Wonderful Peace – Part 4

Hello FFFs,

This morning everything is coated in silver. The trees sparkle and glitter. And the sky, for the first time since Monday morning, is clear! It's cold. Probably single digits right now, and it's not supposed to reach above freezing today. But the roads are clear! Wednesday night it rained. And then froze. Yesterday we had snow almost all day though we have no idea what happened to it because it was cold enough to stick, but it didn't except for a very light dusting on some things. But that's okay with me this time. You see, I have to go and decorate for our Widows' Tea today that is taking place tomorrow. And we really don't want to have to post pone things. And tomorrow is supposed to be 41º. :)

I really haven't gotten much writing done this week. I wrote Monday, and then was really tired on Tuesday. Wednesday I was gone, and last night I was working on seating arrangements for the Tea. Maybe tonight? We'll see. I really, really want to finish this book, so pray I get inspired and the words come.

And now, here is the final part of this story. I hope you enjoy it.

 

Wonderful Peace

Part 4

    “Arthur,” Julia said, as she seated herself before the piano, “when we get together like this we take turns picking songs to sing. What would you like?”
    From his lounging place on the sofa, his wounded limb resting comfortably on a cushion, Arthur smiled faintly. What song would he like? “How can I chose just one?” he asked, dismayed at trying to make such a decision.
    “Oh, let us have him pick them all this evening, since he’s only just come home,” Katie impulsively suggested.
    “Yes, let’s,” chimed in Amelia, Virginia and Edna.
    The others nodded and a hymn book was passed to Arthur who took it quietly. He noticed it was a new one and upon opening it his eyes scanned a few pages noticing such composers as Bradbury, Doane, Bliss, Sankey, and McGranahan. “Is this the same as . . .” he whispered, hastily turning the pages. A smile of pleasure lit his tired face and he said, looking up at his mother, whose chair was drawn near his couch, “I had this very same book in the hospital and it was such a friend to me in those long, lonely hours. I could read the words, but only if someone else in the ward knew the tune could we sing the songs. How I wished then, Mother, that I had stuck to my music lessons. Julia, play, “Savior, More than Life to Me,” please. I loved reading the hymns by Fanny Crosby.”
    Obediently, Julia began to play and her clear, sweet voice was joined by the others.

“Savior, more than life to me,
I am clinging, clinging close to Thee;
Let Thy precious blood applied,
Keep me ever, ever near Thy side.

Ev’ry day, ev’ry hour,
Let me feel Thy cleansing pow’r;
May Thy tender love to me
Bind me closer, closer, Lord, to Thee.”

    Lying there with eyes gazing at nothing, Arthur listened to the sweet music, recalling those days in the crude hospital out west. How dreary it had been, but how much worse it would have been had not those few hymn books appeared. As the song died away, Arthur smiled and turned to his father.
    “These songs are sermons themselves, Father. If you ever don’t have time to write one, all you have to do is pick up one of these songs and read it from the pulpit.”
    Song followed song for some time but at last, pausing in his search for yet another hymn, Arthur again became lost in thoughts of the past, his eyes staring blankly at the pages before him. It was only his mother’s voice, softly suggesting that perhaps it was growing late, that roused him. He looked about. Everyone was still there though David seemed to be preparing to escort Margaret home and Julia was shutting the music book.
    “Please,” he begged, sitting up quickly though his leg protested and he winced, “don’t go yet. There is one more song that has meant so much to me all these years I’ve been away.”
    Quietly David laid Margaret’s wrap over the back of a chair and they stepped closer. John picked up the hymnbook, ready to find the song for his wife, and the others who had begun to separate returned to the circle about the piano and fire.
    “I left home,” Arthur continued, lying back and gazing about, “because I was missing something in my life. I didn’t know what it was then. I thought it was because I was hampered here, forced to conform to a life I didn’t want. I thought I wanted freedom, freedom from the constraints of being the son of a minister.” He offered his father a smile of apology. “I didn’t know what I truly wanted or needed, but I didn’t think I could get it here, so I headed west. The whole story of those twelve wasted years would take too long to tell. Much of it I’m not proud of and would change if I could. After trying my hand at this and that, I at last joined up with the army and was sent to a fort. I was restless and, well, just plain hard to get along with even there. All this time I knew my life was missing something, something that Mother and Father had, something that kept them smiling during those difficult years of trouble. It was peace. God’s peace. But I wasn’t ready to admit I needed God. No,” he sighed, “I thought I could find my own peace, I didn’t want help, not even the help of such a loving Friend as Jesus Christ. Oh, wasted years,” he exclaimed, “why was I so blind?”
    Wiping away her tears, Mrs. Fowler reached out and clasped the tightly clenched hand of her returned son.
    He turned to look at her. “Did you pray for me, Mother?”
    “Every day, my boy, every day.”
    He lay silent for some minutes. “Well,” he at last went on, “it wasn’t until I was wounded during a skirmish that my Heavenly Father won the victory over my stubborn, foolish self. I gave in and a peace filled my heart such as I never even imagined I could have! And it’s stayed!” On his face was such a look of awed wonder that no one spoke.
    “Julia,” Arthur turned to his sister, “won’t you play Mother’s song? Whoever wrote those words certainly knew what it was like.”
    Soon the music of the song which had welcomed him home was filling the music room.

“I am resting tonight in this wonderful peace,
Resting sweetly in Jesus’ control;
For I’m kept from all danger by night and by day,
And His glory is flooding my soul.

    Arthur’s voice broke as he remembered all those times when dangers had threatened his very life, dangers which made him cringe even now and yet he had been preserved. It was true, all true. There was peace, wonderful peace. Arthur closed his eyes and listened to the dear voices singing the song which had gone with him in memory until he found it for himself.

“And me-thinks when I rise to that City of peace,
Where the Author of peace I shall see,
That one strain of the song which the ransomed will sing,
In that heavenly kingdom shall be:

Peace! Peace! Wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above;
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray,
In fathomless billows of love.”

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