Casting Fear | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Casting Fear | Previous Challenge Entry
By Philippa Geaney
11/25/21
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Jenna Watson trundled the final load towards her crammed car. Moving house was stressful, although the woman she passed in the corridor probably thought it was a wonderful adventure. She’d smiled as they’d passed.
Suddenly, Jenna stopped and turned. That smiling woman was herself – her reflection. There was no one else around.

As Jenna navigated towards her new home, three hours east, she puzzled over that smile. Did her spirit know something her brain didn’t? Did the Father enjoy watching her surprised reaction?
‘OK Lord, I’m with You. Thank You for this adventure. I believe You will tell me things, when and if I need to know.’ She drove a few more miles before speaking. ‘But Lord, my spirit was smiling’.

Jenna recalled how the move came about. She’d almost forgotten last month’s Skype interview. Hearing nothing, she’d decided the local Council for the seaboard township of Fortitude had found another Early Childhood Educator.
After all, it had been a spur-of-the-moment application, born of a desire to escape the city, avoiding the temptation to give in and accept a marriage proposal.
He was a tall, dark and handsome Christian. Yet, strangely, she felt no peace.
Her final decision came following a dream in which her Heavenly Father asked her what she held in her hand.
‘It’s pretty tinsel paper Father. See how it shines?’
‘Will you give it to me, Child?’
Jenna hesitated, then handed it to Him.
‘I’ll give you gold instead, Jenna. Do you trust me?’
She answered, ‘Yes.’

****

'We apologize for the delay Ms. Watson. The pandemic complicated our managerial decisions on this end.’ The speaker expressed a hope that she was still interested, extolling the town’s virtues, adding that the job came with a furnished cottage and even a small boat!
Who could resist?

Jenna checked the rearview mirror and sighed. It had been a long journey, but when she crested the last rise and pulled her VW over, she could only stare.
It’s charming Lord – thank You.
A sign that read FORTITUDE Home to 10,000 upright citizens, made her smile.
She sent a quick text to the family: I’ve arrived. Is this sign a case of Jacob’s breeding speckled and spotted sheep?

She pulled back onto the highway.
It’s 10,001 now
How did you remain such a well-kept secret Fortitude?

‘You have reached your destination – your destination is on the right.’
Jenna glanced at the satnav and then to her right. A sign attached to a cottage gate read Welcome, Miss Watson.
Colorful child-sized handprints circled the writing.

***

After a few weeks, Jenna had found her rhythm of prayer and had begun a dialogue with Her Heavenly Father over choosing a home church. She was now familiar with her four-year-old charges and their families’ personalities and knew the best running paths alongside the river. There was still much to learn about the quirks of a putt-putt motorboat that performed tight circles on the slightest touch.

‘Miss Watson, what took you so long to get here?’ Four-year-old Tom handed Jenna his painting to hang on the drying line. ‘Mummy and I have been pwaying for you to come for ages.’

Jenna crouched down. “I’m sorry, little man. Sometimes it takes Miss Watson a while to understand what God is saying. My Heavenly Father is so precious. I take care to do only the things He wants.

‘It’s OK.’ Tom’s chubby arms encircled her neck. ‘You’re here now. Mummy will take you to Uncle Steven. We’ve been pwaying for you to come and mawy him.’

Jenna smiled. She had no wisdom to offer but suggested they cast that care onto our Heavenly Father.
‘Uncle Steven can teach you how to cast a fishing line, Miss Watson. Don’t you wowy about that!’
Jenna wasn’t worried at all. She’d already cast that care onto her Heavenly Father. Her desires were safe. The wonder of it all was His cherishing her.
‘You mentioned fish…is Uncle Steven a fisherman, Tom?’

As she spoke, Jenna remembered a conversation she’d had with a fisherman on the pier yesterday. He’d called out instructions, laughing with her as her putt-putt had circled, refusing to dock. She really must learn how to control it better. Afterward, they had they’d prolonged the chance encounter, chatting comfortably.

‘Naw, he’s a pweacher, Miss Watson. He goes out on the boats sometimes and brings us fish. Mum says he’s made of gold, but I think that’s ‘cause his name is Steven Gold.’

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