Woman of Grace by Kathleen Morgan

Author:Kathleen Morgan [Morgan, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2007-03-18T22:00:00+00:00

12

What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

Mark 8:36

She walked in a grassy meadow, sunlight sparkling off the knee-high, windblown grass. Her long red hair was unbound, curling then unfurling about her face in the warm breeze. She wore a simple dress of green calico, and her feet were bare.

Terrified she’d disappear before he reached her, Devlin ran down the hill after Ella. She turned to him as he drew up beside her, an impish grin lifting her lips.

“I-I’ve missed you so.” He gazed down at her with tender affection.

Her grin softened into a loving smile. “Walk with me.”

There was nothing that Devlin would’ve rather done. He moved close, his arm encircling her shoulders, and shortened his stride to match hers. She felt good, solid, and surprisingly real against him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice husky with pent-up longing.

“I know.” Ella glanced at him. “I’ve always known.”

Though her answer did little to ease his pain, he was nonetheless happy to hear it.

“Don’t lose hope, my love.” Ella’s look of understanding was ample proof she knew what he had been thinking. “This time of mourning will pass, and you’ll find joy again.” She clasped his arm, halting him. “But first you must face your grief and anger, and look past it to God’s eternal plan. Only then will you become a whole man, a man of God.”

Devlin gazed down at her, his heart so full of yearning he thought it might rip in two. “I don’t care about God or His plan,” he rasped finally, pulling her into his arms. “Part of His plan was to take you from me. All I know is I want you back. Oh, Ella, I need you so badly!”

“You need far more than I could ever give, my love.” As she spoke her face blurred, began to fade. Devlin’s sense of flesh and bone in his hands seemed to melt away. “Look to the Lord,” she whispered in farewell. “Look to the Lord …”

With that, Devlin awoke with a start. It was morning, the first rays of sun kissing the windowsill and wooden floor, the lace curtains—curtains Ella had made—wafting gently in the warming breeze. From force of habit, he turned to the spot where his wife always laid. It was empty.

In a rush of mind-numbing emotion it all came back. The dream … his precious time with Ella … her words.

Look to the Lord.

Cursing savagely, Devlin swung out of bed. In the aftermath of his dream, freshened anguish filled him. The dream had seemed almost as real as actually having her present and alive. The all but tangible sensation of holding his wife and talking with her, even now, seemed unnervingly authentic.

Frustrated despair warred with Devlin’s growing anger. Blast it all! What a cruel trick his mind had played on him! He didn’t need God. He needed Ella!

By dint of a superhuman effort and several deep breaths, he regained an iron grip on his emotions.

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