Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Division (07/13/23)
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TITLE: Dare to Hope | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marilyn Borga
07/19/23 -
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“You’ve already squandered your youth taking care of your mother,” Leitha whined uncharitably. “Why waste what’s left of your life nursing an old man?”
Millie chimed in. “It might be worth your while if he were wealthy, but he isn’t. His house is too small, although I admit that it does look kind of cozy.”
I wondered what made my friends privy to the state of John’s health or his bank account. These factors had entered my mind, too, but only briefly. At seventy, he still had the vigor to keep our church spotless in his position as janitor. As the church organist, I concede that neither of our jobs paid well, but I have never been one to base my contentment on material wealth.
Leitha and Millie had married young. Their children were grown and they were already welcoming grandbabies. These longtime friends had my best interests in mind, yet they seemed blind to my circumstances and feelings. I had lived alone since my invalid mother had died the previous year. Solitude did not suit me.
My time practicing at the church brought solace that my home’s silent, empty walls could not. While my fingers filled the sanctuary with sounds of praise and blessed hope, my heart warmed at each shy smile John gave me while polishing the wooden pews. After being a widower for several years, he no doubt also missed the companionship he’d once enjoyed. Considering his gentle manner and steadfast faith, I could see no reason to refuse his proposal.
The misgivings of my friends paled beside the uproar our engagement caused with John’s adult children and their spouses. As they voiced their loud protests, he listened stoically. Later, after they had stormed off, he embraced me. “They must think I have one foot already in the grave,” he murmured. “Why don’t we see what our pastor has to say?”
Once the pastor determined that we were like-minded in our faith and would be equally yoked, he gave us his blessing. We married in the church sanctuary with only the pastor’s wife as a witness.
I had thought the rift in John’s family was severe when we chose to marry, but it was nothing compared with what happened a few months later after I visited the doctor.
“No, you are certainly not going through the change,” he announced with a grin, “however, your life will soon be changing in a big way.” My mouth dropped open as his meaning sunk in.
John gathered his family once again to give them our news. Their reactions ranged from embarrassment to outrage. They fussed and grumbled as though the precious bundle I carried at age fifty was offensive rather than the miraculous gift that it was. As the slamming of the door echoed throughout the house, John held me close and dried my tears. “Let’s hope they come around in their own time,” he said grimly. “Meanwhile, we must rejoice and laugh as Abraham and Sarah did when God gave them Issac.”
So we refused to dwell on the family’s rejection. We wanted our son to feel that he was a blessing to us, not a burden. We named him Othello Erwin. He was such a little fellow, we quickly shortened it to “O.E.” John and our boy enjoyed each other’s company, whether they were fishing together on a summer afternoon or sweeping out the horse shed. Many a winter evening, I would listen as the two sat around the pot-bellied stove and read aloud from the published sermons of the late evangelist, D. L. Moody. Our boy accepted the Lord as a young child and we knew that God had special plans for him.
John passed away suddenly not long after O.E. finished seminary. We had enjoyed twenty-two years of marriage. O.E. and his gracious bride, Dorothy, asked me to come and live with them, so I wouldn’t have to be alone. I’m grateful that we hadn’t let the negativity of others divide us all those years ago. I’d have missed so many blessings.
Do I dare to hope that there might be grandchildren in my future?
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The life of Rev. O. E. Hannawalt (1904-1989) inspired this work of fiction.
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