A few days later, they headed for upstate New York on a short trip to visit relatives Jennie had never met. She was still thinking about her conversation with Mr. Greene.
"When someone says a Christian can just go on sinning without it mattering, I never know quite what to say," she told her father. He quoted Gal. 6:77Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. (Galatians 6:7): "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
"That should stem the argument many give that a Christian can go on carelessly, just because he's saved. That is not true. A Christian who doesn't live to please the Lord will never be truly happy. If their walk becomes careless, they shall reap the sad results. The Lord, who loves them as sons, will chasten them. If they do not respond to the Lord's chastening, He may take them away in death. He never leaves us alone if we go on in sin."
Driving through New York State, the girls were surprised to find that it was not all like busy, bustling, dirty New York City. Instead, they were seeing a panorama of rolling green hills, captivating farms, and fields bursting with wild flowers. Earlier that morning, they stopped at one of the smallest gatherings in the East to remember the Lord in His death. The small circle of people made even the gathering in Jaffrey large by comparison. A family there prepared for guests, rarely knowing if any might come. This so impressed Mrs. Benton that, turning to her husband, she asked incredulously, "Do you suppose they do that week after week?"
As they came closer to the old homestead where Uncle John Benton and his family waited for them, they looked across rolling fields of wild flowers. "So this is New York State!" Jennie's mother said with surprise. "No wonder Grandpa loved this so much. I can just picture him here, living out his last days in this peace and quiet. This countryside seems just like your father, Peter."
They all liked the area leading to the homestead immediately. It was home to them even before they reached the Benton house.
"At last we'll be with young people," Kara blurted out, "not just old people!" She said the two words "old people" with a disdain that her father did not appreciate.
He spoke with feeling, "Kara, what we did this morning in going to that small gathering, we did as unto the Lord. It was certainly refreshing, and an example to me of the verse 'given to hospitality.' Imagine those folks preparing a meal every Lord's day in hopes that someone will come through. I'm sure that most of the time no visitor ever comes."
He was quiet as he drove, quite obviously disappointed in his daughters. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with emotion, "I want you girls to always remember that each of the Lord's people, old or young, is someone special in His sight and loved by Him. Someday you will understand that old people are people just as much as you young ones are. Let's learn to be thoughtful of those who are lonely. Of all people, you girls ought to feel compassion for them!"
"I like everybody," Lisa interrupted with a sudden brightness. Kara put her finger to her lips, quieting Lisa as her father finished. They drove on in silence, each of the girls a bit ashamed.
As they came to the sign bearing the familiar Benton name and saw the family running out to meet the car, they could no longer contain their excitement. The large stone house, built piece by piece by Uncle John himself, stood before them. Cheerful red pots of geraniums brightened the house with its small, square-paned windows.
As they walked toward the house, all talking at once, Jennie noticed the grass surrounding the home swaying in the breeze and the old silver pitcher with blue cornflowers placed on the porch. She never had liked pretentious things. She felt at home here.
With Uncle John leading the way through the narrow hall, they walked into the main room where a boy of medium height with dark hair and a pleasant smile met them. This was Mark. He and his younger brother Tommy were clearly sizing up their cousins! After a few attempts at conversation, Kara and Tommy rushed out to the horse stables to see Mark's horse, while Mark offered Jennie a seat.
She was barely seated when he asked, "Would you like a tour of the place? After we eat, it will be too dark." She nodded, following him back outside as the two mothers moved into the kitchen to prepare supper.
"I can see why Grandpa loved this place," Jennie exclaimed as they hurried down the narrow hallway once more, through the screen door and out into the front yard. 'Why everywhere you look there are scenes for him to have captured in his paintings."
Surprised by her comment, Mark studied his cousin. A moment later he inquired, "Are you an artist, too?"
"Oh, somewhat, Mark. I like to sketch and doodle a bit, but when it comes to painting, I get lost. I've tried a few without much success. How about you?"
He smiled. "I'll show you some of my work later if you'd like to see it." They walked to the edge of the hillside and looked down over the white fields of Queen Anne's lace. The summer wind blew Jennie's long hair as she stood in this hushed spot, absorbing the fact that her grandfather had no doubt stood here many, many times.
Mark spoke again, "I suppose we both got our interest from Grandpa. I used to stand behind his chair as a small boy and watch him working here with his canvas and paints. Though he was out preaching much of the time, there were days when he wanted to relax. That was when he'd sit here and paint. I can still see him huddled over the canvas, that funny old hat on his head to protect him from the sun, with his paints and brushes lined up carefully on a small table beside him. When he was painting like that, he never wanted to be disturbed, so I kept very quiet and still."
