Christy Miller Collection Vol 4 Part 40

Katie's phrase echoed in her mind: "G.o.d is weird."

"Time to go," the van driver called as he started up the engine.

Forcing a smile, Christy waved to her old teammates and climbed into the van. "Bye. I'll be praying for you guys. Pray for me!"

The van door slid shut, and Christy's seven friends all stood in a line, waving good-bye. Then at Katie's signal. just as the van pulled away, all seven of them a.s.sumed a weight-lifter pose and called out, "You are missionary woman!"

She laughed aloud, and one of the guys in the van said. "What was that?"

"A little joke," Christy said, still wavering between smiling and crying.

The train ride to London seemed to go quickly. Christy sat beside Jakobs, the guy from Latvia Katie had introduced her to. Jakobs was several years younger than Christy, but in some ways he seemed more mature, as if he had lived more of life in his sixteen years than Christy would experience in a lifetime. Jakobs wore his very short hair brushed straight up in the front. He was a few inches shorter than Christy.

Several hours into their train ride, Jakobs bought Christy a cup of tea and shared some of his sack lunch with her. Mrs. Bates had handed each of the students a sack lunch and at the same time had promptly planted a kiss on every team member's right cheek. Christy had stuck her lunch into an open corner of her suitcase, which was now nearly impossible to get at. She gladly shared Jakobs's sandwich.

"Are you yet used to the idea of going to Spain?" Jakobs asked.

Something mechanical turned on inside Christy's head. and she said. "Yes. I believe this is G.o.d's plan, and so I know He will work everything out. I'm learning to trust G.o.d in new ways."

A slow grin crept up Jakobs's face. "I think you are speaking to me through the flowers."

Although Jakobs's English was very good, sometimes his accent made his words sound a little unclear to Christy. She asked what he meant by "speaking through the flowers."

Jakobs looked a bit embarra.s.sed. "It's an expression from where I live in Riga. We use it to mean when a person is making a pretty covering for his words and not saying what he truly feels. You are then *speaking to me through the flowers."'

Christy knew Jakobs was right. She was trying to sound brave and spiritual. What she really felt was terrified. Did she dare tell him? He seemed the sort of person she could trust.

"I'm really scared," she said.

Jakobs gave her a look of compa.s.sion and said, "Of what?"

"Of getting lost. Of missing my train connections." "Then you can take the next train." Jakobs answered logically.

"But what if I can't find the right train? What if something happens, and I lose my luggage or my pa.s.sport?"

"You go to your Emba.s.sy, apply for another pa.s.sport, and wear your same clothes for two days in a row."

Christy couldn't tell if Jakobs was teasing her or if he was trying to be helpful. Earlier that week Christy had overheard Jakobs talking with a Texan about how Americans were overly concerned about their clothes and hygiene. The girl from Texas had to wash and blow-dry her hair every morning, and she never went out in public without her makeup perfectly applied. Jakobs told her she should try wearing the same clothes for more than one day to practice being a good steward of what G.o.d had given her. The girl told Jakobs he was crazy.

Christy didn't think he was crazy, but she did think he had a rather simplistic approach to life. "What if I get attacked, or what if I get killed?" Christy challenged him with a worst-possible scenario.

Jakobs's grin returned. "Then you will die and be with the Lord, and perhaps I might envy you getting to heaven before me."

Christy smiled back. Jakobs certainly had an eternal perspective on life. With such heaven-oriented thinking, it made it hard to see anything as bad. In Jakobs's vocabulary, the term tragedy didn't seem to exist.

Christy finished her last sip of lukewarm tea and said, "In America we would probably call you a Pollyanna.' That means someone who finds the good in every situation."

"In Riga, you would probably tell me to *find ducks.'" Jakobs said and then chuckled at his own apparent joke.

"Find ducks'?"

"It's our way of saying *go away.' Not everyone says it. Just some of my friends. If you go to Riga, you might not want to try that on just anyone. Especially someone like the officer who stamps your visa."

Christy couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to visit a country like Latvia. Spain was exotic enough for her.

Spain. The sudden thought of Spain paralyzed her all over again. Her feelings must have shown on her face.

"Are you again worried about the trains?" Jakobs asked.

Christy knew better than to try "speaking through the flowers" to him again. "I guess a little."

"What is your verse?" Jakobs asked.

