A Gown of Spanish Lace
“She ached for her father and mother. If only she had some way to communicate with them. To let them know she had not been harmed—at least not yet. She worried about her students. What would they do? What would they think of her, failing to show up for classes?
She prayed and worried by turn. Frantic mental searching for ways of escape, followed by clinging to the one word, trust. “Surely God knows where I am, even if I don’t,” she would remind herself, and then turn right back to worrying again.
Stop it, she scolded herself. I can’t trust and worry at the same time—can I?
It was so difficult to obey her own admonition.
The blinding snow still swirled around her. Her tired pony stumbled on and on. Her bones ached. Her flesh felt numb with cold. She sometimes wondered if she was more dead than alive—but they traveled on through the blank whiteness.
Guessing it to be afternoon, she had a strange sense that more than falling snow obliterated the pathway. She looked around but could make o...ut little of the landscape.MoreLess
She prayed and worried by turn. Frantic mental searching for ways of escape, followed by clinging to the one word, trust. “Surely God knows where I am, even if I don’t,” she would remind herself, and then turn right back to worrying again.
Stop it, she scolded herself. I can’t trust and worry at the same time—can I?
It was so difficult to obey her own admonition.
The blinding snow still swirled around her. Her tired pony stumbled on and on. Her bones ached. Her flesh felt numb with cold. She sometimes wondered if she was more dead than alive—but they traveled on through the blank whiteness.
Guessing it to be afternoon, she had a strange sense that more than falling snow obliterated the pathway. She looked around but could make o...ut little of the landscape.MoreLess
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