled. She had never in
her life said a word in a Christian service. Her heart beat fast at the impossible suggestion.

But her eyes fell on Mother Stewart’s confident face, and the smile that she saw there, expressing love and pride in her, gave the assurance she needed. Rising to her feet, she faced the group, and, though her lips trembled at first, they steadied before long.

“The garden plan,” she began, “was one that Chad and I made together for a hillside near which we hoped to live when we had finished school. That hill was so much like this one that I realized the same plans could be used here. At first I hesitated to use our plan, but I knew Chad would have said, ‘Go on.’ So I did. I hope that it will be a place of beauty and blessing for many years to come. And I hope you’ll all think of it as a gift from Chad.”

She sat down quickly, and Mary Lou leaned over to squeeze her hand, while Mother Stewart wiped her eyes furtively.

On the way home, walking across the fields that lay between the house and the church, Mrs. Stewart said, “That was a big thing you did, Eleanor, my dear, and you’ve made me ashamed of myself this day.”

“Ashamed? You?” said Eleanor in surprise. “Oh, Mother, of what?”

But Mrs. Stewart did not reply. It was many weeks before Eleanor learned the answer to her question.

* * *

So the summer passed, with its work and play, its sunshine, its occasional storms. It was not always clear
sailing for the girl who was learning to let the Pilot navigate her ship through “life’s tempestuous sea.” For days at a time, she worked and sang, studied her Bible, and prayed, finding life full and good. Then would come sleepless nights and days when the lamp of faith turned low.

When any soul is really fighting to achieve and grow for the Lord, Satan uses all his devices to cause trouble. So it was with Eleanor. There were bouts with fear and doubt and loneliness and weakness, and there were times when the battle seemed a losing one. But she had learned to go to the Source of life for help and strength, and when things were blackest she prayed hardest. And gradually she was growing. Help and encouragement she still needed, but she now knew that the day was coming when she could face the world again to take up whatever work God had chosen for her.

One day Eleanor and Mrs. Stewart were seated on the porch, shelling peas. “Eleanor,” said the older woman, “don’t you think you ought to go back to school?”

“Go back to school!” echoed Eleanor in surprise.

“Hadn’t you thought of it?” Mrs. Stewart continued.

“Yes,” the girl admitted, “but not favorably. Mother, I couldn’t bear to go back to the university again.”

“You need not. There are other schools.”

“But … but … I thought you wanted me to stay here with you.”

Mother Stewart reached out and squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “My dear child,” she said, “if I were to be selfish about this I should like nothing better than for you to stay here and help me on the farm. I love to have you here. But I mustn’t be selfish. Your training thus far has
been too valuable for you to throw away. Perhaps you might want to teach later or enter some other field of work where a college degree would be required. Even if you don’t know now what you would like to do, you can finish your college work and then decide as the Lord leads you.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Eleanor thoughtfully. “But where could I go to school besides the university?”

“Bethel College,” suggested Mrs. Stewart quietly.

Eleanor spread her hands in dismay. “I couldn’t afford it,” she demurred. “Don’t forget I’ve given away my money.”

“Eleanor Stewart!” said the mother in mock reproof. “I believe you are simply making excuses now. Have you forgotten that you have endowed a scholarship there and that you are to name the recipient?”

“Yes,” said Eleanor with a laugh, “I honestly had forgotten. But why can’t Connie have that? That’s what I had in mind. She wants to go to college.”

“Connie can wait. She would like one more year of music with Mr. Mueller in Benton before she goes, and I need her here this year. Won’t you go on and finish, Eleanor, and then if the Lord wills you can stay with me while Connie goes? Perhaps for that purpose you came here to us.”

Eleanor drew a long breath and said, “I think you are right. So, if you will promise to back me up with your most powerful prayers, I’ll try.”

“Of course I’ll pray for you, dear, and the Lord will lead every step of the way.”

And so it was settled, and Eleanor began to look forward to the opening of school.

But the summer had yet one more momentous experience in store for her.

Mary Lou had definitely and trustfully accepted Christ as her Savior and was preparing to follow Him in baptism. One Saturday evening Eleanor sat on the front porch and could not help overhearing Mother Stewart and the little girl talking seriously in the living room. In simple terms, the mother explained the meaning and symbolism of baptism and its necessity for the obedient Christian believer. She answered Mary Lou’s questions with Scripture verses and showed the little girl the duties and obligations that were entailed by the privilege of church membership, describing the church to her as the body of Christ, in which each member must contribute his part.

As Eleanor sat in the twilight and overheard the conversation, she began to consider her own part in that sacred body. The words that Mother Stewart had said about baptism had made a deep impression on her. Finally she arose and went to her room, where she sat down and opened her Bible, seeking the references Mother Stewart had used.

“We are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”

Next morning at the close of his sermon, the pastor extended the usual invitation. As the congregation began singing the invitation hymn, Mary Lou stepped from her mother’s side and walked shyly down the aisle. A moment later Eleanor followed.

Mary Lou, upon questioning by the pastor, gave a
clear statement of faith that left no doubt in his mind as to the validity of her Christian experience. Then Eleanor gave her testimony—just as direct, just as simple. There were tears in many eyes when the two had finished.

That evening Mary Lou and Eleanor entered the baptismal waters together. As she came up out of the water, “to walk in newness of life,” Eleanor turned her gaze for a moment through the window to the two tall pines that stood on the hill. To the ones who were watching her, her face seemed to glow with an inner light.