"I didn't really know Grandpa," Jennie acknowledged. "I do have one funny memory of him, though. When I was about thirteen, a little before Grandma died and he moved here, he came to visit us in California. It was his last trip to see us. I had worked hard on a painting, hoping it would please him. The painting portrayed my dream of having six children."
"Six children!" Mark interrupted in a shocked voice. "You want six children, Jennie?"
"Oh yes," she answered, without flinching, "at least six. Anyway, I imagined what each of them would look like and captured this on canvas as best I could. I could hardly wait until Grandpa arrived. I did them in oils, making each face different, painting the mouths and eyes and expressions so carefully. He barely arrived when I brought out my masterpiece to show him," she mused. "The canvas was so large!" She giggled at the memory.
Mark's dark eyes were questioning as he asked, "Did he like it?"
She paused, looking down at the parched grasses underneath her feet. "No," she answered simply, remembering her keen disappointment, "he looked at it for awhile without saying anything-just looked. I felt scared to death of him. All of a sudden he said, 'It's nice, but if I had done it, I would have spent as much time on each person as you did on the whole."'
Mark looked surprised. "I'm sorry," he said kindly.
"It doesn't matter now," she admitted, "but do you know what I did at the time? I took it and threw it in the garbage can. Now I wish I had kept it."
"To show your six children?" he teased. As they walked around the old place together, he pointed to the upstairs bedroom. "That's my room up there.
I'm giving it to you and Kara tonight. See all the plants? I like to raise them."
Later, at the dinner table, conversations flew in every direction. They belonged here. Once again the warmth settled over Jennie of at last belonging, of having relatives around her. She didn't want to ever go back to Jaffrey now. If only they could have moved to New York instead.
The love and memories they shared concerning Grandpa Benton brought the two families together in an even stronger bond. Each one had a story to tell about this most unusual man who was part artist, part preacher.
"He took so much of my mother's time," Mark said, remembering. "He was sick for two long years. One day just before he died he put his hand on my head and said, 'Son, I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble.' After that," Mark continued, "I never felt resentful toward him. In fact, I guess I even learned to love him."
On the other side of the table, Uncle John burst into a peal of hearty laughter. "Peter, do you remember the joke he had with his india ink? Well, he would do this when he was at someone's home for dinner who had obviously made an effort to make things nice for him. Usually during the conversation in a home where there was a spotless, white linen tablecloth, he would pull out a bottle of ink, explaining how permanent it was and ideal for the texts he made. About that time he would exclaim, `Oh, look what I've done.' The lady of the house would come rushing out of the kitchen to find a pool of india ink on her table cloth, with his ink bottle standing beside it. He would remain serious as she sought to console him, adding that it didn't really matter. Then at the last moment, he would lift the pool of ink from the table, which was only a rubber dummy, and wait for the reaction."
Jennie's mother shook her head. She always felt that Mr. Benton, as a preacher, should have been more serious-minded. But he was a man who just couldn't hold down his sense of humor.
Uncle John was beginning another story. "Just before he was bed-ridden," he began, "he stayed with friends of ours in Pittsburgh. They took him out for dinner one evening while he was there. He was pretty old and feeble by then. They guided him gently by the arm, ever so slowly to the table where the waitress waited.
"As he passed the many people in the restaurant who were watching him, he heard one of them say, `Look at that feeble old man.' Slowly he turned around, faced them and without cracking a smile said, 'I may be feeble, but I'm not deaf!"'
That night Jennie and Mark sat out on the front steps talking after coming home from gospel meeting. Mark mentioned how he wanted to saddle-up his horse and take her for a gallop before they left in the morning.
"It's funny, Mark," Jennie commented as they sat there looking over the valley, "I never really knew Grandpa, and you never knew Grandma. She was an unusual person, too. She had such a struggle in their poverty."
Mark interrupted, "Grandpa told us how terribly poor they were."
"Yes, one year Grandma had to go all winter without a coat," Jennie went on, "and in Oregon that wasn't easy. It rains most of the time, so it's very damp and chilly, though not the awful cold we've found here in the East. She often gave what little they did have to others in greater need. She loved to entertain the Lord's people and in faith would invite a crowd over, not knowing what to make a meal from. More than once she had to go to neighbors to borrow food for her company. And more often than not, my father had to use his paper-route money to help pay the grocery bills."
The full moon that had earlier risen in the cloudless sky was now slowly disappearing from view. They felt a strong breeze begin to stir as they sat talking.