"My verse?"

"You need a verse. Something from G.o.d's Word to plant in your heart for this trip."

"To plant in the garden of my heart?" Christy said, thinking of Tracy's poem.

"Yes. You need a promise to...how do you say it?" Jakobs clenched his fist. "Held on with?"

"You mean to hold on to," Christy said. "You think I need a special verse to hold on to."

"Yes, I do."

"Do you have a verse?" Christy asked.

Jakobs nodded, and he rattled off some words in his melodic Latvian tongue. "It is Jeremiah 1:7-8. Sorry, but I do not yet know it in English. May I read it in your Bible?"

Christy dug to the bottom of her bag, pulled out her Bible, and turned to Jakobs's verse. She handed her Bible to him, and in his wonderful accent he read it to her. "But the Lord said to me. "Do not say, *I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the Lord.'"

"That's perfect!" Christy said. "That's exactly how I feel."

"This is my verse, "Jakobs said in a teasing voice, holding Christy's Bible close to his chest. "You need to search until you find your own verse."

"Oh, go find ducks!" Christy said, teasing him right back. "I can have the same verse if I want to. Now give me my Bible back!"

Jakobs laughed. "You should do just fine in your new culture. I am not worried for you at all."

Christy hoped Jakobs's words would come true. They seemed true enough when the group made its connection in London. Everything went as planned, nice and smooth. All Christy had to do was follow the other team members to the ticket window and buy her ticket to cross the English Channel. Then she waited in line with them again to buy her train ticket to Barcelona while the others bought their tickets to Amsterdam.

The envelope Dr. Benson had handed her that morning had a little money leftover after the purchase of her tickets. With the two pounds and some change, Christy bought herself a candy bar while they waited.

Fortunately, she decided against eating it right away. The ferry ride across the English Channel proved to be a little too rough for her stomach. The candy bar would have come right back up.

About twenty-five minutes into the trip. Christy knew she couldn't postpone the inevitable any longer. Leaving her seat next to Jakobs, she cautiously maneuvered her way to the bathroom. She barely made it into one of the bathroom stalls before she threw up. She hated throwing up. What made it worse was. right when she thought she might be okay, she could hear someone in the stall next to her throwing up, and that made her feel like doing it all over again.

It was a horrible experience. Christy slumped on the bathroom floor, feeling too weak to return to her seat.

This is awful; I'm never going to make it. I can't go on! This whole trip was a huge mistake. G.o.d, what are Tou trying to do to me?

Another overwhelming urge to throw up seized her, and she stumbled to the sink, where her stomach muscles went through their wrenching motions, but she had nothing else to throw up. Rinsing out her mouth and wetting a paper towel to hold against her throbbing head, Christy sank again to the floor next to another sick pa.s.senger.

Under her breath she groaned, "I am not missionary woman."

When they arrived in Calais at six-thirty that night, Christy felt like she could barely walk. Her head pounded, her throat felt raw and clenched, and she was desperate for a drink of cold water. One of the guys on the Amsterdam team watched their baggage while Christy, with the sympathetic a.s.sistance of Jakobs, who had also gotten seasick, went in search of a snack bar and some bottled water.

Everything moved in slow motion as Christy and Jakobs had to exchange money, stand in line to pay an outrageous price for the bottles of water, and then find the rest of the group. Christy collapsed onto a bench where the rest of the team had gathered with their luggage and slowly sipped her water. Overhead, train departure times were being announced in French and several other languages. From where Christy sat, she could see a large board that listed train schedules with their departure times.

"We need to get all our luggage to that track down there," the Amsterdam team captain told Christy as their group began to pick out their luggage from the pile next to the bench. "Will you be okay here, Christy?"

She wanted to scream out, "No, don't leave me!" The only words she mustered were "I'm not sure which track my train leaves from."

"I'm sure you can figure it out," the guy said. He didn't say it in an unkind way, it was just that he obviously had his hands full with four of his team members also feeling sick and their train leaving in less than fifteen minutes. "Just look on that sign over there for the 8:24 overnight train to Port Bou. It can't be that hard. Or ask someone."

With a round of hurried good-byes and a warm handshake from Jakobs, the Amsterdam team moved away like a row of ducks to their train track. Jakobs was about twenty yards away from her when he turned around and called out, "Don't forget to find your verse!" He still looked a little green around the gills and appeared to be using a lot of strength to yell his encouragement to her.

