Hearing Hope by Beth Anne Lewis (golden son ebook TXT) 📕

said, “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”
“Would you like to have a personal relationship with Jesus, dear? He’s waiting for you.”
Lower lip trembling, Hope nodded.
“Dear Father,” began Mrs. Mcallister, clasping Hope’s hand in her own. “This child of Yours needs Your help and your comfort. You knew her dear Joshua was leaving her even before she did, so I ask now that You make Your presence known to her, that You would be a shoulder for her in this time of trial.” Pausing, she said softly to Hope, “You can repeat what I say out loud, or in your heart. Father, I realize that I am a wretched sinner and deserve to die; to forever be separated from You. I believe that Your Son died for me, and conquered death so that I may live with You forever. I want You to be the Lord of my life. I want You to come into my heart and live there. Please help me to live the way You want me to. In Your Son’s Name, amen.” Even she sniffed.
“It’s that simple?” Hope asked around her tears.
“It is. Try to talk to Jesus like one of your best friends, for that is what he is. There is so much more for you to learn, though, and most of that is in the Bible.” Mrs. Mcallister stopped when she heard Hope’s quick intake of breath, and saw the pained look in her eyes. “The baby?”
Hope nodded, then shook her head. “It’s too early.”
Holding her hand again, Mrs. Mcallister began praying again. “Father, we know You love the baby this dear girl is carrying. We ask that You spare its life, for its mother’s sake. But that is our own selfish request. Your will be done, Jesus. We know You have a plan, for good and not for evil. That one day we will look back and know exactly why all this was happening.” She felt Hope’s grip again tighten on her hand. “Please help us now. Give Hope Your strength. Amen.”
“Do you really think He will?”
“I know He will do what He sees best, which is always the better way. Now, hold on. Let me go boil some water.”
Pain

Pain. That was all that consumed Hope’s mind. How long had the contractions been coming? Most of the night, she knew. She also knew it wasn’t good that the baby hadn’t made an appearance yet. As another contraction ripped through her body, she prayed, “God, please. Please help me.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she actually heard a whispered I already have been.

It made sense that God could speak to her, even when she couldn’t hear. Suddenly Mrs. Mcallister was at her side. She shook her so she would know to read her lips.
“I’ve turned the baby, and I can see its head crowning. It shouldn’t be much longer. On the next few contractions, I want you to push with all your might. Got it?”
Hope nodded. Feeling another one gathering, she tried to collect what strength she had left and pushed. And again. And again. Then, she felt the baby slide out. She saw Mrs. Mcallister smacking the tiny back, then swishing it in warm water. Its skin was a heart-stopping grayish blue. She turned around to Hope and mournfully shook her head. Hope was too full of grief to cry, to think. Her last tie with Joshua. Gone. She was momentarily distracted as her body expelled the afterbirth. Then Mrs. Mcallister placed the still little body, a boy, in her arms. She then busied herself in cleaning up the mess, leaving Hope to mourn over her loss.
When Hope had clean sheets and a new nightgown, she was finally able to talk.
“His name is Caleb.” She murmured into Mrs. Mcallister’s motherly bosom. She felt her nodding as she stroked her hair. Suddenly overtaken with extreme exhaustion, she fell back on the bed, asleep instantly.


She woke not knowing how long she slept, but burning with fever. Mrs. Mcallister was immediately at her side.
“I believe little Caleb was dead inside of you for sometime. Your body was poisoned by it. I’m afraid you’ll be sick for a while.” She felt her head at the same time, a shadow crossing her face. “Mr. Mcallister stopped by a while ago, and he went for the doctor. Should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Sure enough, the local doctor walked in, mentally taking in the situation. Hope caught bits and pieces as Mrs. Mcallister explained everything to him. She was vaguely aware of him feeling her head, then a cold metal object being stuck in her mouth.
“She’s running a temperature of a hundred and three degrees. I’m afraid we have a long road ahead of us.”
Mrs. Mcallister nodded and stroked Hope’s hand.
“I want you to soak her sheets constantly, so we can try to cool her down.”
Instantly Mrs. Mcallister moved to do as ordered. It was tedious work though, as the sheets dried quickly due to the violence of the fever raging in Hope’s body.
All through the day, they struggled on. Just after sunset, Hope regained consciousness. Seeing Mrs. Mcallister at the side of her bed with the ever-present knitting needles, she said, “Why didn’t He?”
“Why didn’t He what, dearie?”
“The baby. He could have saved Caleb, but He didn’t.”
“You are right that He could have saved him. But like I said, sometimes our Lord does things that don’t make any sense to us at all. He gives, and He takes away as He sees fit. And in all circumstances we must say, ‘blessed be the name of the Lord.’ I promise you, dear Hope, that one day you’ll look back on this time and know exactly why all this was happening. And you will be so thankful for it.”
Hope looked away, unable to answer. She didn’t want to think about Caleb or Joshua anymore, for it seemed she didn’t even have the strength to cry.


