Page 50 of More Than This Land

Sunday morning required a certain tidiness. Wednesday night asked for nothing but presence.

He took his usual chair near the window. Eli Torres nodded at him from across the aisle. All around him, familiar faces nodded and smiled, closing in as they made their little groups. The Jacobsons sat together, Dave Henderson beside them. Okay, so a small change there from the usual arrangement. Three months ago, those two families had avoided sitting near each other at public events. Something about a dispute over a property line. Tonight, their shoulders were four inches apart and Dave’s wife hadn’t stopped smiling since they walked in.

Small things. The kind of things that happened when a community held on to a determination to work things out instead of letting them fester.

He’d tried to do that. Look what it got him.

Pastor Mark opened with Scripture and a short sermon from God’s Word, nothing formal but so completely honest and open that the wounded place in Luke’s chest throbbed. The circle settled into the rhythm of prayer requests that moved around the room in a slow but steady stream.

He wrote down the requests as they came so he’d have them close every time he prayed. Agnes Pruitt’s arthritis. The Reeves baby, who’d had a fever that broke this morning. Tom Martin’s daughter, still in recovery but doing well. Each request landed in the circle, and the nodding heads and half-whispered prayers on multiple lips created a background harmony that raised the hairs on his arms.

The power of prayer never ceased to amaze him.

One pew forward and to his right, Jen raised her hand and read from the notebook she kept for the prayer chain. “For Claire Whitlock—discernment about her future and the decisions ahead of her. And for Mae’s continued health and strength.”

Luke’s pen caught in the center of the page in his prayer journal and ripped a jagged V shape across the entire sheet.

He stared at the ink, seeing but unable to comprehend the words as Jen’s request landed square on his chest.

Discernment for her future. A future with him or…

Eli shifted in his pew, the motion barely registering in Luke’s peripheral vision. He needed to get it together before anyone noticed.

His fingers tightened around the pen, even as he ordered them to let go. It pressed harder into the page, creating a pool of ink that would no doubt bleed through several pages.

He didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

His breath stuttered as he remembered how Claire had looked at him back at the ranch. For a minute, he’d thought she would say something—anything—about what he’d said.

She never did. She’d talked to Mom, taken her money, and driven away.

Had Claire submitted that request herself? Or did someone who knew her situation submit it on her behalf? Either way, the community had absorbed her needs into its rhythm. As they did for everyone who came across their path, they made space for her, folding her into the church family. They’d decided she belonged here before she did.

The circle moved on with more requests, but his body refused to obey his orders to move on with them. His hand spasmed, but the page remained empty except for what he’d written before Jen mentioned Claire’s name.

Pastor Mark bowed his head, signaling the beginning of the last prayer where he’d mention each request by name before closing them out. Luke followed suit, along with everyone else in the sanctuary. Every time he tried to organize his thoughts into something resembling a conversation with God, they took off running in every direction like a herd of spooked cattle.

Claire. He latched onto her name and nothing else made it through.

What was the resolution?

I don’t know what to ask for. He pressed his thumb against the edge of his pen. I don’t know if what I want is what’s right. I don’t know how to want something this much without it turning into control.

That was the problem underneath the problem. He’d spent years learning that his need to control outcomes had been fear dressed in competence. He’d learned to open his hands, to steward faithfully and trust the results. He struggled every single day, but he tried. He’d used everything that Claire taught him with her spreadsheets and calmness and applied it to the ranch, the community, and the slow and tedious work of becoming a better leader.

He just hadn’t learned how to apply that same principle to Claire.

With her, every instinct for control redirected into a hard fist in his gut that wanted to demand she stay. Demands like that never worked. He knew enough about that from seeing the give and take of Mom and Dad’s marriage. Fighting for love was one thing. Demanding it a whole other situation. Instead of managing vendor relationships and community programs, he tried to manage his feelings and the situation. Keeping himself at distance gave him a sense of safety—something he could control.

Words swirled through his head, broken bits of prayers he once again tried to wrangle into something manageable. Lord, I’m sorry. I’m a mess and I have no idea what to do now. Please help all those mentioned tonight. Bring them peace and comfort. Help them as only You can. And…Lord? Help me. Please. He squeezed his eyes tighter, tighter. Grandpa used to say that love was one of the scariest things in the world because it gave someone the power to hurt you in ways no one else could. I’m not sure what to do about that. I’m not sure if this is even love.

He was not being brave, but praying helped. It always helped.

Pastor Mark’s “amen” reverberated through Luke’s bones. He lifted his head, taking his time as he inhaled deep through his nose, capturing the breath tight in his lungs before releasing it and forcing out his worry at the same time.

Movement happened all around him. People stood and shook hands like they’d never met each other. Laughter and conversations mingled with the sounds of running feet as the kids took off into the side rooms to play until their parents hauled them home.

Eli offered Luke a cup of coffee once he managed to push to his feet and move into the foyer. The soft scent brought a rush of comfort not unlike how he felt every time he stood on the porch overlooking the fields.