Christy sat still. All around her spun a busy, loud confusion of travelers. She felt cold, and the station suddenly smelled like mildew. Or maybe it was her breath that smelled so bad. Christy tried another swig of water, and then, popping out the handle on her wheeled suitcase, she gathered all her belongings and headed toward the train schedule board, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

There it was plain as day, the name "Port Bou," and the time listed next to it was 8:24- Track three. How hard had that been? Now where was track three?

Christy had nearly half an hour before the train departed, but she wanted to find the right track. Walking seemed to help her recover from her seasickness, especially since the ground was level and didn't move under her feet the way it had during the English Channel crossing. The ferry ride had taken all afternoon, and although it was the cheapest way to get to France, it certainly didn't seem to Christy to be the best way. Maybe she could persuade the mission director in Barcelona to allow her to personally pay the extra amount, whatever it was, to fly back to England instead of repeating this train and ferry trip.

When she arrived at track three, there was no train. But several people were standing around. They seemed to be waiting, so she thought she must be in the right place.

Rolling her luggage and toting her black shoulder bag over to a vacant spot on a nearby bench, Christy felt as if she were going to faint. Everything in front of her began to get dark, and her vision narrowed to a small circle of bright spinning dots. She sat down just in time.

After she lowered her head and breathed deeply, everything came back into focus. Christy drank some more water and tried to get her pounding heart to slow to a steady pace.

Everything's okay. You can do this. The Lord is with you.

Christy had never thought of herself as a weak person. She hated this sensation of losing control. She wanted everything to be normal and calm and right up front where she could see it. She wanted to feel strong and in control again, and yet she couldn't. All she felt was queasy and weak and as if she were barely hanging on with her fingernails.

Just then she heard the loud rumble of her train coming down the track. It even drowned out the sound of the French announcer's voice over the loudspeaker.

Christy reached for her ticket in her bag. It wasn't there. She fumbled through all her junk and couldn't find it.

Then, unzipping the bag's side pouch, Christy plunged her hand in. Right next to her butane curling iron, she felt the rea.s.suring forms of her pa.s.sport and her train ticket.

Don't panic, Christy! Whatever you do, don't freak out here. You're doing fine.

Christy was one of the first pa.s.sengers to board the train. The conductor in a black coat and hat looked at her ticket as she stepped up into the train. He rattled off something to her in French.

"What? I'm sorry. I don't understand you," she said.

The man motioned with his hand toward the back of the train as a stream of French words tumbled from his mouth. "Ze sleeper cars are in ze back of ze train," a woman behind Christy said. She didn't look up at Christy, and she hadn't spoken very loudly-just enough for Christy to hear and understand.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you. Excuse me." Christy tried to turn around on the narrow landing and go down the steps back to the train platform. Her suitcase got caught in the small s.p.a.ce, and Christy couldn't budge it. The conductor spoke harshly to her again in French. She used all her might to free the snagged suitcase and gel down the steps.

Once on the platform, Christy walked as fast as her wobbly legs would take her to the far end of the train. There she tried to enter the train again with the a.s.sistance of another conductor. He looked at her ticket and pointed the other way, toward the front of the train, speaking briskly in French.

"But I just came from there, and they sent me down here!" She felt sure the man could understand her, even though he waved his hand and spoke back to her in French.

Before she could stop them, salty tears filled her eyes, and she felt all the color drain from her face. "Could you please help me?" she said to the conductor.

He looked at her again, and his expression softened a bit. Motioning for her to enter the train, he lifted her suitcase for her and indicated that she should follow him. He led the way through several train cars that were all linked together, down the narrow hallway of the train lined with windows on one side and compartments with closed doors on the other. Suddenly he stopped in front of a compartment and slid open the door, indicating for her to enter.

"Thank you." Christy viewed the empty compartment with the two upholstered bench seats that faced each other. She couldn't wait to lie down and get some sleep.

The conductor entered the small compartment with her and lifted her suitcase to an overhead rack. Then, with a tug on one of the seats, he pulled it out to reveal a sort of hide-a-bed already made up. He reached for a blanket from the overhead rack and muttered a few more French words.