Bethel College, September 21

D
ear Mother:

(This is the first time in my life that I have ever written those dear words!)

Well, I’m here, and much more frightened than I was four years ago when I entered the university. Then I knew everything and was going to tell the world so. Now all I know is that of the three hundred students on this campus, I feel the most ignorant and as strange as if I’d been reared in Timbuktu. Among the other students I feel as old as Uncle John.

I didn’t have a bit of trouble getting my transcripts from the university. Mrs. Martin and I had a lovely half hour together. I see now that I could have been spared many hours of lonely agonizing if I had tried to meet her halfway last winter. How silly I
was! Yet, I’m not sorry about anything now, for it all led me to you and the farm.

After I left her I decided to run up to the lab for a few minutes and ask about my dear old Professor Nichols. But as I left the office, I met Professor Merritt, for whom Chad worked so long. When he saw me he grabbed both my hands and we stood there in the street, neither of us able to say a word. Finally he gulped and choked and managed to say, “You gave us a bad scare last spring, young lady.”

I couldn’t answer, for the sight of him had brought back too many memories. He saw I couldn’t talk, so he went on, “What a pair of children you were! And to think you were married! I suspected as much, but when you took his death so calmly, I decided I’d been mistaken. And all the time you weren’t calm at all, but just a little bottled-up volcano!”

I was so surprised that I found my voice again and said, “How did you ever guess we were married?”

“Well, Chad just wasn’t a good pretender. And I’m not so old and absent-minded as Professor Nichols! I just had an intuition. But when Chad died, you certainly put up a good act.”

“To everyone but myself,” I said. Then, as we had been walking along, we reached the door of his building, and I felt suddenly led by the Spirit to witness for the Lord, who had done so much for me.

“It’s a peculiar story,” I said, “and my part of it isn’t very creditable. But it has been worthwhile, for through all these experiences I’ve learned to know the Lord whom Chad loved and served. And I’ve found my place in Chad’s dear home. So I can go on. The life
that is left to me shall be spent in service to that Lord.”

He looked embarrassed but finally managed to bring forth a reply. “Chad had the real thing, I believe,” he said.

“You can have it too.” I answered. That frightened him, I guess, for he wished me well and said a hurried good-bye.

By that time I hadn’t the courage to open any more closed pages. So I took the car for Bethel. It is hard to realize that these two institutions are only an hour’s ride apart in this big city.

The dean of women at Bethel is a motherly soul whose husband was formerly a teacher here. She looked me over, asked a few questions, and evidently decided that my age and experience fitted me for a position of grave responsibility, for she gave me a big room with two freshmen. Apparently I’m to mother them! One is a very large, placid-looking girl named Angela. She doesn’t look exciting. The other is a tiny, red-headed cherub with the face of an angel and the loveliest brown eyes. Her name is Wilhelmina. She looks pathetically lonesome and homesick, and I anticipate having to rock her to sleep tonight. She is just the kind of child one could cuddle.

Time to go to supper. I’ll write more tomorrow or over the weekend. Don’t forget to pray often for your absent child. She realizes as she steps out from the shelter of your care that the battle isn’t over—not by a whole lot! Give all the family my love, and kiss baby Patty for me. I miss her very much. And lots of love to the dearest mother on earth.

Len

PS. Help! Help! Someone tell me by return mail who Philip King is. I started to ask Angela, and she was so shocked that I had to let her think I was joking. Where have I been all my life that I’ve never heard of him before? And why is the fact that he is back (from where?) the biggest thrill of the campus? If you can help me in this way, you may save my career from shipwreck at the outset.

The Farm—September 24

Dear Len:

Just a note, as we’re getting two new boarders today and are busy. Mom will write tonight and tell you any news. But for the sake of your reputation, I’ll tell you about Philip King. He has been a teacher of Christian education and practical work at Bethel for about five years. In the summer he speaks at youth camps and assemblies and is, without a doubt, the most popular youth worker in these parts. His wife goes with him and specializes in flan-nelgraph work and music. They’re a great team! I never saw them, but Marilyn was at camp two years ago, and she doesn’t like him. She says he’s too self-satisfied. But Marilyn doesn’t see any man but Bob and never did. Everyone else likes P. K.

As to where he’s been—a year ago last summer he was hurt very badly in an auto accident and was in the hospital for months. He didn’t teach all year. I hadn’t heard that he was back in circulation. Hope this bit of information will enable you to act knowingly enough to avoid disgrace.

It’s lonely here without you. But we’re all remembering to pray.

Con

Bethel, October 8

Dear folks at home:

I promised myself I’d write you a real letter before I did one bit of studying or even washed out the clothes that have been accumulating in my laundry bag. I’ve been so rushed that my letters have been dashed off between classes or in any odd moment I could find. Today I got homesick for you all and vowed I’d treat you better. Your letters mean so much to me that I want you to keep them coming.

You asked me about my roommates. I have to laugh at the way I described them to you. As a judge of character, I’d make a fine scrubwoman. Angela, the “placid” one, is as temperamental as an April day and in my humble opinion is a spoiled baby. She’s an only child of wealthy parents, and at first I couldn’t figure out why she ever came to Bethel. Certainly not from any deep desire to learn! But it didn’t take long to find the answer to that one! She’s infatuated with Philip King.