Christina’s House, Friday Night, May 5, 1989
Shortly before midnight with the crowd gone, the kegs dry, the wine bottles emptied, and the cake decimated, Jerry and Christina nestled in the swing under the solitary oak tree, its canopy a silhouette against the full moon that rose above Old Towne. Jerry lay with his head in her lap as she stroked her fingers through his hair and hummed an old gospel hymn that her mom played every morning as she danced to the flow of its song.
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.
“This will put you to sleep for sure,” Christina’s soft voice floated in the cool air.
“Serene.”
“I’ve never felt so much at peace as I am with you.”
“It takes two.” Jerry took her hand in his.
“Will this last?”
“I want it to.”
“Such a confusing time in our lives.”
“Did Robert pull a string of pearls from your heart?” Jerry looked up as Christina looked into his eyes.
“Brought it all up again.”
“Why do you want to bury it?”
“I danced my childhood and youth for my father whom I never met. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“Your dream of meeting him never came true.”
“So, I left it behind when I left for college.”
“But you can’t leave something behind that is in your heart.”
“True.” Christina rubbed his chest and sighed.
“You traded a dance with the father you never met, for a dance with the Father, who will always be with you and never leave you.”
“Yes, and that is why I want to talk to Robert. If the world of dance is watching me now, I want them to know that what they see is a gift, that it can’t be taught or learned or choreographed. My dance is unrehearsed, yet directed by God, a spontaneous flow with His Holy Spirit.”
“And this is the Father with whom you dance.”
“Again, so true.”
“I love you.” Jerry reached up to caress her neck.
“And I love you.” She bent forward, and he craned his neck until their lips met. After moments of silence, both in deep thought as their eyes were closed, the lullaby rock of the swing and the warmth of their bodies meshed together as one, he an extension of her, she whispered his name, “Jerry?”
“Yes, my love,” he said as though in a dream.
“This is for you.” Christina reached behind her and handed Jerry a package wrapped in red.
“What is it?”
“It’s something about you.”
“Because it’s my birthday?”
“Yes, that metaphor works well with it. It’s something that will birth in you.” She beamed as she laid the beautifully wrapped package on his chest.
“Geez, must be a powerful present.”
“Why don’t you quit talking about it and open it.”
“Dry leaves pressed in the paper?”
“Yep.”
“You made this?”
“Yep.”
“It’s too beautiful to unwrap.”
“Jerry! For gosh sakes, the suspense is killing me!”
“You don’t know what it is?” He chuckled as he sat up and held the package in one hand as he tickled her with the other.
“You silly!” She giggled and squirmed. “Stop it. Will you do this with every present I give you? Christmas will take forever! I’m opening my presents first.”
“No, you won’t. We’ll alternate, but I’ll let you go first.”
“Uh, is this our first argument?”
“Bliss lasts only for a season.”
“Hmmm, I wonder if they’ll refund my money if I take it back?”
“Take what back?”
“Your present.”
“No way! You gave it to me.”
“Alright, butthead, I’m going to bed. The Man in the Moon is making me sleepy.”
“You’re not going to watch me open my present?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. They laughed, hugged, and a passionately long kiss lingered, the tips of their noses touching when they opened their eyes.
“Open it now?”
“Now.”
Jerry slid his fingers between the edges of the paper and deftly unwrapped it without tearing the handmade, red paper with pressed leaves, a memento of his love for the outdoors and her recognition of that. He held in his hands a green tanned and tooled leather journal with a leather clasp and brass lock. Within the clasp was a black barreled and gold plated fountain pen. He unlocked the clasp and opened its cover. Written with a calligraphy pen in beautiful script, the inscription read—
May the writing never end.
The facing page caused his eyes to tear. Pasted in was a copy of the program from Easter Sunday, its back page with his poetry inscribed to her, “A Thousand Eyes Behold Her.”
“This is beautiful, Christine, so thoughtful and sincere. I will treasure this always. Thank you.” He turned towards her and drew her neck with his hand until their lips gently touched and became one.
“You have a gift,” Christina said.
“So do you.”
“It’s time for me to give back. Using your gift will pay it forward. That is what God is preparing you for.”
“You know that I still struggle with that,” Jerry said with a sigh.
“I do.”
“And you’ll be patient?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I have some soul searching to do.” Jerry leaned back and gazed at the full moon.
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I trust that God knows best. He sees the big picture. We are but a grain of sand in time. He never loses track of even a single grain, for we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Christina stroked her hand through his hair, the moon’s glow illuminating his face.
“I admire your faith, Christina, to pursue your calling in nursing and to willfully step out of your comfort zone and place yourself in His hands. I wish I had that same foundation.”
“It will come, my love. It will come. I didn’t get this way overnight, and you should be patient with yourself. It’s not about doing. It’s about being. Being who you are in Christ will cause the doing to flow according to God’s will and God’s timing.”
“We have but a month to share before your voyage to Africa.”
“And yours to Australia.”
“I have to endure Kansas for two more months before the August cattle drive. But I’m not complaining. I promised Dad one more summer of ranch work before I set my sails. I’m going to spend those long hours in the saddle, those lonely nights in the Outback to figure out what I’m going to do. Ronnie is trying to convince me that we can make six figures riding on this real estate wave, totally glam. I have doubts about that. That fire has dwindled, and another has taken its place.”
“I hope I wasn’t the cause of dousing your fire.”
“You’re the new heat in my life.”
“Hot enough to last six months separated?”
† † †
Tell Me the Story of Jesus, Frances J. Crosby, pub.1880 Copyright: Public Domain
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10 NLT
† † †
Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational fiction—
Real characters in real life drama that tell the story of their transformation to become more like Jesus.
To read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”
Located in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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