Christy thought to reach for some money to tip him. She grabbed everything she had in her coat pocket leftover from when she and Jakobs had bought the water. She had no idea if the handful of francs she offered him was a lot or a little.

He glanced at the bills and coins she had dropped into his hand and then looked again. With a tip of his hat he backed out of her train compartment and mumbled something in French.

Christy pulled the shades down on her compartment windows that faced the narrow hallway and then closed the shade on the large window that overlooked the train tracks and the station. Her bed looked so inviting. Slipping off her shoes and pulling back the covers, Christy crawled in and hoped to sleep straight through until the morning light peeked in.

She fell into a deep sleep as the train pulled out of the station, rocking her with its rhythmic motion down the tracks. Unfortunately her sleep lasted only a short time. Someone suddenly slid her compartment door open, spoke loudly in French, and snapped on the overhead light.

It was a conductor, but not the one who had helped her earlier.

"Pa.s.sporte," he said. Then in exaggerated English, "Pa.s.sport."

Christy groped for her shoulder bag, which she had tucked under the covers with her as a precaution. She handed him her pa.s.sport and ticket. He looked it over, seemed satisfied, and jammed the sliding door shut as abruptly as he had opened it. The rude fellow had left on the light.

Christy returned her pa.s.sport to its safe place in her bag and then crawled out of her burrow to turn off the light. The train slowed to a stop. Apparently they were at another station. A few minutes later the train started up again. The voices of new pa.s.sengers could be heard in the hallway outside her door. Now Christy couldn't get back to sleep.

At least she felt better. She sat up in bed and finished her bottle of water. Then she realized how hungry she was. It was nearly midnight, and she hadn't eaten for close to twelve hours. Snapping the light back on, she scrounged through her suitcase until she found the sack lunch Mrs. Bates had packed for her. Sitting cross-legged, Christy spread her little picnic out on her bed, folded her hands. and bowed her head to pray.

"It's just You and me. Lord. Thank You for taking care of me and for providing this food for our little midnight picnic. Thanks for making me feel better. I'm sorry I blamed You for this trip back on the ferry. I just hate being sick."

Christy opened her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich, but she continued talking to Jesus as if He were sitting next to her. "I just like everything to be, well...comfortable. I guess I like to be in control. But, then, that's supposed to be Your job, isn't it?"

It hit her like a revelation. She pictured herself standing by the gate of her heart's garden. Jesus was definitely in the garden with her, but clearly Christy was the one who held the key to the gate.

She put down her sandwich and looked into the thin air next to her. "That's what's been missing, huh? I'm still the one making all the decisions, holding the key, and I'm the one deciding who should come in and out of my garden. I've been the one locking and unlocking the gate. I've been the one in control.

"Lord Jesus," Christy whispered, "I want You to hold the key. I want You to decide what should happen in my heart's garden. I want You to let in or send out anything or anybody You want. Especially with guys. I don't want to ever unlock that gate again. I want You to open it only when the right man comes along. Take the key, Lord. Take all my keys. I'll wait for You."

For a moment Christy thought she might be going crazy because a sweet fragrance seemed to be in the cabin after she prayed. Certainly in her heart's garden there was the fragrance of fresh, blooming newness. She felt so free, so completely right with G.o.d. She continued their picnic, imagining that she and Jesus were seated together under a plumeria tree in her heart's garden. Beside them a wild patch of daffodils bobbed their heads, and a long, trailing vine of jasmine lined the trellis that covered her garden gate.

Christy couldn't remember the last time she had felt so happy. So safe. So completely content. She had never felt this close to Jesus either.

"Is it because there's always been some guy in my garden with me? Is that why I've never before been so open and sought You so wholeheartedly?" Christy wondered aloud. "I want it to be You and me, Lord. Always. Close, like this. Even if You do bring a guy into my life, I still want to feel this close to You. Forever."

So many things seemed to make sense to Christy. The unsettled feelings she had fought with last week were gone. She knew the weeks ahead of her would be difficult and stretching, yet she wasn't afraid of what might happen. She felt tremendous a.s.surance that she had done the right thing in letting go of Doug.

She even felt a peace about Todd. She had done the right thing in letting him go too. He was serving G.o.d, and that was where he belonged. Christy knew she needed to move on, to fully become the woman G.o.d created her to be and not to be dependent on any guy. She would be dependent on the Lord alone.