Mark was thinking of his own mother, as Jennie spoke of their grandmother. His mother was a woman whose Christian spirit shone through her dark eyes and radiant smile. There was a beauty about her from within. Mark told Jennie of the untiring service she had given their grandfather during the years he had lain sick in bed. Without complaining, she had unselfishly and lovingly cared for him. Recently she spent days typing his term papers and he was still trying to think of some way to thank her, something he could do for her that she would really enjoy. He turned to Jennie, "The most beautiful thing about my mother," he added thoughtfully, "is that she doesn't know how beautiful she is!"
They hurried inside and sat down beside the big stone fireplace as a light rain pattered against the windowpanes. By contrast, the house was pleasantly warm, the living room cozy with the mellow light from the twin lamps over the mantle. Mark disappeared into a back room, looking for some of his sketches. While Jennie waited for him in the stillness, she thought the compliment he gave his mother was surely the nicest a son could give.
Much later she stood in the bedroom window upstairs, looking over the rolling hills. Kara was asleep in the bed nearby. The house that a few hours before had overflowed with talk and laughter was quiet now. She and Mark had stayed up much later than the others, but now he, too, was probably curled up asleep in the living room. Once again she was alone with her thoughts, struggling with her feeling of rebellion.
Mark was so happy here. At the meeting that night she had met a friendly group of young people. Before this trip, she felt she could only be happy in San Francisco. To her surprise she now wondered if she could be just as happy here in New York. At least there would be young people and activities to adjust to. There would be more than the awful emptiness of Jaffrey. Why then hadn't the Lord brought them here?
She turned away from the window and looked about the humble little room. In the soft light of the amber lamp sitting on the worn, antique chest, she could make out the words of a neatly-framed text hanging directly above. No doubt Mark made that himself. There was a comfortable chair next to a bookcase against the far wall and then the old brass bed where Kara was curled up, sound asleep, completely oblivious to Jennie's presence in the room.
Walking over to the chair with her Bible, she turned to Joshua, chapter 1. Her eyes skimmed the page until she came to verse 9: "Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." Looking back a few verses, she read: "As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."
These verses would always lead her back through the years to the time of her salvation. For so long she had wanted to be saved, and yet she could not find peace. How many times she wondered what the problem was. Over and over again her father had said to her, "Jennie, it's so easy. Simply see yourself as a lost sinner and believe that the Lord Jesus died on the cross to wash away your sins. Tell the Lord you are a sinner, that you believe Him, and thank Him for dying to save you."
But for many long months, the struggle continued. She could not feel saved. How could she trust someone she didn't know? Then Kara became seriously ill and Jennie, perhaps for the first time, truly needed the comfort no one could give her.
Day after day that early summer she left the house and took off on her bicycle. She prayed with all her heart for Kara's recovery, as she rode through the lonely, sun-drenched streets. It seemed there was only herself and the Lord. There was no one who could tell her Kara would get better. There was no one who could make Kara better, but the Lord Himself. As she prayed during those long hours and days, she realized that she was coming to know the Lord as she longed to know Him. She believed in Him and learned to trust Him. She knew now that she also truly loved Him. He was becoming her Friend, as she poured out her heart to Him about Kara and other things in her life. From that time on, she never doubted her salvation.
The Lord healed Kara. It was only a short time later that Jennie began to appreciate the verse on her dresser—for so long she hadn't really noticed it. It was the one she had just turned to here in Mark's room: "I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee." That day, so long ago, as she read this verse she was impressed with a sense that the Lord was going to ask her to go through something difficult, but she felt that He was giving her a special promise that He would be with her all the way. Now that time had come!
A warmth swept over her as she turned off the light. She had almost forgotten that verse. And now she was in a difficult situation. Why did the Lord bring them to New York when it only made things harder? Now she could see that perhaps He brought them here to show her how He could just as well have moved them to New York as to Jaffrey. Because He didn't, there must be a reason—a good reason.
For the first time since leaving California, she began to feel a suggestion of peace in her heart, to feel a sense, however small, of being in the path the Lord had chosen for her. It was not her choosing certainly, but His. Could it be that He was carefully planning even all these hurts to bring blessing to her? Could it be Mrs. Adams was right when she suggested that the Lord was giving her a privilege by letting her go through this hard time?
Her thoughts returned to the stop at the gathering between home and upstate New York. She thought of the family who in their loneliness was faithfully preparing a company meal, week after week, hoping and no doubt praying that the Lord would send a visitor. How she had resented having to go to that gathering! Now she felt a warmth about her heart, realizing the Lord had used the Benton family to bring cheer and a blessing to those people. Maybe that was what their move to Jaffrey was all about!
She felt secure in these moments, almost experiencing a sense of joy. If only that joy could be sustained in her heart as they returned to Jaffrey. She resolved to remind herself that the Lord was there with her, desiring to light her pathway and bring a song to her heart.