That night, the fever came back, in all its strength. The doctor said Hope’s temperature was over 104 degrees, and still rising.
Hope had been sleeping fitfully most of the night, plagued by dreams that only sickness can bring. At one moment she was seeing her beloved Joshua running home to her, in his arms their precious Caleb, and the next they would fade away, never to be found again.
Mrs. Mcallister was overcome with sorrow, seeing her friend slipping away. She was comforted, however, with the knowledge that Hope would be with Jesus should she die. If one could see prayers, hers would be spiraling up to heaven, like the smoke of a candle just blown out.
The doctor announced 105 when for some time Hope had been lying still. Deathly still. She seemed to be struggling with each breath. Mr. Mcallister had joined the doctor and Mrs. Mcallister, and he and his wife were knelt by the bed praying. Hope’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and suddenly, all was quiet. The doctor checked her breathing, then tried again, then finally rose and shook his head at the Mcallisters.
Heaving a sigh, Mrs. Mcallister said, eyes moist, “She’s with the Lord, and all the pain is gone.” Nodding once, she rose to look in Hope’s closet to find something to dress her body in. A shout from the doctor brought her running back to the room.
“Don’t get your hopes up, but I found a pulse. It’s so faint, I wonder if it’s even worth it, but I’m going to do my best.”
Blinking, Mrs. Mcallister said, “So . . . she’s still alive?”
“Barely. But the fever is so high, her body is shutting down. We need to find some way to bring that temp down. Do you know if there is a river around here?”
She nodded. “There’s one not fifty steps away from the house.”
“We have to get her in the water. It’s the only way we have a chance of cooling her off.” Motioning to her husband, they both picked Hope up and carried her out the door into the cool night and to the river. With Mr. Mcallister in the water making sure she didn’t sink, they could almost see the steam rising off of Hope’s body. Her breathing started back up, and she began twitching and shivering.
Nobody knew how much time passed, but presently the doctor said, “That’s enough.” And they carried her back into the house and settled her into the fresh sheets; courtesy of Mrs. Mcallister.
“Doctor, do you think she has a chance?” Mrs. Mcallister asked as the doctor again took Hope’s temperature.
Smiling at the results on the thermometer, the doctor said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, but things are certainly looking on the bright side.”

"My cup overflows..."

Hope stirred as the sun rose the next morning. She could smell eggs cooking, and cornmeal mush. Trying to pry her eyes open, she blinked to clear the fog surrounding her vision. Then she noticed it. Click, click, click, click.

What was that? Looking around the room, she saw Mrs. Mcallister, lips moving. She must be praying. In her hands something soft was taking form, probably for one of her grandchildren. Hope stopped there. The knitting needles. Could it be?

She thought. Moving her hands took more strength than she wanted to spend, but she raised them to cover her ears. Silence. The silence she had experienced her whole life. She uncovered them, and the clicking returned. Heart thudding, she hardly dared hope what she thought.
Seeing her movement, Mrs. Mcallister ceased her knitting and said, “Hope. We thought we’d lost you there for a while.”
The tears sprang to Hope’s eyes and streamed down the side of her face. A sob escaped her lips.
“Why dear, what is it?” Talking seemed to bring on more tears.
Finally Hope managed to speak around her crying. “I . . . I . . . I can hear

you.”
Mrs. Mcallister’s mouth rounded into an O that grew into a soft smile. Then tears came to her eyes as well.